by Lauren Brown
I planned to keep the money in my drawer in my office a secret, only spending it when needed, especially during the first couple of months when I wasn’t quite sure what the next day had in store. And I did this for a time. Once I started making more money than my desk could hold, I started spending it, lying to Hope about where the money for her new diamonds or the recent purchase of a beach timeshare had actually come from.
After four months, I had twenty thousand dollars in cash.
The highlights of my practice days, in the sense of making money, were in that first year of selling pain meds illegally. The office staff were friendly, the patients were trustworthy and dependent, Hope was joyful, I was confident. I really felt in those days that I had made the right decision in pursuing pain management.
The office was usually busy on Thursdays, so I knew I would have at least five patients paying “out of pocket.” As I walked into the office and flipped the waiting room lights on, I put some pastries on the front desk that Hope had made. Beth and Marty walked in and took their places behind the receptionist counter. They saw me set the pastries down and smiled.
“Did your sweet wife make these?” Beth asked, reaching out to take one.
“Yes, just for you hardworking ladies.” I winked then spun around and sauntered down the hall.
“Well, tell her thank you. She’s a true blessing,” Marty added.
“She really is,” I called out just before entering my office.
I flopped into my office chair and took out a newspaper I had purchased at the gas station on my way to work. I had never purchased or even read the paper for that matter until I had spoken with Allyn on the phone the week prior. He had advised that I buy a paper each week and check the “Right to Know” section.
“Why?” I had asked, perplexed.
“Well, it’ll show you who has recently been arrested along with a mug shot and why they were arrested. That way you know if a patient can be trusted.” Thereafter, I began taping a copy each week to the back of my door.
Besides the new décor on my door though, my way of life hadn’t really changed. I still arrived at 8:30 a.m., read my paper, drank my coffee for thirty minutes, treated patients, ate lunch, treated more patients, and went home. The only difference was that I was making more money and was becoming increasingly better at doing so.
That Thursday, I remember my cell phone ringing in my coat pocket as I waited for my first patient.
“Hey, Beau!” I yelled into the phone. We often talked throughout the week, catching up on sports or the stock market.
“Hey, Johnny, quick question?”
“What’s up?” I glanced in my drawer at the growing pile of money and had euphoria overtake me. I was light as a feather.
“I was wondering if you and Hope would want to come over tonight and have dinner with Janie and me.”
“I’ll ask Hope but shouldn’t be a problem. Thanks for the invite.” I closed the drawer and leaned back in my chair.
“Great! How about seven?”
“Sure. Did you catch the game last night?” I asked.
“Yeah, what was with that call?”
“I know, right? Crazy.” I was eyeing my patient charts atop my desk now. It was hard to pay attention when thousands of dollars were waiting for me. I hoped Beau couldn’t hear the slight distance in my words.
“Hold on a sec,” he said. I heard him set the phone down. Janie had stepped into his office and was reprimanding him for making a patient wait too long. I could hear them talking. “John says they may come to dinner. Okay, okay.” He resumed the call, “I’ve got a patient waiting. Hope to see you two tonight.”
My patients that morning were the usual, but I didn’t trust any of them enough to sell to. One woman, Mrs. Perkins, did ask me about the pills. I looked at her chart and saw elementary school teacher written in her work history. And although that wasn’t a terribly risky profession, I just couldn’t sell her the pills. I wondered why I had let a potential buyer down as I walked to another clinic room and figured maybe it was because Hope had been talking about children so much. Who knows, but I wasn’t too disappointed, because I had high hopes for my two new patient appointments that afternoon.
My new patient appointments were typically referrals from other primary care physicians, pain specialists, or oncologists. I usually had one or two of these referrals every other week, but since meeting with Allyn, there had been a steady increase in the amount of new patient appointments.
I overheard Beth making a comment about it one day. “You’re our tenth new patient this week,” she said over the counter. “I’m not sure I like all this new pain that’s been showing itself lately.”
