Pharmacy automation involves the mechanical processes of handling and distributing medications. Any pharmacy task may be involved, including counting small objects (e.g., tablets, capsules); measuring and mixing powders and liquids for compounding; tracking and updating customer information in databases (e.g., personally identifiable information (PII), medical history, drug interaction risk detection); and inventory management. This article focuses on the changes that have taken place in the local, or community Pharmacy since the 1960s.
Dispensing medications in a community pharmacy before the 1970s was a time-consuming operation. The pharmacist dispensed prescriptions in tablet or capsule form with a simple tray and spatula. Many new medications were developed by pharmaceutical manufacturers at an ever-increasing pace, and medications prices were rising steeply. A typical community pharmacist was working longer hours and often forced to hire staff to handle increased workloads which resulted in less time to focus on safety issues. These additional factors led to use of a machine to count medications.
The original electronic portable digital tablet counting technology was invented in Manchester, England between 1967 and 1970 by the brothers John and Frank Kirby.
I had the original idea of how the machine would work and it was my patent, but it was a joint effort getting it to work in a saleable form. It was 3 years of very hard work. I had originally studied heavy electrical engineering before changing over to Medical School and qualifying as a Medical Doctor in 1968. In fact I was Senior House (Casualty) Officer (A&E or ER) in 1970 at North Manchester General Hospital when I filed the patent. I must have been the only hospital doctor in Britain with an oscilloscope, a soldering iron and a drawing board in his room in the Doctors’ Residence. The housekeepers were bemused by all the wires. Frank originally trained as a Banker but quit to take a job with a local electronics firm during the development. He died in 1987, a terrible loss. [Extract from personal communication received in March 2010 from John Kirby.]