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Help Me, Please; Abby never reported Carter. PG-13
Topic Started: Nov 7 2004, 07:34 PM (1,437 Views)
artemis024
Nurse (-100 Posts)
[ * ]
Chapter 16: August. 13, 2000, 3AM, Exam 2 (John Carter’s Point of View):

I have to act normal. Just examine my patients and go on with the day. Doug is going to do something; I can feel it. The question now is, what is he going to do? I need to figure this out and think ahead of him. He could call the cops, but I doubt that he would do that. He is probably going to tell someone here at the hospital, but whom is he going to tell first? Would it be better to stop using the extra medicine and not risk another mistake or should I keep using it since it helps me feel better? Either way a drug test would come up positive, and they would expect that because I should be taking medicine. I’ll keep taking it. If I look like I am in pain it would be worse.

I finish up examining Mr. Kline and order the tests and meds needed. As I am about to leave the room, Mark comes in and says, “Dr. Carter may I speak with you for a few minutes?”

So he told Mark. I reply, “I’m sorry Dr. Greene, but I am currently evaluating a patient.”

The patient had to open his big mouth and said, “But I thought you were done?”

Mark sighed and said, “Come on John. It’s important.”

So I follow him. He takes me outside, which is fine with me because now I can smoke. I light a cigarette and ask, “What’s up?”

“We’re friends, right John?”

“Yeah, sure.” I wish I could tell what he is thinking so I can plan my answers.

“So if you need help with something, you’d come to me, right?”

“Yeah, if I need help with something.”

Mark sighs and sits down on a bench. I follow. He continues by saying, “Maybe you don’t realize this John or maybe you are just too stubborn, but you need help.”

Now is when I should turn the conversation around, so to avoid all this drug talk I say, “I know you guys all think that I am going through depression, but I am getting better, I swear. I am seeing someone,” which was true. I started seeing a shrink today just so the staff wouldn’t worry. “And I am on anti-depressants. That’s why my moods have been all over the place. "Yeah, I noticed just like you that I have been really moody. But it is just me getting used to taking the medicine and the medicine getting used to me. Now, I have patients to see and so do you. But thanks for your concern.” I stand up and start to walk away. Mark grabs my shoulder, but I just shrug it off as if I didn’t feel it. He runs in front of me and blocks me from the door.

“You know, Carter, you are pretty good at avoiding problems. But you know damn well that depression wasn’t what I was talking about. Doug told me about the morphine and the pills and everything that you fill your body with to get high and come to work. You have a drug problem. Don’t try and deny it anymore. I know that spiders haven’t been biting your wrist. I was stupid to believe it. Kerry knows all about this too. We are willing to help you get cleaned up if you let us. We aren’t going to force you, but I really hope that you take this option. It is your only choice if you want to stay here at County.”

“Are you firing me?!” I am angry now. I can feel my temperature rising. How dare they accuse me all of this and then threaten to fire me.

“If you don’t go to rehab, yes, you will be fired.”

“I do not have to put up with this abuse! Any number of hospitals would hire me! I am a good doctor!” I am screaming at the top of my lungs now and people are starting to look at us.

“I never said you aren’t. But we can’t let you practice at any hospital while you are on drugs.” Mark is still whispering. I think he is afraid to cause a scene.

“You know, you embarrassed me pretty badly when you threw me onto the gurney. Not to mention that being tossed on there really hurt my back. But this really takes the cake. Do you think I would get addicted to drugs after what happened to Chase? I helped detox him, and now you think I would put myself through all of that?” I grit my teeth and continue, “I can’t believe you.” I turn and start walking away.

As I light another cigarette, I hear Mark behind me shouting, “That was your only chance Carter!”

“Good! I quit!” I shout back, over my shoulder. I walk across the street and go into Dr. Magoo’s Diner. Sitting in a booth I order a cup of coffee and continue to smoke my cigarettes. I have a feeling I will be up to two packs a day again pretty soon. I must have been staring off into space because I suddenly hear someone talking to me. It is Kerry. Just great.

I ask, “What was that?”

“I asked if you mind if I sit here.”

“No, not at all,” I reply.

She slides herself onto the bench across from me and remarks, “How are you feeling today, John?”

“I’ve had better days but I’ve had worse.” I take a drag of my cigarette. Kerry was who found me after I was stabbed on Valentine’s Day. She knows about my bad days.

Kerry asks me, “When did you start smoking?”

“Please tell me you aren’t going to lecture me. Mark has given me enough lectures to last a lifetime.”

“No, no. I won’t lecture you. I just don’t remember you smoking while you lived with me and I never pictured you as a smoker.”

“I smoked in college and a little in med school. But I guess I started up again four months ago maybe. Maybe it’s been a little longer.”

No one speaks for a few minutes. Kerry hesitates but finally says, “We both know that you have been having a rough few months, but you should really reconsider the offer we are making for you. You will be in rehab for a while, but once you are done there, we will be glad to have you back County.”

“I don’t work at County anymore. I quit.” I extinguish my cigarette and light a fresh one. When I am nervous I smoke a lot more than normal. Not even acknowledging what she is saying, I ask, “How many people has Doug been talking to about this?”

“He just told Mark and me. And we told him not to tell anyone else without all of us present. I really hope you change your mind about leaving County. But if you don’t we will still help you—.”

“I don’t need any freaking help!” I shout this much louder than I wanted to. I can feel tears start to well up in my eyes and one slides down my cheek. I can’t talk to her anymore without bursting into tears. Why are they all ambushing me like this? God, my back is throbbing again. I take out a bottle, careful to make sure that it is one of mine, and take the last pill. I put the bottle down on the table with the label facing Kerry and say, “You see, I am taking prescribed medication. Nothing to worry about.” I put out the cigarette and stand up. “Now I am sorry to tell you this, but I am leaving County unless this whole issue is dropped. So I hope you have a nice life.”

“At least tell me how long you have been injecting drugs.” Her eyes are desperate and I can’t lie to her anymore.

I hesitate before I respond, “Since April.”

“April?” she asks, but I am already rushing out of the restaurant and can barely hear Kerry shouting at me to come back. I can’t believe I told her. There’s no turning back now.

