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| Help Me, Please; Abby never reported Carter. PG-13 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 7 2004, 07:34 PM (1,434 Views) | |
| Akkalabeth | Dec 16 2004, 11:02 PM Post #46 |
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Nurse (-100 Posts)
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I wanna know mooooooooooooooore!!!! |
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| countygeneral04 | Dec 20 2004, 10:32 PM Post #47 |
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Medical Student (100+ Posts)
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how soon can u post more??? |
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| artemis024 | Dec 20 2004, 11:59 PM Post #48 |
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Nurse (-100 Posts)
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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. |
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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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| Faith | Dec 21 2004, 01:34 AM Post #49 |
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Hospital Chairperson (3,700+ posts)
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It's so good!! I wanna read more
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| There was a rabbit, in a bowler hat cooking an omelette... | |
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| countygeneral04 | Dec 21 2004, 08:37 AM Post #50 |
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Medical Student (100+ Posts)
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what will he choose? update? |
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| countygeneral04 | Dec 21 2004, 08:45 AM Post #51 |
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Medical Student (100+ Posts)
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r u ever going to update finding peace?? |
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| artemis024 | Dec 30 2004, 12:05 AM Post #52 |
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Nurse (-100 Posts)
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Chapter 28: October 1st, 2000, 3:00 PM, Chicago (John Carter’s Point of View): I was in the ‘safe room’ for thirty days. I guess the answer was always obvious. Even though I did not want to ruin my pride, I couldn’t risk not coming back to County. So I went to the ‘safe room’ not knowing what to expect. The first week was the hardest. I was still going through withdrawal. My family came and left, rather quickly. It was probably best that way. They didn’t need to see me in the shape I was in. I can’t begin to imagine how I looked. I was able to trade my paper gown for a set of scrubs. The nurses and doctors at first did not like this idea, but I told them that I just wanted to be a step closer to dignity. I wasn’t allowed to shave my own face; one of the nurses did that for me. And I didn’t eat much in there. I just didn’t have much of an appetite. But in the end I am glad that I cleaned up my act. I was released today. And although I am just as scrawny as before, I do look much better. Benton offered to drive me home, but I declined the offer. I told him that I needed to walk around for a while. Honestly, I was surprised I could function, let alone walk around Chicago, without the pain meds I had been using for so long. Yes, my back still bothers me every so often, but I can handle it now. I was back in physical therapy the last two weeks of my stay, mainly to teach me how to cope with the pain. I am required to go to ninety NA or AA meetings and continue going to therapy for a while if I want to return to County. But I won’t be able to start there for a while either. Kerry and Mark don’t want me to rush back into work. And they also have set very strict rules that I must follow, including no access to narcotics and random drug tests. I can’t go to work and I don’t want to go home. So now I don’t know what to do with myself. The first thing I did upon my release was buy a pack of cigarettes. And I have been walking around so long that the pack is almost empty. I guess it is better to have this addiction than the other one. And strangely now I find myself in the ambulance bay of County. I turn and walk into Doc Magoo’s. For a while I sit in silence, just drinking coffee and smoking. But then I spot her. “Hey,” I call out. She comes over and sits down across from me. “I didn’t think you would ever want to talk to me again,” she says to me. She stares at the table as if she is afraid to look me in the eyes. “After what I said to you, I was afraid you wouldn’t talk to me,” I respond. This gets her to look up. I continue, “I am very sorry for what I said. And I wish I hadn’t put you in that position.” “What position?” “Seeing what I was doing, and not knowing what to do about it.” I take a drag from my cigarette. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I started using. I probably wasn’t thinking at all.” “That’s how it usually goes I guess. But you are looking much better now.” “Thank you. I guess I couldn’t look much worse than the last time you saw me.” We both nervously laugh at that comment. She looks like she wants to say something, but is unsure if she should. So I decide to help her along, “You don’t have to be careful around me, Abby. You can say whatever you want to say.” “Well, it’s nothing big. I was just wondering how you are feeling now.” “Umm . . . every day I feel a little better than the last. Usually at least. I’ve had my ups and downs. But I think I am handling it pretty well now,” I feel as if I said that before. I am snapped out of my thoughts when I hear Abby again. “What are you thinking about?” I chuckle to myself and respond, “The last time I said that I was trying to convince Dr. Montgomery that I wasn’t suicidal. It was before anyone knew about the drugs.” I stop and correct myself. “I guess you knew then.” I am ashamed of myself again. Now I am the one trying to avoid eye contact. I stub out my cigarette and light a fresh one. I feel as if Abby is really listening to me, not like the psychologists I have been forced to speak to. It’s as if she understands what I am going through, maybe because she has known about it the longest. I finally continue talking, “I have a long way to go, but I’m getting there.” I think that is the best explanation I can give to anyone. “I’m glad to hear that, Dr. Carter.” She looks at her watch and says, “My break is over. I should get back.” She starts to walk away but turns back and continues, “I look forward to you coming back,” and she leaves. As I sit there alone, once again, I say in a whisper, “So do I.” FIN |
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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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| countygeneral04 | Dec 30 2004, 12:15 AM Post #53 |
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Medical Student (100+ Posts)
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SO DO I!!!! Love the story, thanks for updating!!! |
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