Chapter 27: August. 31, 2000, 6:30PM, Hospital Room (John Carter's Point of View):
When Abby was first talking to me I felt so much anger toward her. I agreed with everything she was saying. But it didn't feel right to let her walk away with all that guilt. I had to tell her not to worry, but I too wonder what would have happened if Abby had reported me. I used to be afraid that she would. Now I wish she had. But, like I told her, there is no point in telling Mark and Kerry. It'll just cause more trouble.
I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know Abby is gone and in her place are Mark and Kerry. Christ, why can't everybody just leave me alone for a while?
Mark speaks first. "Welcome back."
"Back?" I chuckle, "Funny, I thought this was my first time in hell."
Kerry steps forward. "I know this is all very confusing, John. But believe me when I say that we are here for you and still want to help you with whatever you need. The offer still stands about the drug rehab—."
"Kerry," I interrupt.
"John, you need to see that you have a problem with narcotics."
"I know I do." Both of them are looking at me now. "I know I need help and I'm going to get it." Suddenly I don't feel well. I mean, I haven't felt well since I was brought in, but now . . . "Oh God," I moan, "I'm gonna be sick." I roll my head to the side and, just as Mark slides a basin next to me, I vomit. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," I mumble. I don't want to look at them because I am so embarrassed.
Mark replaces the soiled basin with a clean one and responds, "It's okay, Carter. You're going through withdrawal. It's going to get pretty bad for a while—."
"I know." Why is he telling me this? "I helped my cousin through this. But it happened so suddenly." I am shivering now, "It shouldn't happen this fast."
Kerry steps forward, "It can be different for each person . . ." She continues speaking but I really don't want to listen to her right now.
I interrupt whatever she is saying and blurt out, "I need to leave! I need to get out of here!" I try to sit up quickly, but I am jerked back by my restraints.
"And where would you go?" Mark asks. I try to look at him. He has moved toward the back of the room and is standing with his arms crossed over his chest.
"I don't know," my mind is racing now. I can't think straight, "it doesn't matter. I just can't be here anymore. This is going to kill me!" My stomach suddenly tightens and cramps. I try to curl into a ball but the restraints on my wrists and ankles prohibit me from moving. Christ! I feel like I am dying! All I can do to fight the pain is clench my jaws and wait for it to pass. I am crying again. I can feel the hot tears stream down my face and mix with the sweat that is starting to drench me. I get a brief break from the pain and take this opportunity to plead for my freedom again. When I open my eyes I see Mark, once again putting down a new basin. He gently wipes my face with tissue. I must have vomited again and not even realized it. I don't know if I am more of a prisoner or a helpless child. Maybe a combination of the two.
I want to speak, but I can't find the energy to even open my mouth. Suddenly a sharp pain pierces my back. Without the pain medicine, I don't know if I can handle my back pain. I wince and try to fight back from crying. But after a few seconds of suffering, I break out in sobs.
Mark must understand the look in my eyes because he says, "We'll do everything we can to make you more comfortable, Carter."
Finally I can speak again and all I can think to say is, "Help me, please."
Kerry puts her hand over mine. She looks at me and, with a tear in her eye, she says, "That's why we're here, John. But we have to leave for a little while. Don't worry, we'll be back later." She slowly lets go of my hand and follows Mark out of the room, leaving me alone. I know before I said I wanted to be alone, but now I wish someone was with me. Luckily the chills and nausea are gone. My body wants to shut down again. Maybe I'll close my eyes for just a minute . . .
No matter how many naps I take, when I wake up I always feel bad, if not worse than before. I must have been asleep for quite a while because as I wake up I notice that it is dark outside. I close my eyes and try to find a more comfortable position, but am unsuccessful. A pain, like before shoots up my back, and, again, I clench my jaws to fight the pain.
Suddenly someone starts speaking, "I'd offer you some pain medicine, but that's why you're here in the first place, isn't it?"
I open my eyes and wait for them to focus. There at the foot of my bead stands Dr. Ross. I don't know how I missed seeing him a minute ago.
He continues, "So, how's it going, Carter?"
"It hurts." I swallow and take a deep breath. "Isn't there anything I can have for the pain? I need something." Oh, no. I can feel the sweat on my brow and the chills through my body. "Not again," I say just before I start heaving and coughing. Apparently I have nothing left to throw up. The coughing lasts only a minute and then I mumble, "Please, Dr. Ross."
"Carter, you can't have any drugs. You need to fight this addiction."
"I should have listened to you a long time ago." The pain has stopped for now . . . no, I was wrong. It shoots straight from my tailbone to the top of my neck and I scream in agony, making Doug jump and tears come to my eyes. I haven't felt pain that bad since the day I was stabbed. Once the pain subsides, I try to catch my breath. Staring at the ceiling, I beg Doug, "Anything. Give me anything."
"Carter, I already told you that I can't give you any narcotics. All we can give you is some Ibuprofen. Would you like that?"
