Chapter 3
Gibbs called back to NCIS and told everyone about Tim's appendicitis and his surgery...but not about his paranoia about becoming an addict again. That was something that should come from Tim, not from Gibbs. After talking with Dr. Weimann about Tim's recovery time, the success of the surgery and how long Tim would be staying in the hospital, Gibbs reluctantly returned to work, warning Tim that everyone would descend upon him in his room once they were able.
Then, he headed back to NCIS, prepared to answer a lot of anxious questions...and hoping to ask Ducky one or two of his own.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
It didn't take long for Tim to wake up completely. It surprised him how much better he felt. It was so soon after the surgery and his pain from before was nothing but a bad memory. ...and yet...
Dr. Weimann came in to check on him early in the afternoon.
"How are you feeling now, Mr. McGee?"
"Much better," Tim said. He looked out the window and then back. "Dr. Weimann?"
"Yes?"
"Could..." Tim stopped and looked down at the bed.
"What is it, Mr. McGee?"
"Could this have been...could it have happened because I was an addict?"
"Your appendicitis?"
"Yeah."
"No."
Tim was surprised by the categorical denial. He looked up.
"Why are you so sure?"
"Because what causes appendicitis is fairly well known. It's usually caused by either blockage of the appendix or some sort of infection. The blockage can be from stool and if the blockage is bad enough, it begins to prevent efficient function of the veins which eventually causes ischemia. Various kinds of fungi, viruses, bacteria, even some parasites...and sometimes cancer all can inflame the appendix and cause the infections leading to appendicitis. I've never heard of a drug addiction leading to appendicitis. Appendicitis is an inflammation caused by blockage and by infection. It's not due to drug use."
"Okay."
"Mr. McGee...have you talked to anyone about your fears?"
"I meet with a group still...every other week."
"That's not what I asked."
Tim was quiet for a few seconds. "The last time I had a cavity, I asked the dentist to fill it without using any anesthetics. I know that...that lidocaine isn't going to...to do anything but...but sometimes they use midazolam...and that's a benzodiazepine and...I don't want it ever to happen again." He took a quick breath. "I hurt so many people...including myself."
Dr. Weimann didn't respond right away and Tim couldn't muster the courage to look up at him.
"Mr. McGee...I'm concerned by what you're telling me. You know what the reality is, but it doesn't seem to matter. Any risk at all is too much of a risk. Is that right?"
Tim nodded.
"That kind of attitude is as dangerous as, if not more dangerous than your addiction. Every drug has some kind of side effect. Any drug can abused. Any drug can lead to overdose. Even the so-called natural homeopathic stuff some people rely on can lead to death if taken in the wrong way. Mr. McGee, you can't avoid it, and you're risking a lot more by your current attitude than you would be by simply being cautious. This isn't caution. This is irrational fear."
Tim swallowed hard. "I know," he whispered. "...but I became an addict...because I let my fear of failing take precedence over what I knew was right."
"Don't you see that you're doing the same thing now?"
Tim shook his head.
"Yes, Mr. McGee. Only this time, your fear of becoming an addict is taking precedence over your good sense. Now, you're a federal agent, correct?"
"Yeah."
"Are you ever in danger?"
"Sometimes."
"What if you got injured on the job? Would you allow the doctors to treat you or would you hold them off for fear of some vague risk of falling back into your addiction?"
Tim couldn't answer, even as he felt the visceral reaction to the possibility of getting doped up. Perhaps it showed on his face.
"You do realize, I hope, that you're on pain medication right now."
Tim shuddered and closed his eyes. "I'm...trying not to think about it."
"Well, think about it now, Mr. McGee. Do you feel any desire, any need to take the drugs you were hooked on before?"
Tim shook his head.
"Okay."
"But what if–?"
"Mr. McGee, would you be willing to talk with someone here at the hospital before you're released? I think it would help you."
Tim opened his eyes and looked up at Dr. Weimann.
"It would be completely confidential. What you choose to tell your friends and loved ones is completely up to you."
Tim hesitated...letting someone else know, another stranger who would know his shameful acts.
"How did this happen?" Dr. Weimann asked, touching one of the white scars on Tim's right arm.
Tim looked down at them and found the lines as mesmerizing as always. He still couldn't believe he'd actually done that to himself.
"I... There was a mistake and the dosage wasn't right. I...had a reaction to...to not having enough benzodiazepines in my blood. I was delusional...and...and I decided that the only way I could...could stop being an addict was if I got all my blood out of my body. I started cutting up my arm with a serrated kitchen knife. I have other scars on my leg, too...but not as many."
"And that still scares you?"
Tim traced the maze of scars and nodded.
"People still think of it, you know. My friends, my coworkers. The people who know...whenever something goes...whenever I do something different...there's always a moment when they wonder. ...and I...I feel the same way."
"Okay. You're expecting people to come by?"
"Yeah. Later on. They're at work right now."
"All right. I'll get someone down here as soon as I can and you can decide what you want to tell your friends when they arrive. Does that work for you?"
"Yeah," Tim said softly.
"Good. Mr. McGee?"
"Yeah?"
"You have an opportunity to let go of some weights. Don't squander it."
Tim didn't look up until he heard the door close...and even then it was only for a few seconds before he lowered his head again and sighed.
He wasn't left alone for long, however. It was only twenty minutes before there was a knock on the door and another doctor came in.