Carter : You know, there are two kinds of doctors: the kind that get rid of their feelings, and the kind that hold on to them. If you're going to hold on to your feelings, you're going to get sick every once in a while. That's part of it. Helping people is more important than how we feel. Hell, I've been doing this eight years, and I still get sick.

[Carter's drug addiction]
Susan: Vicodin?
Carter : Yeah. If you're going to abuse drugs, abuse a good one.

Mark : You set the tone, Carter.
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artemis024
Nurse (-100 Posts)
[ * ]
Chapter 17: August. 27, 2000, 11PM, Carter Mansion (Doug Ross’ Point of View):

No one has been able to find Carter since he left on the 13th. So now I am going to try. Mark and Kerry have been calling his apartment but there has been no answer. The landlord said that he moved out about a week ago. The only address he was given was one we already had, the address for the Carter Estate. Kerry and Mark have tried here already without any luck, but that was a week ago. Now it’s my turn. I stand in front of Carter’s house in awe. It is a mansion. I remember when he was younger all the doctors and nurses made fun of him for being so rich. But his money won’t help him now.

I ring the doorbell and within a minute a butler opens the door.

“Can I help you, sir?” he asks me.

“Yes, I’m here to see Dr. John Carter.”

“And you are?”

“Dr. Doug Ross. I work with John.”

“Right this way, sir. He’s in his office I believe.” I follow the butler through a long, decorated hallway. “Just a moment, sir.” He enters the room and closes the door.

I put my ear to the door and try my hardest to listen.

The butler is saying, “Dr. Carter. I’m sorry to interrupt, but there is a man here who wishes to speak with you; a Dr. Doug Ross, I believe.”

I couldn’t hear anything for a minute. Finally Carter replies in a soft, raspy voice, “Send him in, Henry.”

I pull back from the door and wonder what I will see in there. No doubt Carter is heading towards rock bottom. I am almost afraid to see him falling apart.

The butler opens the door and waves me into the office. I was afraid I would be shocked at Carter’s appearance, but I am amazed. Sitting at a large wooden desk facing the door is a sharply dressed young man. He is wearing a black suit and gray dress shirt, with a perfectly tied tie and his hair slicked back. Granted his desk is a mess with papers and with a full ashtray and a half empty bottle of whiskey next to an empty glass, but the man himself looks remarkable. With his head down reading papers I can barely even tell if it is in fact Carter.

I heard the door close behind me and I turn. The butler is gone.

“Please sit, Dr. Ross.” Yes it is Carter. He looks up at me as I sit.

“You’re looking good, Carter.”

“What did you expect to see?”

“Honestly I don’t know. But you are looking much better than at your apartment.”

He takes a drag from a cigarette and responds, “Thank you. I had a rough spot but as you can see I am right back on track.” He starts reading some papers again.

“Where have you been the past week?” I ask.

“Here, mostly. Why?”

“Because Kerry and Mark have been trying to reach you with no luck.”

“I was at a hotel for a couple of days before I came here.”

“Of course. You had to get cleaned up before your family saw you again, right?”

Carter glances at me for a few seconds with a cold stare and then continues reading.

I am silent for a moment before I continue, “What’s that you’ve got there?”

“It’s paperwork for the Carter Foundation. I am heir to the family business, so I’ve decided to work with the rest of the Foundation on this until I take over.”

“So you’ve decided to give up being a doctor—”

“Listen, Dr. Ross. I have much more important things to take care of than talking to you about this. So unless you have something more important to discuss, I’ll have to ask you to leave my property.”

“Kerry said you admitted to the accusations; to the drug addiction.”

Carter’s head shoots up and his eyes lock onto mine as he says, “I never admitted to any of that and you know it!” He is angry now. “Why won’t you leave me alone?!” he shouts.

“Because we care about you, Carter—”

“No! That’s not what I mean. I want to know why you, Dr. Ross, are so obsessed with pointing out any flaws that I might have?!”

“So are you saying that your drug use is a flaw?”

“Argh!” Carter screams as he pulls at his hair, “I told Kerry about injecting pain medication, but I am not a drug addict!”

“Carter! How can you not see that you have a problem?” Now I am getting frustrated.

“I don’t have a problem except for you keeping me from my work—”

I stand and lean forward on Carter’s desk, looking down at him as I say, “So you don’t think vein lining in the hospital washroom is a problem?”

Carter doesn’t speak. He has a fiery look in his eyes. But instead of getting mad, he finally replies, “This is not what I need right now.”

“You’re right. What you need is a swift kick to your head.”

“Doug, I think it’s time for you to leave,” he calmly says. He starts to stand up but winces in pain and sits back down.

“Carter, you’re in pain. Let me take you to the hospital so you can have your back checked out.” Actually what I want to say is, ‘Because you will just shoot up again,’ but I bite my tongue.

He stands now and says, “Dr. Ross.” It’s eerie how calm his voice is. “Please leave my property.”

I had forgotten how tall the young man is. But, my god, he is so skinny. I can now see that his suit is hanging off of him.

“Jesus, Carter,” I say as I stand myself up straight, “You need to gain some weight. You are too damn thin.” I get no response from him except an empty look in his eyes. I can’t change his mind. And I can’t think of anything more to say. So without another word, I leave Carter’s office and I leave his mansion.

please review
Carter : You know, there are two kinds of doctors: the kind that get rid of their feelings, and the kind that hold on to them. If you're going to hold on to your feelings, you're going to get sick every once in a while. That's part of it. Helping people is more important than how we feel. Hell, I've been doing this eight years, and I still get sick.

[Carter's drug addiction]
Susan: Vicodin?
Carter : Yeah. If you're going to abuse drugs, abuse a good one.

Mark : You set the tone, Carter.
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Sky's Fanatic
Spade Of The Sky
[ *  *  *  * ]
Awesome Awesome Cool Cool and all that :lol: Update soon please

^_^ ^_^ ^_^ ^_^ ^_^ ^_^ ^_^
~Andy Griggs ROX~
~I guess the problem with only listening to a patient for fifteen seconds is, sometimes you don't hear everything...and when you finally realize what they were trying to say, you might've lost them forever.
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All that you see or seem, is but a dream within a dream. - Edgar Allan Poe
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artemis024
Nurse (-100 Posts)
[ * ]
Chapter 18: August. 29, 2000, 9AM, Ambulance Bay (John Carter’s Point of View):

I can’t go back in there. Maybe I can get someone to bring my things to my house. No. I have to go in myself….right after I finish my cigarette. I take a drag and wish that I won’t have to talk to anyone in the ER.

