by Jaime Maddox
She tried to tell herself to relax, but it was useless. She’d be up before the sun again tomorrow and start all over. Hopefully, it would be a better day.
Chapter Nine
Big Steps
Leaning back in the comfortable club chair in the large meeting room that housed the group therapy session, Jess closed her eyes. Try as she might, she couldn’t tune out the voice of the woman speaking about her history of sexual abuse. Or was the voice just a memory of a tale she’d heard countless times in the past week? So many women in this group had been abused as children that she felt excluded from their club, inferior in some way for choosing addiction as an adult rather than having it decided for her by the cruel influences of childhood. If they weren’t abused, they were neglected, or their parents were addicts. Of the twenty women around her, fifteen of them had similar tales to tell. Sticking with Ward’s story as the trigger for her downfall had helped Jess to remember the lie, but it sounded lame in comparison. She didn’t want to hear any more.
She’d been at the clinic for eight days, and after just one she’d felt well enough to go home. The medication completely satisfied her drug cravings, and she was amazed to see how well it worked. After a few meetings with the psychiatrist she’d come to agree that she did indeed have PTSD, but she was convinced her case was mild. If Ward would have taken her, she would have already left, but she wanted more than just a ride home from Ward. And if she wanted more—a relationship, a home, a life—she had to go through this month and prove to Ward she’d changed.
Opening her eyes, Jess tried to focus on the conversation once again. Sarah, a new girl, was speaking. She seemed young, too thin to be healthy, and covered from neck to feet in tattoos. “So I looked at the picture on the front page of the newspaper and thought, ‘Holy fuck, that’s Damian.’ I wasn’t sure what to do, you know? I mean, it’s not every day your boyfriend robs a bank, right? When I got home after work, he was high, like usual, and I told him about the picture. He just sort of flipped, running around the apartment trying to get some shit together so he could leave town. He didn’t even have his bag packed when the cops started pounding on the door. There were drugs in the house and, of course, some money from the robbery, so they hauled us both to jail. The prosecutor decided I was a good candidate for drug court, so here I am. Whatever.”
“Thanks, Sarah,” the moderator said, and a chorus of supportive remarks from the rest of the group followed her response.
Jess regretted that she’d missed the beginning of Sarah’s tale. She knew how she’d gotten to rehab, but how had Sarah ended up in an apartment with a bank-robbing drug addict? Was she another victim of abuse and neglect? More importantly, could she beat this addiction? Jess knew how hard it was, even with all the advantages she had—a good job, a good family, financial security. Not a single person she knew well used drugs. Her people were good people, good citizens. They would support her, if she chose to share her struggle with them. She wouldn’t, of course. How could she, when she was hiding her addiction from the state medical board? But if anyone could make it, she could. She had every reason to get her life back, which was just what she planned to do.
What about Sarah, though, and the other women like her? How would they ever find their way? It seemed like all their friends and families were fighting the same battles. Where could they draw strength? Who could they lean on? Sure, she’d been going to the stupid AA and NA meetings, and she gained some comfort from sharing her struggle with others who understood it, but that was for an hour or two a day. Even though she didn’t feel she needed the rehab, she was enjoying the process. For the first time in her adult life, she was taking care of herself instead of working, studying, reading, preparing. She was doing yoga and meditating, talking to people, and for the most part, listening. She was opening up about her own insecurities, the issues that perhaps had helped her along the road of addiction. Hearing other people’s stories was comforting and affirming, but at the same time, exhausting. At the end of each meeting she didn’t stick around to socialize. Instead, she bolted, back to the quiet of her room where she could breathe and refocus. Relax. Escape.
What if she didn’t have an escape, because it was all around her, all the time? Jess thought of all the great people she had in her life and was flooded with guilt. Betraying them all, she’d chosen to isolate herself emotionally, and then physically, to hide her addiction. Instead of asking for help and facing the consequences, she’d chosen to hide and pretend. Most of her relationships had suffered as a result of her behavior. Many of them were beyond repair. Her father, she knew, would always be there. Wendy was salvageable. Ward was the big question.
As soon as the moderator closed the meeting, Jess slipped through the door and down the hall and into her room. After checking that the bathroom was empty, she snuck her iPad out of her suitcase, slipped it under her shirt, and headed into the bathroom. There was no lock on the door, but so far, her new roommate seemed to respect her privacy.
It hadn’t taken a genius to figure out the facility’s Internet password. HartleyGuest. Who the hell were the guests? Either you worked here or were a patient here, and if you were a patient, the Internet was off-limits. Shaking her head, Jess logged into her email account. She had thirty new messages since yesterday, most of them garbage. She filed them into the trash and then read the few that interested her. She was invited to play in a golf tournament, had a new coupon to use at her favorite Internet clothing store, and had endless possibilities for cheap travel. After deleting them, Jess logged in to her new account at the buprenorphine website.
