Carol was planted on what had become her permanent place in the house. When she wasn’t at work in her new subservient role, she was on the couch in front of the TV. It had become her hiding place. She had been off the medication for three days and was indescribably exhausted. The first night had been of no consequence. She had awakened numerous times throughout the night and felt tired the next day, but she was used to that pattern. The following two nights, she had been up more than asleep, and when she did sleep, it had been very light and fitful. Carol was familiar with insomnia and with the feeling of exhaustion as a result. But the fatigue she felt now was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. It was as if her arms and legs were useless. She felt weak and unable to lift herself off the couch. The only time in her life when she had been this weak was during an illness, and she wasn’t sick.
Carol dragged herself off the couch and made her way to the phone. She dialed the number at work and informed the receptionist that she would not be able to make it in. It had only been a few days since her demotion, and she felt sure that people would attribute her absence to that. And although her motivation was hanging by a thread, Carol would not have been able to navigate herself to a Caribbean cruise. Carol hung up the phone and walked back to the couch. She lied back down, breathless from the effort. What is wrong with me? She was too weak to call the doctor, much less drive there. She decided to wait one more day. Waiting was the path of least resistance.
It was Friday and the study at Dominex had completed its first week. The company had received fifteen distress calls from its first fifty volunteers. The majority of those calls had come from the volunteers that had begun the study early in the week. The primary complaint was weakness, fatigue and flu like symptoms. They had all been instructed that some discomfort was normal and to remain home to rest. It would pass.
Charles Roman was seated in the conference room, accompanied by Jeff Edwards and Sam Reynolds. The topic of the day was not the reported symptoms. The topic was Sheila Montgomery. Charles was shaking his head. “I don’t understand why it has to be Sheila. We have people who are more experienced and can deal with the problem as well, or better." Sam and Jeff just looked at each other. The CEO liked to keep his hands clean, but in this case, he had to be informed.
“Charles, are you aware of the calls we received this week from some of the study volunteers?" Sam began.
Of course he was unaware. Phone calls went to his minions. He glared at the two men and gave an impatient hand gesture to tell him more.
“So far," Sam continued, “we have received fifteen calls out of the fifty volunteers. Their complaints of flu symptoms were not unexpected."
“And?" Charles said, unimpressed. “We already knew this from the reports the FDA has received."
“Okay," Sam continued. “We don’t know how many volunteers will have…” Sam searched for the correct word, “…problems."
Charles was beginning to understand and asked, “So, what’s this got to do with Sheila?"
“We might have to get creative," Jeff interjected. Charles now used both hands making the same “let’s have it” gesture. “For some reason, Sheila has made it her mission to keep a sharp eye on this study."
“Well, sure," Charles said. “She feels like it’s her study."
“We can’t have that," Sam said, and looked at Charles to be sure he understood the seriousness of his statement. Charles slowly began to nod.
“Okay," he said. “But she won’t like this at all."
“Tough," Sam said. “And just so she is real clear on this, we’ll put it in writing. I don’t feel like having any more meetings about this." As far as Sam and Jeff were concerned, they had already clocked too many hours on the “Sheila issue.”
“Silent knives…dissect me, and I feel no pain.”
On Saturday morning, Carol awoke in terror. She felt as though her entire abdomen was on fire. Carol began to groan and Josh rolled over to see what was wrong. “I’m in trouble," Carol said. Josh placed a comforting arm on Carol’s stomach, and she screamed out in pain. The soreness was unbearable and Carol began to cry. “What is wrong with me?" she said between sobs.
“I don’t know,” Josh said, in a panic. “Do you want to go to the emergency room?"
“I don’t want to move," Carol cried. “Call the doctor’s office. There has to be someone on call."
Josh was up dialing, while Carol worked to calm herself down.
“Just take deep, slow breaths," Josh said, while he waited for someone to answer the phone. When the answer came, he attempted to describe the details of Carol’s problem.
“I’ll have the doctor return your call," the woman said. Josh gave her a phone number and hung up.
Carol was no longer sobbing when Josh returned with a cold washcloth. He was placing it on her forehead, when the phone rang. Josh grabbed the phone on the first ring. “Dr. Hopton. Thank you for calling."
“Let me talk to him," Carol interjected. Josh handed the phone to her. Carol gave him the entire history of the past five days.
“You should go back on the medication," Hopton advised. Carol thought about his statement for a minute before responding.
“This is from stopping the medication?" Carol asked in alarm.
“Most likely, it is."
“If this is what happens when I stop taking that… crap…” Carol did not finish the sentence. She was in shock.