Marty added, “And the retention rates are unbelievable.”
I had looked up at them from the chart I was reviewing, my pulse gaining speed, and wondered in what context they were speaking. But when neither of them continued the line of conversation further, I let the comments go. It did alert me however. I knew that if patient numbers kept increasing at the rate they were, we would have to stay open later Friday, the front desk staff would have to be increased, and I might have to hire another physician. I tried not to think about the future but rather let each day play out as it should. At that point in time, everything was running smoothly. I knew that I was ultimately in control, and that, if need be, I could put an end to all of it at any time.
Later in the day, I sat in my chair eating the lunch Hope had made for me and retrieved the new patient charts. Both patients were under the age of fifty and both had “neck problems.” One patient, Gregory Wiseman, had been “fired” from his primary care physician’s office, meaning he had probably been in the business of seeking out more pain meds than necessary, abusing them, or getting in trouble with the law. I was never known for taking “fired” referral patients. When Marty had asked why I’d decided to start seeing them, I shrugged and continued organizing papers on my desk. “We’re all guilty of something, Marty. They have to get help from someone. What kind of doctor would I be if I turned down someone for a bad decision they once made? I wouldn’t be a doctor.”
While I waited for Mr. Wiseman, I called Hope to tell her that we had been invited to dinner with Beau and Janie.
“Oh, that sounds wonderful. How’s your day going?”
“Nothing too exciting,” I lied yet again as I looked at Mr. Wiseman’s chart sitting in front of me.
“Well, don’t become numb to the pain, honey. If you do, you’ll lose sight of why you’re there and you’ll never be happy.” I could tell she was balancing the phone between her ear and shoulder. It sounded as if she was cleaning something.
“I know, I know. How’s the painting going?”
“It’s going. Washing the paint out of my brushes now. Oh, and I took my temperature this morning and I’m supposed to be ovulating,” there was a pause. I assumed she was looking at the calendar taped above the sink in her art room, “Tomorrow at”—another pause—“five thirty-two p.m.”
I laughed, “Well, I guess I’ll have to make it home early tomorrow.” Hope and I had been trying to conceive for almost two years.
“Yes you will. You’ll just have to tell Beth. She’ll understand. But hey, my paint is drying so I got to go. I’ll be ready for dinner when you get home!” I smiled as I hung up the phone and made my way to Mr. Wiseman’s room.
Mr. Wiseman was a mason by trade. He was a tall, muscular man with dark brown eyes, a buzz cut, and a protruding jaw to accompany his chewing tobacco. His muddy boots were swinging off the table.
“Hi, Mr. Wiseman. How are you?”
“I’ve been better, you know how these ole’ bones go, gotta grease em’ up like a tin man.”
He looked awkward with all his weight hunched on the table. He smiled wide enough so I could see the chew in his mouth.
“Yeah, so what brings you in today?” I grimaced at the tar-like goop in his mouth.
“I got me some real bad neck pain. I’ve b
een layin’ brick at that new movie theatre, you know, off Hixson Road.” He was starting to drool so he took a large finger and pushed the chew further back into his mouth before continuing, “And, well, I fell about a month ago off a scaffold. Fell from the scaffold’s stacks and landed right on my back. They rushed me to the ER and I got me some morphine in the hospital, but because I had been in the ER three times in the past month, they wouldn’t prescribe me any more hydrocodone. Told me there weren’t no broken bones and they were afraid I was becomin’ addicted. Which really pissed me off because that ain’t true.”
“I see,” I said as I filled out the remainder of his chart. “Any medical problems in your family?”
“No, sir, not really.”
“Well, let’s take a look at you.”
I stood behind him and lifted his shirt. I saw no obvious bruising, no odd curvature, he seemed fine. But who was I to say if he was really fine or not? I pressed along his vertebrae, and he jumped when I reached his neck.