If she wanted to beat her addiction, she needed to know everything about it. She’d signed up for classes to become a buprenorphine physician. She didn’t intend to actually prescribe the drug, but the classes gave her a plethora of information. How it worked, how to best dose it, how to deal with the side effects. How to come off it. The drug’s manufacturers recommended weaning after stabilizing patients for a year, but Jess was concerned about that. Many of the patients in the clinic had tried to wean and couldn’t, and had ended up using again as their doctors gave them less medication. She wondered if it was too soon to start her own taper. She was taking twelve migs and felt good. Normal. Maybe tomorrow she’d take eleven, just to see what happened.
After reading a few articles on addiction and bup, she noted the time. Ten minutes until her meeting with Dr. Gompers. They’d met daily for the first few days, but now they were down to weekly sessions, and Jess was happy about that. The doctor was sharp, and Jess couldn’t help but worry that her lies were going to be exposed.
“Hey,” Jess said in greeting, trying to keep it light.
“How are you feeling?”
Jess briefly debated discussing a wean, but she knew better. The doctor had already told her she’d need to be on the medication for a year, so what was the point? If she was going to do this, it was on her own. “I feel great.”
“You shouldn’t be feeling withdrawal symptoms at this point, so that’s good. How do you feel emotionally? How are your group sessions going?”
Now Jess felt she could be honest. “I feel guilty that I wasn’t abused as a child and forced down the path of drug abuse. It’s like I chose it.”
“Everyone deals with the stresses in their life differently, Jess. People with good coping skills usually don’t end up in my office. But there is the element of susceptibility as well.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’m sure you’ve seen this in your friends and family. Everyone has a drink now and again, but why can’t some people stop until they’re falling-over drunk?”
“Good point.”
“So the issue I’m getting at with you here is stress management. You’ve relied on pills to manage your stress, as some people use alcohol. The drugs are the treatment for you. Do you understand that? They’ve become the problem, but they’re also the treatment.”
Jess thought for a moment. “I think I see.”
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“Bup will not stop you from feeling stressed. But now that you’re in treatment, you can’t pop a pill when you have a bad day at the office. And I don’t advise you to start drinking. So how are you going to cope?”
Jess told her about her yoga and meditation routine. “And I think I need to reach out to people, too.”
“Well, that’s always helpful. That’s why we recommend AA and NA meetings. And of course, you’ll continue your counseling when you leave here. How’s the PTSD?”
Jess shrugged. It was a difficult question to answer. On the one hand, she knew her experience was random, and like a lightning bolt, that sort of trouble should never find her again. She’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. She felt vulnerable though, and even though she knew Hawk had been indicted at the hearing and was in jail until his trial, thoughts of him and what had happened to her were still enough to make her crave six Xanax at once. As her therapist had suggested, she’d begun to turn her fear to anger, and it was helping.
For the most part, though, she was good. The meetings had been somewhat helpful. Art therapy had exposed some character flaws, and psychodrama had allowed her to vent some pent-up feelings. And she was beating the crap out of everyone at Ping-Pong. She was considering a table for her formal sitting room at home. Maybe she’d finally learn to play beer pong, fifteen years after college. Like she’d told Ward, she was learning to lighten up.
“I think I’m doing well,” she said at last.
“You seemed pretty poised last night.”
Jess looked at her, confused, as she thought about the night before. Then it hit her. As they’d trekked around the grounds the night before, one of the patients had tripped and fallen, landing on her arm. When Jess reached her, she saw the obvious deformity and knew it was broken. They were about a mile from the clinic at the time, and though they had an ATV to retrieve her, Jess knew the arm needed to be splinted before the rocky ride back. Using someone’s bulky sweatshirt and someone else’s shoelaces, she’d made a passable model.
Her mouth went dry as she stared at the doctor, too scared to speak. Where was the doctor going with this?
When Jess still didn’t reply, Dr. Gompers asked, “Former Girl Scout?”
Jess laughed. “Of course. I grew up in the mountains.”
“Well, you handled that like a pro, and I thought perhaps you had learned the technique from your ex-partner, the ER doctor. So I googled Dr. Ward Thrasher, one of my best former students, and would you believe what I found on the Internet? She was involved in this horrible case where a doctor is suspected of murdering his patients. He kidnapped three people. One of them was a woman named Dr. Jessica Benson.”
Jess swallowed as she slid down into the chair and closed her eyes. There seemed to be no point in denying who she was. She opened her eyes and met Dr. Gompers’s gaze. “Busted.”
“That you are. And now I’m not sure what to do. I have a duty to you, as my patient, to protect your secrets. I have a greater duty to mankind, to protect them from you. My question is, can you be trusted to practice medicine? To prescribe narcotics?”
Jess knew she should have pleaded, but she didn’t have the energy. “I guess you’re going to have to decide that for yourself.”
“Tell me your real story.”
Jess grabbed a tissue to wipe away tears that sprang from nowhere and began with her wrist injury. She told Dr. Gompers everything—how she’d written a prescription in Ward’s name, purchased pills off the streets and from her patients. Then she told about going to the hospital and being attacked by Hawk.
“I want my life back, Dr. Gompers. I don’t want to be an addict anymore. And I think I had things under control until this happened.”
“I have a question, Jess.”
“Shoot.”
“How did you handle school? Premed, medical school, residency? That’s a tough course, yet you made it.”