“You shouldn’t have stopped your medication without my consent," he stated firmly.
“I stayed on it with your consent," Carol said angrily. “If I’m sick from going off this shit, then I’m addicted to it. Why would I want to continue an addiction?"
“If you insist on going against medical advice, then I would advise you to go to the emergency room," Hopton responded coldly. “You did not have my consent to stop the medication. You did that on your own." Carol couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“The issue is not whether I did this with your permission," Carol yelled into the phone. “The issue is that I am addicted to a medication that you prescribed."
“The only thing I can tell you to do is to go to the emergency room," he stated again, with hostility.
“Yeah, right," Carol said, and hung up the phone with prejudice. It didn’t matter. Hopton had already disengaged – literally.
All Josh could do was stare at her. Based on her side of the conversation, things had not gone well. All the color had drained from her face as she worked to understand what just transpired. This friendly faced, smiling doctor had just undergone a major personality change.
Finally, Carol looked at Josh.
“He shouldn’t have kept me on that shit, and now he’s out of the loop."
“What does that mean?" Josh said.
“It means he is covering his ass." In the next few moments, Carol came to grips with the horror of her reality. She had been innocently popping a pill every night, and had never realized that slowly and quietly she had become severely addicted. Her need for sleep and the maintenance of a workaholic had made her conveniently blind to the obvious. My god! What have I done?
It was Monday, and week two of the study. Sheila read the memo for the third time. Please be advised that your assignment in New Jersey has been confirmed. We have considered your request to reassign this project to your staff and find it to be in the best interest of the company to maintain your personal representation. Your departure has been scheduled for Wednesday of this week. A complete itinerary will be sent to you via email. We appreciate your support. The memo was signed by Charles Roman.
Sheila crumbled the paper into a ball and threw it across the room.
“Lousy shot," a voice interjected.
“Hi Jerry," Sheila said flatly.
“Hi yourself. The trash can is behind you."
“I wasn’t aiming for the trash can," she said angrily. “I was aiming for Jeff’s head."
“Then you’re a really lousy shot."
Sheila could not help but laugh. Jerry Owens had been working with her since her assignment to the research study. He had been a reliable staff member and also a friend when she needed one. Sheila needed one now.
“Jerry," she began. “Shut the door. I need your help with something."
He closed the door tentatively, and sat down to face her. Jerry had one of those youthful faces that had no age. His curly brown hair was cut short to keep it manageable. The man’s six-foot frame was lean and muscular, as a result of all the hours he spent at the gym. He was one of those health club junkies that got up at five in the morning, pumping iron while everyone else was hitting their snooze alarm. Also a vegetarian, he had clean living down to a fine art.
Sheila filled Jerry in on everything that had transpired, including her suspicion about Pharmlab and her impending travel plans. “Woah!" was all Jerry could muster. “This is heavy."
“Jerry, no one says heavy anymore. But you‘re right. This is heavy."
“So, what are you going to do about it?"
“I’m going to New Jersey," Sheila answered. “The question is what are we going to do?"
“Oh no," Jerry said alarmingly. “I would like to keep my job, thank you very much."
“Jerry," Sheila said, attempting to gain some control of the situation. “You are not going to lose your job."
“Yeah?" he said excitedly. “They love it when you go snooping around in their files with a flash light in the middle of the night. Maybe I’ll get promoted to the James Bond division. I hear they make good money."
“Jerry, calm down," Sheila ordered.
He took a breath, and said, “I’m calm. This is calm," although his voice did not promote his claim.
“Jerry, I won’t put you in the line of fire. Besides, I have some clout with the CEO."
“Yeah, I see where that clout has gotten you so far. Do you have any idea how cold it is in New Jersey this time of year?"
Sheila ignored the jab.
“Jerry, I just need you to keep an eye on things while I’m gone."
“We’re back to the James Bond thing again."
“Look, here is the list of all the volunteers. They are all local. I just want you make contact with them, and keep tabs on their progress.”
Jerry scanned the sheets of paper she had handed him.
“Five hundred people is a lot of tabs," he said reluctantly.
“Just do the best you can," Sheila said, feeling some relief.
“Fine," he concluded. “But if anyone tries to run me off the road in the middle of the night, I’m coming to New Jersey to find you."
“Jerry," Sheila said. “You watch too much television."
Jerry just shook his head.
“I’m leaving on Wednesday," she concluded. “I’ll call you when I get settled. And Jerry, thanks."
“For being a sap, you’re very welcome," Jerry said, and went out the door.
