“It’s her heart medication,” I replied, confused by her intense reaction. “Her doctor updated the prescription a few months ago.”
Susan shook her head slowly, her eyes locked on mine. “Linda, this dosage is completely wrong. She’s taking three times the prescribed amount of her heart medication.

This is a 60mg dose.”
I tried to rationalize it. I told her that the doctor must have increased it for a reason, that maybe her heart needed the extra support. But Susan wasn’t having it. “No doctor would prescribe 60mg to an 82-year-old woman. The absolute standard, maximum safe protocol for a geriatric patient of her weight is 20mg. Taking 60mg every single day is toxic.

It’s essentially poisoning her cardiovascular system. It explains why she’s been so lethargic and dizzy. Her blood pressure must be dangerously low.”
Panic set in fast. My hands started to shake as I grabbed my phone and immediately dialed the cardiologist’s office.

I was placed on a brief hold that felt like an eternity. When the receptionist finally came back on the line, I demanded to know why my mother’s dosage had been tripled without a clear consultation explaining the severe risks.
The receptionist sounded confused. I heard the clacking of a keyboard as she pulled up my mother’s chart.

“Ma’am, Dr. Harrison hasn’t authorized any changes to her dosage. Her chart still explicitly states 20mg daily.”
“Then why did the pharmacy give me 60mg bottles for the last four months?” I snapped, my voice rising in pitch.

“Let me check the communication logs,” the receptionist said. A long, agonizing minute passed. “Okay, I see it here. Four months ago, a refill request was called in directly to the pharmacy. The caller requested the higher dosage, stating that Dr. Harrison had verbally approved it during an emergency telemedicine call.

The pharmacy faxed us a confirmation, and it looks like a covering nurse blindly signed off on the paperwork without cross-referencing the chart.”
“Who called it in?” I asked, my stomach dropping to the floor.

“The notes say the caller identified herself as the patient’s daughter.”
The room started to spin. “I am her only daughter,” I whispered into the receiver. “I never made that call.”

I hung up and immediately called the pharmacy. Because I am my mother’s legal medical proxy and have all my documentation on file with them, I was able to bypass their initial reluctance to share information. I demanded to speak to the pharmacy manager. I explained the situation—that an unauthorized person had impersonated me, drastically altered an elderly woman’s medication, and nearly killed her in the process.
I demanded they pull the caller ID records from that exact day.