Jess shrugged. “I suppose it was. But I buckled down and did it. Somehow. Then life started to happen, I guess.”
“That’s it, Jess! Life happens. It’s what we do, and how we react when life happens, that makes the difference. You tend to melt down and take pills. That’s what we have to fix about you—that tendency—so you can be successful in your recovery.”
“So I need a plan B, huh?”
She nodded. “I think that plan should also involve your personal life. You already told me how Ward is too nice and lets you do whatever you want. Do you really think she’s the right person for you?”
“I love her.”
“I’m sure you do. But when you really think about it, if there was a plan B woman, someone else who you were attracted to, but maybe with a little more spine perhaps, would you be interested?”
Jess’s pause answered the doctor’s question.
“Ward has moved on, Jess. So should you. It’s hard to be single, but you’ll make it. Go out with your colleagues, join a golf league, do something to get out of the house and away from your isolation and your thoughts of Ward. Because if you do, perhaps you’ll meet a woman who knocks your socks off.”
Jess swallowed tears. Dr. Gompers’s words were true. She loved Ward for many reasons, but none of them were enough to break up Ward’s relationship with Abby. And none of them were enough to make Jess happy if she did.
“Perhaps you’re right.”
“Trust me, I am.”
“So, what about me? About the little fibs I told you?”
“What I would like to do, as a professional courtesy not only to you, but to Ward as well, is mentor you. I want to talk to you every day after your release, to make sure you’re doing what you’re supposed to be doing. I’ll see you back here monthly, to prescribe you your medication, if necessary, but mostly just to make sure you’re able to function professionally.”
“And you won’t report me to the state medical board?”
“Not unless you give me a reason to.”
Chapter Ten
A Long Road Home
“I can’t thank you enough,” Jess said as she opened her freshly stocked refrigerator and grabbed a Coke. Without asking, she filled two glasses with ice and poured the drinks, then handed one to Ward.
“No trouble. I’ve been keeping an eye on the place for you. Just to give your dad a break. Do you want me go over the alarm system again?”
Jess shook her head. “It’s not that different from the one we have in Philly.” Sighing, she looked at Ward. “I just never thought I’d need one here.”
“And you don’t. You don’t need to keep the neighbors out, Jess. Just Hawk. And the security system where he’s at is like friggin’ Alcatraz.”
“Didn’t Clint Eastwood escape from Alcatraz?”
“Bad example. Sorry,” Ward said, but a smile appeared on her face before she hid it with her glass.
Jess sipped her soda as she looked around the kitchen, then at Ward. She’d never lived in this house when she wasn’t an addict. Would she be able to adjust, when she had so many bad habits here? She looked around the room to the places she’d hidden her pills, hidden her secret life from her partner. And this was just the kitchen. She’d stashed her pills in many other places in the house so Ward would never find them. It had been painfully difficult, keeping her secret. Sobriety had to be easier.
“You got rid of my pills, right?”
Ward grinned. “The ones I could find.”
“Right. Maybe you should do a clean sweep before you go.”
Ward looked down her nose suspiciously. “Really, Jess?”
Jess thought for a moment. “No, I think they’re all gone. Once you left, I didn’t need to hide them. I think the bottles by the bed and in the medicine cabinets were it.”
“Then they’re gone. And you’re okay with that?”
“I’m fine, really.”
“Because I don’t want you to do anything…rash.”
“I feel good on the bup. I’m not worried, okay?”
Once again, Jess remembered why she hadn’t shared her illness with Ward. Ward just wouldn’t let go. She changed the subject. “So this whole day has been all about me. I feel great. Really, I do. I think my addiction is under control, my PTSD as well. But how are you? How’s Abby?”
Ward’s smile was controlled, as if she didn’t want to brag about how happy she was. Jess couldn’t help feeling a twinge of jealousy, but after her confrontation with Dr. Gompers, she knew she had to let Ward go. As much as they’d loved each other, Ward wasn’t good for her. She’d spent the ensuing weeks at therapy thinking about that, about rebuilding her personal life in a way that didn’t include Ward in an integral way.
“Everything’s good. We’re in the honeymoon phase now, so we think everything about each other is adorable.”
“How gross,” Jess said, not out of jealousy, but just because that’s how she felt.
“We were that way once.”
“Never. I’ve never been that way, ever.”
“Well, maybe that explains why we’re not together anymore, right? I’m a honeymooner and a little romantic, and you’re more serious. They didn’t cure you of the serious while you were on the inside, did they?”
Jess laughed. “Not a chance. Well, maybe a little. I’m trying, Ward. Really hard. I want to lighten up and enjoy my life. Hawk taught me that I can’t count on tomorrow. I want to enjoy today.”
“I’m glad you came clean with Dr. Gompers. Honesty and integrity are important to your recovery.”
“I lied to so many people for so long the truth feels sticky coming out of my mouth.”
Standing, she adjusted the dial on the AC in the window. While she’d been away, July had turned to August, and the little valley of Garden was starting to bake. It was hard to imagine that fall was only a month away, that Ward’s time in the mountains was about to expire. Wondering about her plans, she turned and rested against the counter. “Have you decided about September?”