Carol dreaded the mornings. She had been dragging herself into work for the past two weeks and it wasn’t getting any better. Her exhaustion was at its peak in the morning. She had also started experiencing severe depression. The anxiety had been one thing. She had been able to talk herself through the anxiety, but depression did not respond to logic.
Carol understood addiction. She knew that each drug affected and enhanced a different part of the brain. A person’s drug of choice was usually not by accident. If a person tended to be anxious they would typically turn to something that would calm them down, such as alcohol or sedatives. If a person remained depressed, there was nothing like a cocaine or speed high to temporarily free them of that dark cloud over their head.
The problem with a drug solution is that daily stimulation of that part of the brain eventually damages and weakens its normal functioning. The necessary level of chemical release is no longer provided. The addict is eventually screwed because they now lacked what little they had to start with. Anxiety and depression returns, now to a whole new level and without the benefit of chemical balance. The substance no longer delivers temporary relief because daily stimulation of that part of the brain had rendered it almost useless. Unable to face a world now darker and more frightening than the one they originally escaped from, the addict continues to do the only thing that has ever given them any peace. But because it no longer works, they are stuck in an unending cycle that resembles hell.
The only way out is through a dark and frightening tunnel. The physical and emotional torment of a damaged brain is a nightmare that only a chosen few will ever know. The weakened part of the brain, no longer functioning at a normal level, leaves the remaining functions with no checks and balances. It is brain activity run amuck, and the early recovering addict is literally bouncing off the walls for an undetermined length of time. For the few brave souls that make it through to the other side, there is a return to something resembling “normal." Some veterans swear the damage is temporary. Others believe that you can never fully recover. Where the delicate balance of neurotransmitters and brain chemistry are concerned, there is no true and absolute measure. The reports of recovering addicts are subjective and based on each person’s memory of what “normal” used to be
Carol knew that her anxiety was from a physical cause. She had sedated herself to sleep every night and now her normal sedating ability was gone. In its place, every nerve ending was on fire. She had been able to talk herself through the torment by understanding its cause. Her recent depression, however, was beyond her control. The sadness and hopelessness she woke up with every day did not give a rat’s ass regarding its cause. There was a hole in her soul. It was pain of a nature that screamed to be removed and the need to wait for healing was not accepted or understood.
There was another interesting side to Valipene withdrawal. Carol had begun to notice with horror that her abdomen was rapidly expanding. She looked five months pregnant. The problem with that was that she wasn’t. Her clothes no longer fit while her body continued to expand every day. Carol wondered where the ceiling was on her new found expansion. Would it stop, or would she eventually explode? She had begun to diet furiously, but was too weak to exercise. Carol cursed herself and her doctor every waking minute of every day. There was no justification for the torment and no peace. The one question she had yet to ask herself was why she had needed the sedation in the first place. Recovery comes in stages.
Carol sat in her office with her head in her hands. The dizziness was unrelenting and the simplest task had to be relearned. Carol had been attempting to place papers in a file in the correct order when she realized that she couldn’t remember the correct order. This was a simple task. She only needed to match the type of documentation to the corresponding section, yet she felt completely confused and unable to discern one page from another. The inability to recall simple information was beginning to scare her. Her mind no longer functioned efficiently. It wasn’t her exhaustion; it was a substantial decrease in her cognitive ability.
She had attempted to deliver group lectures that she had given hundreds of times in the past. They were part of her. But to her horror, she could no longer remember the flow of her presentations. She would begin a thought that was designed to lead to a wide area of exploration, only to realize halfway through that she had no idea where she going. She had begun looking for any excuse to avoid lecturing, and was showing a lot of videos in their place. The quality of the addiction program was taking a dive, but her mind no longer served her. She had lost her edge. She feared it would be another tool against her if anyone else ever discovered her new disability, so she continued to go through the motions of being competent.
Carol was looking through another file attempting to jog her memory for the appropriate format when her phone buzzed. She jumped at the sound. Any abrupt noise these days made her come unglued.
“Carol," the receptionist said apologetically, “we have someone in the lobby that needs to see a counselor and no one else is available."
“Okay," Carol said into the phone, and hung up. She knew she could not dodge her job forever, even though crawling into a hole somewhere was what she desired most of all. Her step down from management had been a blessing. Since her return to work, the demand on her physically and emotionally had been greatly diminished. Carol abandoned the confusing file and went down the hall to the waiting room.
In the lobby, a woman was seated wearing sunglasses. She had her knees up to her chest and was hugging herself in the fetal position. Carol took one look at the frightened woman and forgot about her own torment. “Hi, I’m Carol. Please come in."