Oh, crap. I should have included the ‘bay’ in my wish. Peter Benton just exited the hospital and starts walking toward me. I light a fresh cigarette and begin walking away from the hospital. Maybe he didn’t see me. Please, God, make me invisible. But from behind me I hear a shout.

“Carter! Hey, Carter!”

Son of a bitch. Ok, time to face the sad, sad music. I turn around and take one last drag from my cigarette before I flick it away. “Hi Dr. Benton. How are you?” I start walking back to the hospital towards Peter, and I keep going.

“Hey wait up, man,” he says.

“Sorry, sir, but I am in a hurry.” I rush into the ER and towards the doctors’ lounge with Peter at my feet the whole time. Too afraid to look up, I find the lounge blindly, and don’t bother stopping when I hear my name. Finally I reach the lounge and find it empty, thank God. Well, empty except for Dr. Benton. I try to ignore him by fumbling with my combination, but Peter interrupts my clumsy fingers.

“They changed your combination when you quit. Actually I was kinda surprised that you didn’t come to me and tell me you were leaving. And no one here knew anything about it.

I climb on a chair and start looking through the boxes on the lockers. “So where’s all my stuff?”

“Try over to your right.” I grab the box. I read ‘Carter’ on the top and climb off the chair as Benton continues, “I even tried to get it out of Weaver but she—”

“You talked to Kerry about me?” I harshly question, regretting the tone immediately.

“Yeah.” He looks suspicious now, “But she wouldn’t tell me what’s going on.”

I put the box on the sofa and look through it to make sure everything’s there. It is.

Finally Benton breaks the silence, asking, “What’s happening to you? Is everything okay?”

I look up, “Yeah, everything’s great.”

“Come on, Carter, you look like a skeleton—”

“I’ve always looked like a skeleton. You know that.”

He just glared at me, not accepting my explanation. So I continue, “Fine, you want to know what’s going on?” I think fast for a workable lie.

“Yes.”

“My grandfather has been ill for a while so I was helping take care of him and his Carter Foundation responsibilities when I wasn’t working here. And about a week ago Kerry mentioned that the hospital is in another budget crisis. So since my family doesn’t need me to work, I quit to help my grandfather and Kerry. And as for my appearance, I know I haven’t been looking my best, but I have a lot to take care of that’s more important. When I’m busy I’m just not hungry, and now you have made me late for an appointment,” I rattle off as I pick up my box and hurry to the door.

Behind me I barely hear Benton respond, “I hope to see you around again, John.” And I stop. Him saying ‘John’ always touches me.

I turn and respond, “I hope so too, Dr. Benton.” Out of the lounge I hear Kerry shout my name.

“Carter! John, wait! Carter, come back here!”

“Sorry, Kerry. I’m in a rush. See ya!” And I dart out the ambulance bay and into my Jeep.

Chapter 19: August. 29, 2000, 9AM, Ambulance Bay (Peter Benton’s Point of View):

“I hope I see you around again, John,” I shout as he starts to run out the door. I almost choke as I say his name; it is so unfamiliar to me.

He looks back at me and looks like a lost boy as he says, “I hope so too, Dr. Benton,” and I can see tears starting to form in his eyes, which he seems oblivious to. Damn, that kid always gets to me, him being so formal and innocent all the time.

Suddenly Kerry Weaver bursts through the lounge door. I try to sneak out but she stops me.

“Peter, did you talk to Carter at all?” she demands.

I know I have a reputation for being tough, but even I think she’s overstressing everyone. And now she’s bitching out Carter, probably, with his sick grandfather!

“Yeah,” I respond, “And he told me everything—”

“He told you what’s been going on?”

“Yeah…”

“I can’t believe he would do that!”

“Well, it’s his life. I think he can inform who he wants.” Why is she so worked up?

“Did you at least try to talk to him? Did you try and help him somehow?” She’s staring straight up at me now.

I shake my head and respond, “There wasn’t much for me to do. Plus I think he’s getting back together now. He seems to be fine, you know, holding up considering.”

“Holding up considering? How can you be so passive about all of this?”

“What do you expect me to be, Kerry. I just hope his grandfather makes it.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“His sick grandfather. That’s why he quit, right?”

“Oh, Peter.” She shakes her head. “He lied to you…John is a drug addict.”

Now I’m mad.


:D
Carter : You know, there are two kinds of doctors: the kind that get rid of their feelings, and the kind that hold on to them. If you're going to hold on to your feelings, you're going to get sick every once in a while. That's part of it. Helping people is more important than how we feel. Hell, I've been doing this eight years, and I still get sick.

[Carter's drug addiction]
Susan: Vicodin?
Carter : Yeah. If you're going to abuse drugs, abuse a good one.

Mark : You set the tone, Carter.
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Sky's Fanatic
Spade Of The Sky
[ *  *  *  * ]
duh duh duh what will Peter do now? lol i love this story, please continue soon. ^_^
~Andy Griggs ROX~
~I guess the problem with only listening to a patient for fifteen seconds is, sometimes you don't hear everything...and when you finally realize what they were trying to say, you might've lost them forever.
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All that you see or seem, is but a dream within a dream. - Edgar Allan Poe
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artemis024
Nurse (-100 Posts)
[ * ]
** Have fun with this one, everyone. I think you will all like it. Might be a day or two for the next chapter ‘cause I am going home for Thanksgiving tomorrow. Reviews are welcome! Enjoy! **

Chapter 20: August. 29, 2000, 1PM, Ambulance Bay (Peter Benton’s Point of View):

It’s been a couple hours since Kerry told me about Carter. I don’t want to believe her, but it makes more sense than anything else. Sick grandfather. I can’t believe he would lie about that. But I really can’t believe that I fell for it. Carter has always been a really awful liar, but obviously he’s been practicing.

