Generic Drugs vs. Brand Name Drugs

Back in 2009, when I was a graduate student, I was studying late at the University of Western Ontario and suddenly realized that my prescription for anticonvulsant medication had to be refilled. One problem: I was going to Toronto for holidays the next day. I have epilepsy and without medication I am prone to seizures, during which I collapse and thrash violently. They last only a few minutes, but they’re not pretty.

I still had a week’s worth of medicine, but transferring the prescription to a Toronto pharmacy and then back again to London, Ont., is a big headache. So I called my regular London pharmacy to let them know I was coming. I was hoping the little stapled bag would be ready when I arrived.

No such luck. I sat down beside the dispensary at the back of the store and waited. When I was finally called over to the counter, the pharmacist greeted me with a concerned sigh. “Oh, I never like giving this one out.”

“Really? What’s wrong with it?” I asked. I had taken Keppra for years and had never suffered anything worse than a little sleepiness in the morning. “We’re out of the brand-name,” said the pharmacist, “so we’re giving you the generic version.” He told me he was an epileptic and was taking Keppra himself. He had recently switched to levetiracetam, a generic version of the drug, because it was cheaper. On average, generic drugs cost 60 per cent less than the brand-name drugs they are designed to replace. But soon after he made the switch, the pharmacist said, he experienced several auras—sensations that often signal an impending seizure—and was unable to come to work.

When he switched back to Keppra, things returned to normal. I dismissed the pharmacist’s warning because I’ve found that everyone’s an expert. I’ve seen a slew of neurologists, consulted a bunch of GPs and have been to several epileptologists. Every one of them has a different explanation for the seizures and has recommended different courses of treatment. And anyway, why would Health Canada approve a generic version of Keppra if it didn’t work?

One week later, in the lead-up to New Year’s Eve—a period in which I had been dutifully taking my meds—I could tell something was off. I was on the couch when it happened. Once I realize I’m about to have a seizure, it’s already too late to do anything. All I can do is hope that I regain consciousness afterwards. In the seconds afforded to me before it hit, I remembered the London pharmacist denouncing the generic anticonvulsant he had dispensed.

I lay there helpless, convulsing and unable to draw another breath, as 100 billion neurons fired simultaneously inside my head.