I nod my head vigorously, "Yes, yes, please." I feel so selfish right now. I am not the only person in the world with problems. I feel as if I am demanding a lot from my co-workers. I am shaken from my thoughts when I hear Doug again.
"You are very lucky to be alive, Carter."
Oh, geeze, he's lecturing me? I respond, "I know I am. And I'm lucky I have so many people helping me—." Another pain shoots through my back, although this one is no where near as bad as the last one.
Doug speaks again, "I'll see about that Ibuprofen." And he leaves.
I hear someone else enter the room and I assume that it is Doug. But when the person comes closer to the bed, I see it's Mark.
"Mark," I can hear desperation in my voice, "Dr. Ross just went to get some mild pain reliever for my back." I can only imagine how I appear this man. I must look like any other drug addict that comes to the hospital. But I'm a two-for-one with my slit wrists as friends to my track marks. I would kick myself for letting this happen if was able to move now.
"Okay, I'll see about that later. Listen Carter," he sits in the chair next to the bed, "I spoke to DeRaad about the restraints being removed. He said that to help with your back he wants you to move to a 'safe room' where you will be able to move freely in your room but you will be monitored 24/7."
"Okay, I can live with that." I don't care what it takes for me to get these damn restraints off.
"And you will be locked in the room."
Okay, that gets my attention. Locked in? I must have looked upset about this because Mark tries to explain.
"These rooms are for high risk patients. Honestly, you were almost in one of these from the start."
"How long will I be in there?"
"It's hard to say. But if you go there, you will probably start drug treatment up there. You could be there a while."
"Or I could stay here for a little while longer and be released once I'm not a danger—"
"And risk not coming back to County."
I am stunned. I can't think. I say, "Where's Dr. Benton? I need to ask him what to do."
"He's not here now, Carter. And you need to decide quickly."
"Where's Peter!?" I hear myself yell.
"He was admitted earlier for exhaustion. John, you have to make this decision by yourself. There's only one of these rooms available right now, so you need to decide quickly."
This shouldn't be a hard decision for me. Either way I am in the psych ward. Just a few minutes ago I told myself that I needed help for my drug problem. But even then it didn't seem real. Suddenly it does. How important is working here at County to me? This job is my life. I would do anything to keep it. . . Well, almost anything. And does that include being locked up for an indefinite time and being labeled as crazy? I'm not crazy. God, how many times have I told myself that today? And I don't know if I can trust these people when they say that a job will be here for me when I am recovered. What happens if I am locked up for months just to be released and kicked to the street? There are risks no matter which way I decide to go. But I have my answer.
When Abby was first talking to me I felt so much anger toward her. I agreed with everything she was saying. But it didn't feel right to let her walk away with all that guilt. I had to tell her not to worry, but I too wonder what would have happened if Abby had reported me. I used to be afraid that she would. Now I wish she had. But, like I told her, there is no point in telling Mark and Kerry. It'll just cause more trouble.
I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know Abby is gone and in her place are Mark and Kerry. Christ, why can't everybody just leave me alone for a while?
Mark speaks first. "Welcome back."
"Back?" I chuckle, "Funny, I thought this was my first time in hell."
Kerry steps forward. "I know this is all very confusing, John. But believe me when I say that we are here for you and still want to help you with whatever you need. The offer still stands about the drug rehab—."
"Kerry," I interrupt.
"John, you need to see that you have a problem with narcotics."
"I know I do." Both of them are looking at me now. "I know I need help and I'm going to get it." Suddenly I don't feel well. I mean, I haven't felt well since I was brought in, but now . . . "Oh God," I moan, "I'm gonna be sick." I roll my head to the side and, just as Mark slides a basin next to me, I vomit. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," I mumble. I don't want to look at them because I am so embarrassed.
Mark replaces the soiled basin with a clean one and responds, "It's okay, Carter. You're going through withdrawal. It's going to get pretty bad for a while—."
"I know." Why is he telling me this? "I helped my cousin through this. But it happened so suddenly." I am shivering now, "It shouldn't happen this fast."
Kerry steps forward, "It can be different for each person . . ." She continues speaking but I really don't want to listen to her right now.
I interrupt whatever she is saying and blurt out, "I need to leave! I need to get out of here!" I try to sit up quickly, but I am jerked back by my restraints.
"And where would you go?" Mark asks. I try to look at him. He has moved toward the back of the room and is standing with his arms crossed over his chest.
"I don't know," my mind is racing now. I can't think straight, "it doesn't matter. I just can't be here anymore. This is going to kill me!" My stomach suddenly tightens and cramps. I try to curl into a ball but the restraints on my wrists and ankles prohibit me from moving. Christ! I feel like I am dying! All I can do to fight the pain is clench my jaws and wait for it to pass. I am crying again. I can feel the hot tears stream down my face and mix with the sweat that is starting to drench me. I get a brief break from the pain and take this opportunity to plead for my freedom again. When I open my eyes I see Mark, once again putting down a new basin. He gently wipes my face with tissue. I must have vomited again and not even realized it. I don't know if I am more of a prisoner or a helpless child. Maybe a combination of the two.