Kerry wouldn’t tell me too much since she doesn’t have the right to. I admire her for understanding how dangerous this would be once spread to people like Anspaugh or Romano, but I also wish she had told me about it much earlier. No. I wish Carter had come to me for help. But he’s a stubborn man, never showing weakness.

All I know is that he admitted to using drugs, but I don’t know how long or what drugs. And he quit his job in the ER because he refused to go to rehab and he wouldn’t let them fire him. Kerry also said that he is living with his grandparents again and she strongly hinted that I should pay him a visit. So since I just got off my shift, that’s where I am going now. It’s funny…I am very nervous to see him, and since Kerry told me the truth, I have had a pit in the bottom of my stomach and I feel like something is terribly wrong.

Doug Ross gives me directions (and I am not too happy that he’s known about this too) and I drive over to the Carter residence. After ringing the doorbell it takes a couple minutes for a butler to answer the door.

He looks flustered as he asks, “May I help you, sir?”

“I’m here to see Dr. Carter.”

“I’m sorry but he is not able to entertain guests at the moment.”

“Well, this is very important. Is he home?”

“He is home, sir, but as I said, he cannot entertain—”

“Guests,” I finish, “Yeah, I got that, but what do you mean?”

“He is not well, sir.” The butler glances over his shoulder. I try to look but I can’t see anything.

“He was fine a few hours ago. What’s wrong with him?”

“I’m not sure, sir.”

“Well, I am a doctor at County with Carter. I can take a look at him—” But I stop when I hear a loud crash come from deep inside the house, followed by what sounds like Carter shouting. I push past the butler and barely hear him protest. I weave through the labyrinth of the house but stop when I see him. He is dressed as he was earlier although now his shirt is untucked and his tie is at his feet. Luckily his back is to me but I can see his grandmother about ten feet in front of him. She looks as dignified as ever even with her grandson shouting at her.

Then I see it. There are the remains of a glass vase next to Carter—that must have been the crash—and he is holding one of the shards of glass in his right hand. But what disturbs me is the blood dripping from the point of the glass. There is some smeared blood on the back of his neck, as if he rubbed it there. And his left hand has a little blood on it, but not a lot. I wish I knew where it was coming from but I don’t want to intervene just yet. I listen to what he is shouting.

“—Gamma! You want to know what has happened to me?! I WAS STABBED IN THE BACK!” and he takes the shard and stabs himself in his back. I want to jump forward and stop him, but I can’t move. Luckily he only creates a couple flesh wounds—almost no blood stains his shirt.

“And then,” he continues, “After I survived, I was in so much pain. Some days—most days—I wished I had died! But I couldn’t do anything except take medicine!” He rips off his shirt and shoves out his left arm. I can’t see what’s on his arm but now I can see the scars from when he was attacked. For an instant I wonder if he is right, if we should have let him die. He’s been through so much pain and suffering, after all. But I shake that thought out of my head, feeling like Dr. Kavorkian. Carter continues, “I am a freaking drug addict! I’m no better than Chase! Why did you let them save me! I should have died!”

Carter’s grandmother had said nothing but now she glances up at me, which triggers Carter to spin and face me. Now I see that his arm is covered in track marks. I also can see his ribs showing through his skin and the large scar on his abdomen where we had to operate. I did that. I cut this young man open and now the thought hits me again. I could have saved him from all this pain and heartache if I had accepted that it was his time to die. No, stop thinking like that! That time has past, but I need to save him now.

Finally I can see where the blood is coming from, and it shocks me. There is a large gash on his forehead and although it doesn’t appear to be too deep, blood is dripping down into his eyes and the wound will need to be sutured. I don’t know how he was cut there and I don’t dare ask. In fact, Cater is the first to talk between us.

“You,” he says in a soft, deep voice. “You saved me. But by saving me, you’ve cursed me.”

“Carter, you’re out of your mind, man. We couldn’t just let you die—”

“No! You’re wrong!” He’s pacing back and forth. He had dropped the glass and now his hands are clutching his head. “That would have been the decent thing to do.” And I faintly hear him mumble, “But now I have to get the job done,” just before he sprints down the hall past his grandmother. I dart after him but he has already run into a room and locked the door.

I hear crying coming from behind me and turn to see Millicent Carter. She says, “I told him not to work at that damn hospital. I begged him to quit after he was attacked.”

I interject, “What is this room?”

“Oh, um, his office—” she starts as I hear another crash in this room. God only knows what he’s doing and what medical supplies he has in there. Without thinking, I slam my body into the door again and again until it finally swings inward. I stumble in just in time to see a look of desperation in Carter’s eyes as he falls into a pool of his own blood.


Carter : You know, there are two kinds of doctors: the kind that get rid of their feelings, and the kind that hold on to them. If you're going to hold on to your feelings, you're going to get sick every once in a while. That's part of it. Helping people is more important than how we feel. Hell, I've been doing this eight years, and I still get sick.

[Carter's drug addiction]
Susan: Vicodin?
Carter : Yeah. If you're going to abuse drugs, abuse a good one.

Mark : You set the tone, Carter.
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Sky's Fanatic
Spade Of The Sky
[ *  *  *  * ]
*gasp* poor Carter, PLEASE update soon it's magnificent
~Andy Griggs ROX~
~I guess the problem with only listening to a patient for fifteen seconds is, sometimes you don't hear everything...and when you finally realize what they were trying to say, you might've lost them forever.
Posted Image
All that you see or seem, is but a dream within a dream. - Edgar Allan Poe
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artemis024
Nurse (-100 Posts)
[ * ]
Chapter 21: August. 29, 2000, 2PM, Admit Desk (Mark Greene’s Point of View):

Things have been going slow today, thank God. I’ve been on for ten hours and we only have had one trauma.

“Trauma coming in!” Randi shouts.

I spoke too soon; “When?” I ask.

“Now—” and the doors burst open with paramedics pushing a gurney.

One of them starts announcing, “Thirty year old male, vertical lacerations on each wrist, head lac, small back lacs, and possible morphine overdose.”

I finally look down and see that underneath all the blood, there lies Carter.

“My God! Carter!” I shout.

“You know him?” asks the paramedic.

“He’s one of your doctors. What happened to him?”

“It’s obviously suicide, doc—”

No, I mean how’d it happen?”

“Don’t know; ask the guy that came in with us.”

