Pharmacy Follies and the Cancer Couple

I went to fill my husband's prescription for the new, gene-targeting cancer drugs that we hope will save his life at the local pharmacy and the clerk toting up the cost said, "Oh, this will be expensive." But I had my bank card with me. No problem!
My bank card doesn't let me charge more than 2,000 euros in a single day--something I've never been in danger of doing. The bill for my husband's meds came to over 5,000 euros--also more than twice what's currently in my account. 
We made an arrangement with the pharmacy. This is Germany! Generous, golden Germany--"we know you," said the smiling clerk,  suggesting she bill us at the end of the month, a move which will allow my husband to fill out his health insurance forms and possibly even be reimbursed by the time we have to pay that bill.
Meanwhile, I handed over my prescriptions, the ones they fill for me every month, the ones that keep me living a relatively normal life with almost no hair loss and only slight breathlessness, and lo! This month, one of them was "unavailable."
"But I get it here every month," I said.
"Well, it will have to be produced by the factory," said the clerk. They special ordered it. There's a shortage, they said. They hope they'll get it to me in ten days. 
I called the oncologist's office and they do have an emergency supply in a slightly lower dosage that I can take if the pharmacy doesn't come through. I just looked on Doc Bestendonk, which we've previously used for stuff like Sinupret and Umckaloabo, and found that in three-to-five business days I can get the tablets I need for 2.741,61 euros. Which is 130.55 euros per pill. Imagine what that costs in Donald Trump's America. No, don't. If I send my prescription. And pay for it myself. Even in golden Germany. But I think my pharmacy will probably come through . . . stay tuned. 
P.S. And they did come through! Even sooner than they'd promised.