I want to speak, but I can't find the energy to even open my mouth. Suddenly a sharp pain pierces my back. Without the pain medicine, I don't know if I can handle my back pain. I wince and try to fight back from crying. But after a few seconds of suffering, I break out in sobs.
Mark must understand the look in my eyes because he says, "We'll do everything we can to make you more comfortable, Carter."
Finally I can speak again and all I can think to say is, "Help me, please."
Kerry puts her hand over mine. She looks at me and, with a tear in her eye, she says, "That's why we're here, John. But we have to leave for a little while. Don't worry, we'll be back later." She slowly lets go of my hand and follows Mark out of the room, leaving me alone. I know before I said I wanted to be alone, but now I wish someone was with me. Luckily the chills and nausea are gone. My body wants to shut down again. Maybe I'll close my eyes for just a minute . . .
No matter how many naps I take, when I wake up I always feel bad, if not worse than before. I must have been asleep for quite a while because as I wake up I notice that it is dark outside. I close my eyes and try to find a more comfortable position, but am unsuccessful. A pain, like before shoots up my back, and, again, I clench my jaws to fight the pain.
Suddenly someone starts speaking, "I'd offer you some pain medicine, but that's why you're here in the first place, isn't it?"
I open my eyes and wait for them to focus. There at the foot of my bead stands Dr. Ross. I don't know how I missed seeing him a minute ago.
He continues, "So, how's it going, Carter?"
"It hurts." I swallow and take a deep breath. "Isn't there anything I can have for the pain? I need something." Oh, no. I can feel the sweat on my brow and the chills through my body. "Not again," I say just before I start heaving and coughing. Apparently I have nothing left to throw up. The coughing lasts only a minute and then I mumble, "Please, Dr. Ross."
"Carter, you can't have any drugs. You need to fight this addiction."
"I should have listened to you a long time ago." The pain has stopped for now . . . no, I was wrong. It shoots straight from my tailbone to the top of my neck and I scream in agony, making Doug jump and tears come to my eyes. I haven't felt pain that bad since the day I was stabbed. Once the pain subsides, I try to catch my breath. Staring at the ceiling, I beg Doug, "Anything. Give me anything."
"Carter, I already told you that I can't give you any narcotics. All we can give you is some Ibuprofen. Would you like that?"
I nod my head vigorously, "Yes, yes, please." I feel so selfish right now. I am not the only person in the world with problems. I feel as if I am demanding a lot from my co-workers. I am shaken from my thoughts when I hear Doug again.
"You are very lucky to be alive, Carter."
Oh, geeze, he's lecturing me? I respond, "I know I am. And I'm lucky I have so many people helping me—." Another pain shoots through my back, although this one is no where near as bad as the last one.
Doug speaks again, "I'll see about that Ibuprofen." And he leaves.
I hear someone else enter the room and I assume that it is Doug. But when the person comes closer to the bed, I see it's Mark.
"Mark," I can hear desperation in my voice, "Dr. Ross just went to get some mild pain reliever for my back." I can only imagine how I appear this man. I must look like any other drug addict that comes to the hospital. But I'm a two-for-one with my slit wrists as friends to my track marks. I would kick myself for letting this happen if was able to move now.
"Okay, I'll see about that later. Listen Carter," he sits in the chair next to the bed, "I spoke to DeRaad about the restraints being removed. He said that to help with your back he wants you to move to a 'safe room' where you will be able to move freely in your room but you will be monitored 24/7."
"Okay, I can live with that." I don't care what it takes for me to get these damn restraints off.
"And you will be locked in the room."
Okay, that gets my attention. Locked in? I must have looked upset about this because Mark tries to explain.
"These rooms are for high risk patients. Honestly, you were almost in one of these from the start."
"How long will I be in there?"
"It's hard to say. But if you go there, you will probably start drug treatment up there. You could be there a while."
"Or I could stay here for a little while longer and be released once I'm not a danger—"
"And risk not coming back to County."
I am stunned. I can't think. I say, "Where's Dr. Benton? I need to ask him what to do."
"He's not here now, Carter. And you need to decide quickly."
"Where's Peter!?" I hear myself yell.
"He was admitted earlier for exhaustion. John, you have to make this decision by yourself. There's only one of these rooms available right now, so you need to decide quickly."
This shouldn't be a hard decision for me. Either way I am in the psych ward. Just a few minutes ago I told myself that I needed help for my drug problem. But even then it didn't seem real. Suddenly it does. How important is working here at County to me? This job is my life. I would do anything to keep it. . . Well, almost anything. And does that include being locked up for an indefinite time and being labeled as crazy? I'm not crazy. God, how many times have I told myself that today? And I don't know if I can trust these people when they say that a job will be here for me when I am recovered. What happens if I am locked up for months just to be released and kicked to the street? There are risks no matter which way I decide to go. But I have my answer.