I look over my shoulder and see Peter still standing by the door, staring at Carter’s gurney rolling away, with me by its side.

“Peter!” I shout, but he doesn’t move. I see Jing Mei round a corner and shout, “Dr. Chen, take this,” and I run over to Peter. In the background I hear Jing Mei say, “Oh my God! It’s Carter!” but I am already coming up to Peter. Closer now, I can see that his clothes are drenched in blood and his hands and part of his face are coated too.

Before I speak, I can barely hear Peter mumble, “I should go help,” and he takes a step forward.

Of course I stop him. He is in a mental shock. This is the second time his former student has been a trauma victim. And not just any student, it’s Carter, a man who is like a little brother to Peter.

“No, Peter,” my hands are on his shoulders. He still hasn’t looked at me, he just keeps staring at the trauma room where Carter is being worked on. I continue, “Are you hurt at all?”

“No…He doesn’t want this.”

“What?”

“He doesn’t want to be saved. He wants to die.”

Ok, now I am worrying about Peter. I have never heard him talk like this.

He continues, “But I couldn’t let him die. I did all I could.”

“Peter you did your part. Now let me help you get cleaned up an I’ll have someone drive you home.”

“No, I need to help.” He walks forward, even though I try to hold him back, and he pushes past me and walks to the trauma room. He puts on scrubs, not that his clothes matter anymore, and turns to go in. I am on his heal again.

I say, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

But he seems coherent again. He looks me in the eyes and plainly says, “I have to save him.” He goes in and I follow.

Carter has lost a lot of blood. He has almost no blood pressure and needed to be intubated. Chen has done a good job so far, but now I step in with Peter. The tox screen comes back positive for morphine and we give the appropriate drugs to counter the reaction. After what seems like hours, we finally are able to stabilize Carter. He’ll survive once again.

I congratulate Peter (he did an amazing job) but he doesn’t even smile. He just looks at me and says, “We didn’t save him today or 6 months ago. We’ve just delayed his death until he tries again.” And he walks away.

* * *

How did we let it get this far? I blame myself. I could have helped him, but I gave up to easily. And that’s exactly what he did too: gave up on himself too easily. I never thought this would happen, though. Yeah, I knew about the drugs, but drugs and suicide are two completely different steps in life. I know I accused him of being suicidal before, but I never really believed that myself. I always thought that he loved his life. I mean, after all, he’s Carter, happy-go-lucky, clumsy, young Carter. Things have changed haven’t they?

It’s been two days since he was brought to the ER. I was finally able to get a story from the police. Millicent Carter walked in on John while he was taking a handful of pills. She questioned what was going on and that’s when the argument started. After locking himself in his office, Carter injected himself with a lethal dose of morphine he had in his desk. Then he punched out a window, took a shard of glass, and slit his wrists. That’s when Peter broke down the door. At least this is what the police have pieced together from what Millicent Carter told them. They tried to talk to Peter, but he refused to give any input.

Two days and no change. After all the work we did to save him, now Carter just lays in a coma, with machines keeping him alive. He’ll come out of it soon, I know he will…I hope he will. We can’t lose him, yet somehow we already did. I blame myself.

But what makes the whole situation even more depressing is that Carter hasn’t had any visitors, not his parents, not his grandparents, not even any friends…well unless you count Peter. Since he first brought Carter in, Peter has refused to leave his side. Like I said, it’s been two days without any improvement. I am almost as worried about Peter as I am about Carter. He hasn’t slept at all and he’s barely eaten anything. Whenever I (or anyone for that matter) try to talk to him, his response is always, “Not now,” and that’s the end of it. DeRaad came down to speak with him because he went through a traumatic experience, but DeRaad claims that he is fine…that he just needs time with Carter.

Now I stand outside Carter’s hospital room and watch them through the window. Carter looks so peaceful lying on the bed. If it weren’t for the ventilator and heart monitor, I would think that he was napping during one of his shifts. And then there’s Peter. He sits on a chair next to the bed, with his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his clasped hands. I have been watching him, waiting for him (well, either of them) to move, but so far it’s been like watching statues. I look at my watch. It’s been thirty-five minutes since my shift ended and thirty-five minutes since I came up here.

Behind me I hear Kerry’s crutch and her voice says, “How’s he doing?”

I glance at here and respond, “Which one?” sarcastically.

“Yeah. Just, Mark, try not to suck yourself into this.”

“When Carter wakes up Peter will snap out of it, I think. He hasn’t talked to me since after the operation. I’m pretty sure he blames me. Honestly, I blame myself too—”

“Don’t do this to yourself, Mark. You did what you could, but Carter had to…has to take responsibility for his own life. And Peter knows that. A part of him probably blames himself for not getting to John’s house sooner. But it’s no one’s fault except Carter’s. He rejected our help. He did this to himself.”

We watch the men in silence for a few minutes before I continue, “He knew what he was doing, Kerry. It’s obvious that this wasn’t an accident. And if he wanted to end his life—”

“Don’t say it, Mark—”

“—Isn’t it his choice?” I can’t believe those words came out of my mouth. I hear Kerry make a long sigh.

She says, “Would you want to die if you were him?”

This shocks me and I have to digest the question for a moment. “Honestly, yes, if I was suffering as much as he was.”

“You are stronger than me for being that honest. Because I know that if I was as lost as he is, I wouldn’t be in a proper mental condition to understand that there are other options than suicide. And in the end I think I would be grateful for being saved and knowing people who are willing to help me get through this.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” I just stand there and think about all of this until my thoughts are disturbed by someone calling my name.

“Dr. Greene! Dr. Green!” It’s Dave Malluchi.

“My shift ended forty minutes ago, Dave.”

“I know, I know.” He’s standing next to me and panting, “I ran up here to tell you that Dr. Romano is on his way up. I think he’s looking for Dr. Benton, and he seems mad.”

I mumble, "Damn, not Romano.” I turn away from the window and see Robert stepping out of the elevator and walking our way.

“Robert,” I try and stop him but he brushes past me.