Sheila retrieved the balled up memo off the floor, and read it again. Charles Roman was no longer a useful ally. Together, they had succeeded in temporarily getting her off the scent.
Carol was not due for her ten-day checkup for two more days. She had made several calls to Dominex that morning but had not gotten a call back yet. She had also refused to go to the hospital over the weekend, despite Josh’s insistence. She was shell-shocked. She had told him that doctors had gotten her into this mess and she had no intention of letting one get near her now. So, she spent the weekend in bed, nursing her unusual flu symptoms.
It was now 2:00 PM, and she needed some medical attention. Carol sat up and tried to slow the spinning inside her head. How can I drive to Dominex, she wondered. I can’t even negotiate a straight line to the bathroom. Carol put her hands to her head, but the room would not stop turning. I have to try, she thought. I can’t lie here for two more days, wondering what is going on.
Carol slowly got herself dressed. When she looked in the bathroom mirror, she was horrified. She looked like as if she had aged twenty years. Her face was pale, and lined with creases that had not been there before all this started. Her eyes were sunken, and her pupils were tiny dots. It was a deathly image that was staring back at her. This is as good as it gets today, she thought defiantly. They are going to have to deal with me.
Carol slowly made her way to the car. She knew that she was in no condition to drive, but there was no one else to drive her. She had told Josh to go and check on his crew, and not to worry about her. He had been home with her all weekend, and he needed to check in.
Carol started the car and was amazed at how nervous she was. She had driven in all sorts of bad conditions before, but this fear… She did not understand it. Carol had made it down to the end of her street before she felt the first wave of panic hit her. “Oh my god," she cried out, and pulled to the side of the road. She knew what a panic attack was, but had never experienced one first hand. Carol threw the seat back to its reclining position and began some slow breathing exercises. She forced herself to take long breaths through her nose, and then gently blew the air out through her mouth as she rode wave after hot wave of extreme fear. As the ocean attempted to pull her under, she remained focused on one cloud and her breathing. Finally, with beads of sweat running down her face, the attack began to dissipate. She slowly pulled the seat back into its upright position, and looked around momentarily in a daze. Carol wiped her damp face, and took one last long breath.
She now knew for the first time what her patients had experienced. It was a sudden rush of terror that had come from nowhere, and for no reason. Had she not known what was happening to her, she would have been completely over taken by it. She could not imagine what that would have felt like. The preview was bad enough. Carol looked around her, and locked her car doors before pulling away from the curb. She had no idea what she was afraid of, but the prevailing fear was absolute.
Carol decided to drive to the doctor’s office instead of making the trip downtown. She wasn’t sure she could make it in her condition and the doctor’s office was only a few miles away. Carol pulled into the medical building parking lot. The brightness of the sun had been unusually painful and Carol was forced to put on sunglasses when she got out of the car. She walked the short distance to the building and inside to the waiting room. When she got to the receptionist’s window, she was out of breath. The receptionist looked at Carol and gasped. “You can come right in," the girl said.
Carol walked the last few feet into the examining room, and collapsed into a chair. Her rapid breathing continued as a nurse entered and slipped the blood pressure cuff up her arm.
The nurse took Carols blood pressure, and said, “Let’s try the other arm. This can’t be right." The nurse repeated the process and looked at Carol with concern. “It’s one sixty over one ten. Let me get the doctor,” she said, and shot out of the room.
Carol didn’t need to know what her BP was to know that she was in trouble. She had never felt so sick or scared in her life. Despite her best effort, the tears began to flow. Carol was wiping them off her face when the nurse returned. “Dr. Hopton said that high blood pressure is normal after stopping the medication. He said you should go home and rest."
“He said this is normal?" Carol asked incredulously.
“I’m sorry," the nurse said, and escaped the room quickly.
Not as sorry as I am. The doctor was not even going to come into the room to see her. Carol slowly got up and walked out of the building. The blinding sun reminded her to retrieve her dark glasses. Breathless and afraid, she made her way back to her car. Carol didn’t know what she was going to do, but she was sure that whatever it was, she was not going to be able to rely on her doctor. As long as he had been writing prescriptions, he had been her best friend. But the doctor was not going to be involved in her drug withdrawal. She had become too much of a liability, and he had washed his hands of her. Shaking, Carol put the key into the ignition. As she drove home, she feared having another attack. She crept slowly in the right lane, almost hugging the shoulder, while irate drivers went around her.
Finally safe inside her four walls, she quietly got back into bed and pulled the covers over her head. How long is this going to last? However long that was, she was now on her own.