"Timothy McGee?"
Tim looked up and nodded. The doctor had a pleasant low voice, a rather scatterbrained air about him, but a look of sharp intelligence in his eyes.
"Hi. I'm Dr. Washington. Dr. Weimann wanted me to come and talk to you."
"Hi," Tim said and then looked down again.
"Hey, I know my looks are against me, but you've got to have seen uglier guys walking around than me."
Tim looked up. "That's..."
Dr. Washington grinned. "I thought that would work. Let's get this out of the way right now. I'm a shrink. You're a former addict. I'm here to help. You're embarrassed. Can we move on now?"
Tim smiled a little and nodded, although he didn't maintain eye contact for very long. It was easier to look elsewhere, but Dr. Washington didn't press the point.
"Good. Now, let's talk a bit, Mr. McGee."
"About what?"
"About getting you facing the real world again. I think it'll help you a lot more than living in fear and shame has."
"Fear and shame got me clean."
"No. They may have started you going on the road, but determination and persistence get you clean. Fear and shame hold you back because they keep you from leaning on the people who can help you. Life isn't a sprint. It's long-distance and you can't win by holding back."
"It ends the same way, regardless."
"No, it doesn't."
"How is it any different? You still die."
"Yeah. That's true, but it's how you die, and how you lived before that...those are the things that matter. You think you would have been the same if you had died of a drug overdose than if you had died in the line of duty? What kind of life would you have been living up to that time? What kind of effects would your death have on others? No, death is the same for everyone, but how you die is different."
Tim was about to deny it when a memory struck him. He hadn't thought of it in ages, but there it was, at the forefront of his mind. The scene as clear as the day it had happened.
"Well, I'm an addict, too. I'm an addict out here and I'm an addict in there. It doesn't make any difference where I stand. I've killed myself but I'm going to stay clean as long as I can."
"Why? What difference does it make?" Tim asked, momentarily forgetting himself.
"To when I die? Probably not much. To how I'll feel about myself, how my family will feel? A lot. In a few months, I'll be hospitalized permanently until my heart stops. I'm lucky enough to be someone whose family and friends didn't desert him when they found out. I owe it to them at least to be in my right mind and as clean as possible when I die."
That man...he'd be dead now, probably had been for months. Tim couldn't help wondering if he'd managed to stay off the meth until he died.
"Mr. McGee?"
"There was a guy...the first day I...I started trying...at the clinic. He was dying. He'd done so many drugs that his body had been too damaged. He told me that he was going to try to stay clean until he died."
"Why?" Dr. Washington asked.
Tim smiled a little. "Because it would make a difference to how he felt and how his family felt."
"Smart guy."
"I've been afraid of falling back into who I was before. I didn't know what I was doing to myself when I started. How can I know if I accidentally start again?"
"Because you're not a teenager anymore. Because you've gone through it all and you know how it feels. You're not stupid. You're not ignorant. You have life experience and you're intelligent. Don't you talk about this at all in the group sessions you attend?"
"No."
"What do you talk about then?"
"I don't talk much."
"Then, why do you go?"
"To remind myself what I could be sacrificing if I started using again. To make sure I don't forget how hard it was the first time."
"So...you're using group therapy as an opportunity for self-flagellation?"
Tim didn't answer.
"What about the others there? How do they feel knowing that you're using their experiences to punish yourself?"
"I don't say anything about it to them!" Tim said, slightly offended. "When I have something to say, I do. It just doesn't happen very often."
"Even so, Mr. McGee, that is the wrong attitude to have about therapy. Therapy, whether one-on-one or in a group, is not about punishment. It's about recovery and healing. It's about drawing strength from each other, not about berating oneself for past mistakes."
Tim didn't say anything.
"Mr. McGee, have a little faith in yourself. You can do it...and you don't have to keep punishing yourself for your past actions. You can stop looking out through the bars you've put up in your mind and step out into the sunshine. You're not a prisoner. You have the power to choose, and you've chosen to get off the drugs and to stay off them. I'm no expert in benzodiazepine withdrawal but from what I understand, there's very little chance of relapse."
Tim nodded.
"Mr. McGee, I'd like to ask you a question and I want you to think about it for at least a minute before you answer. Don't say anything. Just think about it."
"Okay."
"Have you been happy since you stopped taking drugs?"
Tim opened his mouth to speak.
"Think about it first, Mr. McGee."
Tim did as instructed and thought back over the previous two years. There had been too many nights when he couldn't help but think about what had happened, what he'd done, how he'd lived his life. ...but that wasn't all that made up his life.
"Well?"
"Sometimes," Tim said finally. "I've been happy sometimes."
"Okay. When you can let go of the fear and shame, that will change from sometimes, to lots of times...maybe even to most of the time. No one is always happy. Everyone has bad days. It's just a matter of dealing with them in the right spirit."
"Okay."
Dr. Washington chuckled. "Now that we've dealt with that, we can get started."
"Get started?"
"Yeah. This is just the beginning. We have to get you into the right frame of mind before we do the dirty work."
"How long will the dirty work take?" Tim asked with a small smile.
"That depends entirely on you. Let's just talk a while today and then tomorrow before you get released we can see about continuing for a while. Does that work for you?"
"Sure."
"All right. So let's get back to the problem that brought me here in the first place: your fear of medication."
Tim swallowed and then smiled again. "Okay."