“Not now, Greene. I’m pissed enough at you,” and he slams into the hospital room. I follow as Romano continues, now to Peter, “Who the blazes made you this drug-store cowboy’s babysitter, Peter?” But Peter does not move, he just watches Carter. “Peter! I’m talking to you! You are a surgeon not a nanny. Look at me when I’m talking to you.” Still nothing. But now I take Robert by the arm and force him out of the room to where Kerry and Dave are still standing.

“Dave,” I say, “Give us some privacy.” Surprisingly Dave doesn’t argue, but instead just nods his head and walks away.

Kerry starts, “Robert, you need to be more sensitive about this—”

“The hell I do! Peter has missed two shifts and he’s not answering his pager. He’s lucky I’ve given him this much time.”

I am starting to get angry but in a calm voice I say, “He hasn’t moved in two days, Robert—”

“Of course not; he’s in a coma. You’ll be lucky if he wakes up again—”

“No, I’m talking about Peter. This incident hit him hard. He was there when Carter attempted suicide. Even if Peter were functioning, he wouldn’t be fit to do surgery. He’s mentally distant right now.” I try to reinforce this point, “Carter was his favorite student.”

Romano seems to think about this while we all stare into the room. Finally he says, “Fine. I’ll give him to the end of this week. That’s four days. And if he isn’t fit to work or talk about all this, I’m having him sent up to psych.” And he walks away.

‘Sadly,’ I think, ‘that was Robert trying to be nice. He just doesn’t want people to see it. He’s worried too.’

And as we continue to watch the men, I hear Kerry sigh again. I can’t tell if it’s a sigh of relief from Robert or sadness about Carter. I think it’s the latter.

It wasn’t five minutes later when I see Peter jump from his chair and come at us.

He slams through the door and says, “He’s waking up.” Kerry and I clamber in just in time to see Carter’s eyelids flutter open. He tries to speak so Kerry pulls the ventilator out of his throat, but what he says stuns even me.

Carter : You know, there are two kinds of doctors: the kind that get rid of their feelings, and the kind that hold on to them. If you're going to hold on to your feelings, you're going to get sick every once in a while. That's part of it. Helping people is more important than how we feel. Hell, I've been doing this eight years, and I still get sick.

[Carter's drug addiction]
Susan: Vicodin?
Carter : Yeah. If you're going to abuse drugs, abuse a good one.

Mark : You set the tone, Carter.
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DearAbby
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Chief Resident (1,000+ posts)
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Great story! I love it! Please update when u can...its really good!

And Sky......I love your Rascal Flatts banner! Rascal Flatts is the best....next to ER or course! LoL! :lol:
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mark_and_elizabeth_fan_always...I love the banner! Thank you so much!!
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Sky's Fanatic
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DearAbby
Nov 28 2004, 09:38 PM
Great story! I love it! Please update when u can...its really good!

And Sky......I love your Rascal Flatts banner! Rascal Flatts is the best....next to ER or course! LoL! :lol:

LOL I agree on both statements!

This story is great please update ASAP

AND

Rascal Flatts is the best
~Andy Griggs ROX~
~I guess the problem with only listening to a patient for fifteen seconds is, sometimes you don't hear everything...and when you finally realize what they were trying to say, you might've lost them forever.
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All that you see or seem, is but a dream within a dream. - Edgar Allan Poe
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artemis024
Nurse (-100 Posts)
[ * ]
Chapter 22: August. 31, 2000, 4PM, Hospital Room (John Carter’s Point of View):

Everything is dark, but I am okay with that. I wonder if this is death. No, wait, my eyes are just closed. I try to open them, but it takes some effort. Finally I can see through little slits. A hospital room. Now I know I am in hell. No, hell would mean I am working the room. I can see figures and as they come into focus I can see they are Kerry, Mark, and Peter. What’s going on? Then it hits me. I try to talk, but am choked by the ventilator tube.

I hear Kerry say something and assume that she says, “Okay, on three; one, two, three, blow,” and I obey.

I hear my voice cough and then, in a raspy tone, I say, “Where’s Lucy?”

Everyone stops and it almost feels like time has ceased. Finally I hear my voice croak out, “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

The only response I get is Kerry’s weak voice saying, “Oh, John,” and then time stops again. I have to know what’s going on.

“I can’t believe this happened to her and not to me,” I continue. Hot tears are dripping down my face as I ask, “Where is she? I want to see her body.” I start to sit up, but Mark puts his hand on my shoulder and I lay back down.

He says, “Carter, it’s been more than half a year since Lucy died—”

“I’ve been out that long?” I’m confused now.

“No,” Mark sighs, “You don’t have any idea why you are here today?” I slowly shake my head. Mark continues, “Peter brought you in from your grandmother’s house. You were upset about something and you—”

It all comes back to me. I stop him, “I know. I remember now.” I sigh. “You all must have thought I was crazy talking about Lucy.”

“No, not crazy,” Kerry says, “Just confused, out of place.”

“Well,” I say, thinking of a way out of the hospital, “thank you for all of your help, but I think I am much better now.” I start to pull out my IV but Peter grabs my hand.

“Hey, man, what are you thinking? You can’t leave.”

“Like hell I can’t,” and I try to get out of his grip but suddenly Mark and Kerry are holding me down too.

I hear Mark shout over his shoulder, “We need some restraints in here!”

“No! Stop!” I shout. I feel like I am in the twilight zone. All I want is to go home. “Let me go home!”

“We can’t do that, John,” Mark replies and then I feel the pinch of a needle and everything goes dark.

i know that was a short chapter but more will come soon
Carter : You know, there are two kinds of doctors: the kind that get rid of their feelings, and the kind that hold on to them. If you're going to hold on to your feelings, you're going to get sick every once in a while. That's part of it. Helping people is more important than how we feel. Hell, I've been doing this eight years, and I still get sick.

[Carter's drug addiction]
Susan: Vicodin?
Carter : Yeah. If you're going to abuse drugs, abuse a good one.