“Now, I think I know why your primary care physician fired you, Mr. Wiseman,” I said as I made my way around the table to talk to him face-to-face. He straightened his back, suddenly nervous. “The emergency and family medicine physicians have a, let’s say, ‘lower tolerance’ for people suffering from chronic pain, which is why they referred you to me. As you know, I do pain medication a little differently here. Typically, I don’t see patients who have been let go from other clinics. It’s too risky. But I changed my practice recently. Were you, by chance, given oxycodone in the ER in the past?”
“Yep. I actually come to see you about that,” he confessed.
“So you’ve heard?”
He knew what I was talking about because he nodded yes.
“I thought you had. What I’m going to do is write you a prescription for some more. Normally in your case I would require you to see a spine surgeon before the second visit. But we both know why you’re really here.” I took out my pad of blank scripts. “Did your friends tell you how this works?”
“Yeah, they did. I brought my cash.” I watched him reach deep in his pocket for his money with the same finger he had used to readjust his chew. My stomach clenched at the sight.
“Good. I’ll take the cash back here and then you’ll pay your normal visit fee up front. I’ve also got pills I can sell you.”
I exchanged the pills and the script for his cash.
“I am, however, going to schedule you a CT scan. We’ll reevaluate your situation and try to figure out exactly what’s going on with your back. We’ll get you all fixed up, Mr. Wiseman. For now, try to get some rest and be pain-free.” I stood and opened the door for him.
I returned to my office and sat in my chair, waiting for the next patient. In the beginning, I had been incredibly nervous after selling to a patient, with consistent flutters in my stomach. I was usually afraid the patients would slip and say something at the nurses’ station or get questioned by the pharmacist. I had grown accustomed to it in the passing weeks, but for some reason on that April day I felt, I don’t know, different. I didn’t feel excited or nervous or numb, I felt relieved. The morning had been full of duds. I had seen zero patients I could sell to, and I had been so agitated I wouldn’t sell anything for the day that when I did I was relieved. I wasn’t sure if after four months I should have been antsy to sell every single day and, so, that feeling of relief was somewhat concerning, as if I was becoming addicted to writing those prescriptions.
I glanced at my watch as I waited for Hope in our driveway. I had left the office late and didn’t have time to freshen up before dinner. I ran my hands through my hair and popped in a breath mint. I looked to our home and studied it.
We had purchased it shortly after I accepted my position at the hospital. Though it was located in an average neighborhood and had only two bedrooms, we had been overtaken with joy just to own a home. Hope had seen the small guesthouse with its own private sink in the backyard and had pulled me in as we departed from the realtor. “This is the one, John. That guesthouse can be my painting room. It has a sink. It’s perfect.” She was practically begging. We weren’t sure if we would be able to secure a loan, but somehow we did and it was ours within the week.
It was the only house in Hamilton Heights to be somewhat secluded. The home occupied the dead-end at the back of the neighborhood. It had originally been yellow, but Hope spent countless hours in the first few months repainting it an off white. With the little money we had, she planted hydrangeas under the windows, she added spotlights around the trees and patched the cracks in the semicircle driveway and, though my previous parsimonious self protested its cost in the beginning, she had a trellis built above the front door, which now possessed creeping vines and roses. Our home was beautiful but not as beautiful as her.
I watched her run out to my truck just as she had when I’d picked her up for our first date. She was blissful and free, and I loved it.
She kissed my cheek as she buckled her seatbelt. “Sorry, I was covered in paint.
“New piece?” I asked before returning the kiss.
“I started a new piece for the auction.” She pulled her long hair around her neck.
“The auction? Was it approved?”
“Did I forget to tell you today on the phone?” She shook her head. “My mind has been all over the place. But yes, it was! Approved for another year as of this morning.”
“That’s great news!” I exclaimed as I pulled out of our driveway.
Beau and Janie’s house was on the well-known Mayflower Road. It was about ten miles long, lined with pine and oak trees and large, older homes nestled into one or two acre lots. Mayflower Golf and Country Club rested at the end of the road with an eighteen-hole course spanning multiple homes’ backyards. Many middle and upper class families had settled along this road, renovating homes over time. It was considered a safe, ideal place to live, and though I rarely golfed, Hope and I had planned to move there once we could afford it, which at the rate I was selling, would be sooner than expected.
