That Time I Forgot to Renew My Pharmacist License

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Originally written in 2011. Updated for 2025.

One November many years ago, Todd and I took the kids to Disney World. It was a wonderful trip. But one day, while wandering around the Magic Kingdom, it occurred to me that my pharmacist license expired on October 31. Since November comes after October (it works this way everywhere—even The Happiest Place on Earth), that was kind of a problem.

I had, however, scored very well on the law portion of the pharmacy board exam all those many years ago (I feel compelled, considering the subject, to mention this). I recalled that I had a little grace period to renew before the state yanked my license, ripped it to pieces, and stomped on it. I was not currently working as a pharmacist, either. If you’re working and your license expires, you get hauled off in handcuffs. (It may not be that drastic, but I’m sure Important Officials are involved.)

I decided I would take care of it when I got home, and put it out of my mind.

“Out of my mind” is exactly where it stayed for the next three months. I was in bed at the end of January, in that relaxed state one is in just before dropping off, when the thought, suddenly, came rushing back in.

I sat up straight in bed, wide awake. My mind was racing with worst-case scenarios.

What if the six-month grace period was only a three? Then I would have to take the board exams all over again. I couldn’t contemplate that for long without having to lie down with a cool washcloth on my forehead.

A midnight internet search showed that I actually had two years to renew, but relief eluded me. What if there was an exception? I spent the night worrying about possible fine print that said the two-year grace period did not apply to dachshund owners, people shorter than five foot two, or those unable to twirl a baton.

I was only a little bit hysterical when I called the state office the next morning (even in my agitated state, I suspected that they wouldn’t appreciate midnight phone calls at home). I did have two years. I was okay. I had done nothing that couldn’t be fixed with paperwork and a late penalty. I did not have to face my husband or my parents (it’s a draw as to which encounter frightened me more) to tell them that I had been so busy writing a book on organization that I had lost my pharmacist license for the time being.

I have a long list of things that I have fouled up since the book came out. My license plates expired—twice. I carried a check someone gave me around in my purse for months. I threw away a slew of papers from my son’s school (It seems I got the “throw-away” pile confused with the “keep” pile).

Everybody messes up sometimes. We all forget to turn in library books by their due dates (at least I like to believe everybody does this). Is there anyone who hasn’t forgotten their lunch or their keys (or their phone) on occasion?

Failing to renew a professional license, however, is beyond the pale. Even Tammy Wynette managed to keep her beautician license current, just in case she had to return to fixing hair. I’m no Tammy Wynette in lots of ways, but I suspect she had a bigger nest egg. 

The fact that I’ve struggled so much with organization after having written a book called The Organized Heart is just too ironic. Sometimes the punch lines write themselves.

I still maintain that karma, mojo, and Murphy’s Law don’t exist. Our lives are governed by a sovereign God. But should I ever write another book of nonfiction, I may be more careful in choosing the subject matter.

If it’s true that you will fail at the very skill you are trying to teach, here are some of the titles I’m considering:

How to Gain Weight

How to Remain Unable to Twirl a Baton Despite Having With Sisters Who Can

How to Encounter Snakes on a Daily Basis

The possibilities are endless.