Mark : You set the tone, Carter.
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Sky's Fanatic
Spade Of The Sky
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poor Carter :( great story please post ASAP
~Andy Griggs ROX~
~I guess the problem with only listening to a patient for fifteen seconds is, sometimes you don't hear everything...and when you finally realize what they were trying to say, you might've lost them forever.
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All that you see or seem, is but a dream within a dream. - Edgar Allan Poe
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countygeneral04
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Medical Student (100+ Posts)
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'lo, i'm now a member! Anyway, that story rocks!!! more soon please!
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countygeneral04
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Medical Student (100+ Posts)
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Update soon Please!
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artemis024
Nurse (-100 Posts)
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Chapter 23: August. 31, 2000, 5PM, Hospital Room (John Carter’s Point of View):

warning: this story was originally written as a R rated story and I felt that this chapter would lose it's impact if I changed it to PG-13, so there is harsh language and there are even more suicidal thoughts in this chapter. DMJ

My head is throbbing. My body aches. At first I think that I have been in a fight. When I open my eyes, I see that I am in a hospital room, laying flat on a gurney. I try to sit up but restraints on my wrists and ankles detain me from this. It all comes back to me: the drugs, the fight with Gamma, and then in the locked room when I…

I hear a woman’s voice and I am startled. She says, “Hello again, John.” I must have flinched because she continues, “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” I lie. I try to raise my head to see whom I am speaking to, but I am unsuccessful. “Where am I?” I ask.

The woman steps forward and I see that it is Dr. Montgomery, the same doctor that I was sent to before. Well, that answers my question and I say, “I’m in the psych ward again,” in an annoyed, dull voice. “Why am I here?”

“Do you remember what happened to you today, John?”

“Yes, unfortunately, I remember all of it. Can you take these restraints off?”

“No, I can’t do that.”

“I don’t belong here.”

“John. I’m not going to play games with you. How long have you been using drugs?”

I sigh. Why can’t these people leave me alone? “They have been prescribed to me since I was attacked.”

“Ok,” she seems frustrated about something, “Let me rephrase the question; how long have you been misusing your medication?”

“I wasn’t misusing them. I only took what I needed.”

“John, you said you remembered what happened today.” I can barely see that she has my chart in her hands.

“Yes…”

“You overdosed today. And I was informed that you overdosed before as well. This wasn’t the first time, was it?”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like that before,” I reply, “I just needed my back to stop hurting.” I feel like a little kid whining to a teacher.

“What about today?” she asks, “Was the morphine from today meant to help your back? And what happened to your wrists?”

I close my eyes. I can’t look Dr. Montgomery in her eyes as I say, “Accidents, they were both accidents.” I am lying of course, and I know that she knows this. I just can’t bear to speak the truth. But I do hear her sigh.

She continues, “Trust is very important to me, John. Hell, I think it’s important for every relationship. But right now I don’t feel like I can trust you.”

Her statement shocks me slightly. I slowly open my eyes and look at her as I say, “You can always trust me.”

She shakes her head and responds, “I can only trust you if you stop lying to me.” I must have had a puzzled look on my face because she continues, “When I first met you, you told me that you weren’t suicidal.”

“Because I wasn’t,” I quickly retort.

“But you are now?” I don’t answer but she continues, “Also when we first met you told me that if you needed to talk, you would come to me. Because of the state you came in today, I felt that you hadn’t gotten help from anyone. John, people are meant to help each other. Why didn’t you talk to anyone?”

I don’t know how to answer her question so I don’t say a word. I just lie on my gurney with my wrists and ankles bound like a prisoner.

“John?” she asks, but I still keep my silence. She continues, “Dr. Carter, you know that you don’t have to answer my questions, but your silence won’t get you out of here any faster.”

I close my eyes and hear the doctor sigh. As she starts to walk away, I decide that I have to tell her – someone – the truth. “I was scared,” I say. “I was scared and I still am scared.” My voice is weak and shaking. I don’t want to cry in front of Dr. Montgomery, but I feel the hot tears on my face. I don’t know if I am more upset about breaking down in front of this woman or that my hands are tied, preventing my from wiping the tears away.

Dr. Montgomery sits down next to the bed and asks, “Why are you scared? What are you scared of? Dying?”

“No, I want to die,” damn I didn’t want to say that. Now I have to fix it. “I never have been afraid of death since my brother died. Everyone I have gotten close to has died.”

“Then what are you afraid of, John?”

I must have taken too long to organize my thoughts because the doctor adds, “John, I want to help you, but I can’t do anything unless you talk to me—”

“Failing,” I finally croak out. “My entire life I have been a failure.”

“Don’t you think you are being too hard on yourself? Nobody thinks you have failed.

“I failed my family. I was supposed to be heir to the business, not a doctor. Now I can’t be either because of today. And I failed my coworkers. And Lucy.” No I don’t want to go into that.

“You didn’t fail your coworkers. You can’t keep blaming yourself for Lucy’s death. Eventually you will understand that there was nothing anyone could do. And as for your family, would you have been happy as the head of the business?”

I want to tell her that that’s not the point. But I can’t. I know I wouldn’t have been happy working for the foundation.

She continues, “I want you to think about this topic of failure, and we can come back to it later.” She pauses, “Do you regret trying to end your life today?”

I don’t want to talk about this right now, or honestly, ever, so I respond, “I told you that was an accident.” I look away from Dr. Montgomery as I say this, not able to look her in the face.

“Dr. Carter, John…” she clears her throat and continues, “I think we both know that it wasn’t an accident.

I was waiting for her to say that. Now maybe if I play my cards right, I can get out of here quicker. I squeeze my eyes as tightly as possible and gently shake my head. I feel tears again, but this time they are forced. I barely make out a whisper, “I can’t…”

I feel Dr. Montgomery’s hand gently touch my arm and her soothing voice says, “It’s okay, John. You can tell me.”

I take a deep breath and sigh, “Yes, I regret doing it,” damn I should have been an actor. “I regret taking the pills. I regret taking the morphine. I regret slitting my wrists. But most of all I regret shouting at Gamma and shouting at—” I stop.

I see Dr. Montgomery scrunch her brow as she says, “John, what is it?”

I finish my thought and mumble to myself, “Dr. Benton.” I must have been staring into space because Dr. Montgomery asks, “John, are you okay?”

I snap out of it and respond, “Yeah. I…just realized that my actions will affect a lot of people.”

“Yeah they will. But you have to remember that every action, good or bad, big or small, affects everyone we love.”

“Right,” I say. I didn’t even really hear her. I am too busy worrying about something else. Finally I ask her, “Dr. Montgomery, is it okay for me to have visitors?”