Beau and Janie lived in a two story 1950’s plantation style home that overlooked the golf and country club’s signature number ten green, a true homeowner’s dream. A little envy filled my heart each time I saw it. Hope pretended not to care.
Beau walked out of the house with a beer in hand and greeted us each with a hug.
“Hey! So glad you two could join us! Come on in. I think Janie’s in the kitchen.”
“Good to see ya, man, how was the rest of your day?” I asked as I followed him onto the porch.
“It was good. The practice just took on a new family medicine doctor, Eddie, who’s a real prick, but you know how that goes.”
“Yeah, that’s why I haven’t hired a another doctor yet,” I fibbed.
“How’s your place going? Eddie sent you a patient the other day I think.” He finished his beer and motioned me to follow him to the kitchen.
“We’ve had a tremendous growth in patients. Only took me two and half years to attract them, but all the work is beginning to officially pay off.”
“Good to hear. I keep trying to convince Janie to let me open my own practice, especially now with Eddie.”
“Beau.” Janie eyed him. “Eddie is new. Give him some time. Hi, John,” she said, giving me a quick side hug. Beau rolled his eyes at her.
Janie was originally from Greece, but spoke almost perfect English. She was short and busty with short black hair. She wasn’t the prettiest thing to lay your eyes on, but she was perfect for Beau, and that’s all that mattered.
“I got beer, whiskey, what’ll you have?” she asked me.
“I’ll take a beer, thanks, Janie.” I watched Hope pour a glass of pinot noir. “Smells good in here!”
“Well you’re just in time, because it’s ready. Go ahead and have a seat in the dining room.”
I took a seat at their dining room table, letting out a breath as I drank my red ale beer. The savory smell of a cooked meal and the vo
ices of friends set me at such ease that I temporarily forgot about my day’s work.
What I would do to go back to those days.
“I’ll say a quick prayer,” Beau said as he took Janie’s hand. She gave him a serious look, but he ignored it.
I held Hope’s hand in my left and reached for Janie’s across the table. I opened one eye and watched. I was never one to really pray.
“Lord, thank you for this wonderful meal my wife prepared for us tonight. Thank you for patience as I deal with Eddie. Thank you for good friends, especially our beautiful wives. Amen.” He looked at Janie with a grin. “See, honey, I kept it appropriate.” He winked.
“So,” Janie said, looking at me over her wine glass, “Hope told me the clinic is going well, John.”
“Yes, yes it is. We’ve had an increase in patient numbers, which has been nice. I was worried about starting my own business, but it’s finally beginning to look promising. Now whether or not those new patients come back, I’m not so sure,” I stated, though I knew that wasn’t necessarily true.
“I can relate,” Beau said through a mouthful of food. “I have patients, but I just can’t get them to keep their appointments. I had three no shows this week, and when I tried to call them, their phone lines were either wrong numbers or had been disconnected.”
“Maybe they’re trying to tell you something,” I said.
Everyone laughed. Beau shot me a smirk before taking in another forkful.
Janie changed the conversation. “Beau, tell them about Dr. Graham.”
“Dr. Graham?” Hope asked.
“You know him don’t you, John?”
I nodded although I couldn’t remember his face exactly.
Beau took a long sip to finish his beer. “Well, he works in pediatrics at the hospital, and he told me a wild story last week when we ran into each other. He and another physician went hunting in Canada last weekend, and you won’t believe what happened.”
“What?” Hope asked wide-eyed.
“He had taken his chocolate Labrador with them, and towards the end of duck hunting, the dog swam towards what they thought were the ducks they had shot. They wade out into the marsh, over to the chocolate lab, who is barking like crazy, thinking that he’s found the ducks. But the lab actually found a body floating in the cattails.”