Failing Upward

Chapter 2 (part 2): Man, meet Llama

He looked down in disgust and explained I should get a ticket for not wearing a seatbelt. Who was he, Ralph Nader? I thought, what's going on here? First I'm lectured by Bernice the nurse on the evils of drugs and now Dr. Dat Doctor on proper seat restraints. Weren't these health professionals? I might have to reassess my future profession choice. So, was I unsafe at any speed? My mind saw in some skewed way, I was fortunate. Bernice told me about my car--landing upside down in the river bed after going down the ravine. My poor dead Mustang's top, crushed down into the driver's seat. My car was most likely totaled. If I hadn't gone out the windshield, I might have been totaled, too. I always wear a seat belt. It's just for some odd reason I was distracted and didn't strap it on.

Then there was the cost of replacing or repairing my car. My head hurt more. How much would that cost on top of my hospital bills?

Money. And lack of it. So the next question to the doctor was how long much longer I had to stay. He was noncommittal--"A few more days," he said, shrugging. After all, he was a doctor and I wasn't close to being one yet--he probably owned a half million dollar home at least. Only in America. He wouldn't be concerned. Keeping me and my sore body in the hospital lined his pockets, but it was costing me. My deductible was high, but when I worked for not a lot more than minimum wage at a greenhouse, I guess I should count myself lucky to have any insurance at all. Times like these I seriously considered enlisting in the military to help pay for college.

After Dr. Doctor left, I was alone in my room. I still got no peace. Taking a simple breath hurt. My finger throbbed--I imagined I was Giovanni in Rappaccini's Daughter , and the thorn like some poison coursing through my veins. I decided sleep was the only answer, but the cold streak of pain refused to fade. I pressed the call button and begged for "good" drugs so I could sleep.

Bernice was kind. She gave me a Demerol injection straight into my IV.

I woke, and my IV was gone. It was morning. The nurse on duty told me they might send me home since the doctor had written up my discharge--but I couldn't go until after a psychologist visited me and discussed my so-called drug problem .

What the fuck was this? I had no drug problem. But I was too tired and in too much pain to argue. So when the psychologist, Ella Thompson, came confidently into my room, I just sat, listened and answered her questions about my "addiction." I was fine with it all until she asked me what drug I'd taken the night of the accident because toxicology said the substance in my system was "unknown." I looked at her--confused. She was a nice enough woman, but she had it all wrong.

I lost it.

"Listen," I said. "I don't take drugs. Okay, I admit I've smoked pot before, but not in a while. That day I was working and on a delivery. I didn't drink. I didn't take anything. Not even an aspirin. I was completely straight."

My eye twitched when I said the word straight. Fuck.

She nodded like she didn't believe me, then typed in something on her iPad, and I heard her mumble "taking drugs at work." I frowned. She looked up.

"The first step, John, is admitting you have a problem," she said.

I groaned. Silence. She was waiting for me to either have some breakdown, rant or admit I smoked crack or something. I didn't give. I could wait as long as she could. Maybe. I stared up at the clock on the wall.

But I decided I wanted to get discharged today, so I calmed down and explained it rationally to her.

"I have no drug problem," I said. "I didn't take any drugs. I don't know what that unknown substance is, but the fact that it can't identified doesn't mean I'm an addict. I'm pre-med. I've taken enough chemistry classes to know that some substances could come up as unknown in toxicology." I held my mouth firm. At least I hoped it looked firm to her, so she'd fuck off. I did my doctor face. She used her magic fingers some more on her iPad, then wrinkled her nose one more time.