“I suppose you can have a couple, but only one at a time. Your grandmother has been waiting to talk to you. She said that your parents couldn’t make it—”

“Of course not,” I sarcastically mutter.

“But your grandmother said they will be home to visit you by next week—”

“Just like last time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Last time…after I was stabbed, they didn’t come home until after I was out of the hospital.”

Silence. So I continue, “I’m going to be out of the hospital by then, right?” I can hear the desperation in my own voice.

“John, you must be exhausted. Maybe you should get some sleep—”

“No!” I shout much louder than I wanted to, “Please doctor, answer my question.”

“Well, I’m not sure what’s going to happen. But if you are out of County, you will be sent to a facility—”

“Whoa! Whoa! What do you mean?”

“We can’t just let you out after this. This is a serious ordeal. You are a danger to yourself—”

I can feel my heartbeat speed up as I start to panic. “But I’m not! I told you it was a mistake—”

“I’m sorry, John. Don’t get upset right now. We can discuss this later.” She pauses and I don’t know how to respond. Finally she continues, “You need to calm down or I can’t let you have visitors. Would you like to see your grandmother now?”

The last thing I need is Gamma yelling at me. I have someone else in mind anyway. “Um…do you know if Dr. Benton is available?”

“Actually he’s been waiting outside.”

I’m confused, “For how long?”

“Since I came in before you woke up. He’s been with you since he brought you in.”

I feel so guilty to have taken up so much of Dr. Benton’s life. I swallow and respond, “Can I talk to him alone?”

“Sure,” Dr. Montgomery leaves the room and a few seconds later I hear the door open again. I can’t tell if anyone is in the room because of the damn restraints. I unsuccessfully try to lift my head as I say, “Dr. Benton, are you there?”

“Yeah, Carter, I’m here.” He steps forward and I can finally see him. Something everyone knows about Dr. Benton is that he only shows two emotions: frustration and anger. No, that’s not true. I know differently. When I woke up after I was stabbed…when he told me that Lucy had died, he was a flood of emotions. Others may not have noticed, but I could see it in his eyes; the concern, the sympathy, the happiness that I was okay, and the rage that we had been hurt. Now I see the same flood of emotions on his face. But now his eyes are laced with disappointment. I have disappointed Dr. Benton, my mentor, and I feel myself crumbling under his stare.

I don’t know how to start the conversation so I ask, “Um, Dr. Benton, can you take these restraints off, please?”

“I don’t know if I can do that, Carter.”

“It’s not like I am going to try to escape. And even if I did try, you’d tackle me in an instant." I try my hardest to give him innocent puppy dog eyes.

He sighs and says, “Fine.” He walks around the bed unbuckling the restraints. I sit up at the head of the hospital bed. Ah, how good it feels to be free again. Ok, so I’m not free, but I’m one step closer. I can tell that Dr. Benton is getting ready to lecture me so before he can speak I say, “I don’t belong here.”

I must have caught him off guard because he gives me a strange look and only responds, “What?”

I continue, “People like me don’t belong here. Paul Sobriki belongs here, but not me. Dr. Benton, I want you to know that I’m not crazy.”

Dr. Benton puts on a crooked smile and says, “Carter, man, I know you are not. Nobody said you’re crazy.”

“But I can tell you’re all thinking it.”

“Carter—” He shifts his weight uncomfortably.

“Hear me out for a minute. I’ll admit that I made a mistake at my house,” a lie, “and I’m sorry that you and Gamma had to go through all that,” that’s close enough to the truth, “I’ll even admit that I went too far with my pain medication. But I understand the mistakes I made and that what I did was wrong. I don’t know what my future holds from here on, but I want to get better. Help me, please.”

Benton just straightens up on the bedside chair and sighs. Finally he says, “No.”

I am stunned and stutter out, “Wh-What?”

“Everything you have just said was lies. Except about the drugs. And that was more than ‘too far.’ But all you want is to get out. You have no intention of getting better. Hell, if we let you out, you’ll probably just do it all over again.” He glances around the room for a few seconds then snaps at me, “What the fuck happened to you, Carter?!” I jump when he said that, but I continue staring him straight in his eyes while he continues, “I remember when you were a timid, clumsy, little med-student. And now look at you.”

“Things change.”

“Did they have to change like this? I don’t want to be angry at you, but I don’t know how else I should feel.”

I have been trying to make eye contact so far, but now I have to look away. My heart aches as Dr. Benton opens up to me. I have been lectured a lot recently, and I heard all of this shit they were telling me, but this is the first time that I have bothered myself to listen.

I am sitting on the bed with my knees up to my chin and my arms around my legs. I feel like a little kid again. But this time I take in every word that is being said to me.

“…You have spent so much time and energy to get to where you are and now what? I can’t even think straight anymore, Carter. I have been here for you for over two days—”

Now it is my turn to snap, “Nobody ever asked you to do that!”

“If I don’t do it then who will?”

“Nobody ever asked you to be my fucking hero! No one asked you to save me. You’re right, as soon as I can, I will just shoot up and kill myself!” And time suddenly stands still. I can’t believe those words passed through my lips. I know I had said things like that before, but now I feel the impact in my chest; the same impact that I imagine Dr. Benton felt at my house. My life is over, or at least the life that I once knew.

“John,” my name sends shivers down my spine as he says it. “I don’t think I can help you anymore. If you want to die, I won’t be there to stop you next time.” I can feel tears running down my face as he continues, “I want you to survive this. But what I want more than anything is to go back in time and be there to prevent any of this from happening.”

We sit in silence as I sort things out in my head. What gave me this harsh realization all of a sudden? I have ruined my life. I am no better than some of the patients I see in the ER. I am a drug addict. I am suicidal. Inside I am already dead.
Carter : You know, there are two kinds of doctors: the kind that get rid of their feelings, and the kind that hold on to them. If you're going to hold on to your feelings, you're going to get sick every once in a while. That's part of it. Helping people is more important than how we feel. Hell, I've been doing this eight years, and I still get sick.

[Carter's drug addiction]
Susan: Vicodin?
Carter : Yeah. If you're going to abuse drugs, abuse a good one.

Mark : You set the tone, Carter.
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