The woman slowly got to her feet and followed Carol down the hall to her office. Carol asked the woman if her eyes were sensitive to the light and the woman nodded. She went to the window and closed the blinds.
“Is that better?" Carol asked.
“Yes, thank you," the woman replied, and removed her glasses. She looked as though she had not slept in weeks.
Carol got out her intake form and began the information gathering process. The woman’s name was Clair Warner and she was thirty-six years old. She was coming in today due to extreme anxiety and depression. She also said she was feeling very sick, but believed that she just had the flu. Clair had been on a medication for five years. Her doctor had thought it would help with her pre-menopausal symptoms. She had taken it faithfully, until she heard about a volunteer study.
Carol slowly looked up from her clipboard, and said, “Oh, my god."
The woman looked at Carol in surprise.
“Was the medication you had been taking Valipene?"
The woman nodded in affirmation.
“Did you stop taking it for the study they are conducting at Dominex Pharmaceuticals?"
Again, the woman nodded yes.
“How long have you been off the drug?" Carol inquired.
“Just a week."
“Clair," she began. “I am very familiar with the problem." Carol proceeded to explain the nature of the drug they had both become addicted to. At the end of the lengthy explanation the woman began to cry. Carol handed Clair a tissue and waited.
“What am I supposed to do now?" Clair said between sobs. Carol did not have a ready stock answer. She remembered her own response when she had suddenly been hit with the reality of her situation. It had taken Carol weeks to come to terms with the damage that the drug had done to her brain. In some ways, she still had not come to terms with it at all.
“Well, as I see it," Carol said, “you have only two options. Your first one is to go back on the medication. If you do that, the withdrawal symptoms will most likely subside.”
“But doesn’t that mean that I will have to take this stuff for the rest of my life?"
“That is precisely what it means," Carol responded. A whole new set of tears appeared on Clair’s face and Carol’s heart went out to her. “Clair," Carol said soothingly, “the other option is to suffer through the withdrawal until you are free of the addiction."
Clair had her face in her hands and looked up at Carol with a terrified expression.
“I don’t know if I can do that," she said weakly.
“I understand," Carol said in an attempt to console her. Both women sat silently in contemplation of the horrible dilemma they were both in.
Finally, Carol said, “I know for a fact that there is hope. This will be the hardest thing we will ever do in our lives, but there is peace on the other end.”
“How can you be so sure?" Clair asked, wiping her face with a fresh tissue.
“I see it every day," Carol answered. “This won’t last forever. It can’t."
“I wish I could be that sure," Clair sighed.
“Why don’t you take a few days, and think about what you want to do?" Carol offered. “This is a lot to take in all at once." Clair nodded as she processed Carol’s words. “In the meantime," Carol continued, you should get some rest and be comforted in the fact that you are not crazy and you’re not alone."
Clair blew her nose and let out a long breath.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll think about it."
“Good. Here is my home phone number." Carol wrote her number on the back of a business card and handed it to Clair. This was seriously stepping over the line in counselor land. You were never supposed to blur your professional contact with personal contact but Carol didn’t care. This situation was so far outside the realm of anything she had ever learned in any ethics class. This was survival and none of them had anyone they could rely on accept each other.
After Clair left the office, Carol completed the crisis call form, marking it as “resolved," and set it aside. The kind of help Clair needed was not going to come from further contact at a mental health center. Carol jotted down the phone number that Clair had given her during the intake process. She didn’t know where this whole thing was going, but all her contact information would be available if she needed it. So far in this nightmare, she had encountered two other victims who had been blindsided in the same way she had, and one sympathetic person at Dominex. They were all part of a bigger picture.
Brian Carter was sitting in a recliner trying to focus on the antics of Barney Fife. He had not been able to lie down without his anxiety taking over. He had been permanently camped out in the chair day and night since his phone call to the mental health center.
Brian had found out that when the chips were down, he could not count on his wife for any real support. She had been sympathetic and understanding for the first few weeks, but Brian’s illness was beginning to wear on her nerves. “Do you really think that I am faking this?" Brian would argue. “No one would choose this." Brian’s wife would appear to listen to his explanation, but would always respond with some psychobabble about mind over matter. Brian eventually gave up the hope that his wife would understand, but her inability to do so had taken its toll on his faith in her.
Brian had been married to Pam for twelve years. They had no children. Pam had a career, and that was her baby. Brian did not like his wife’s priorities, but he hadn’t realized their extent until after they were married. He had occupied his time and his frustration with his own job at the Atlanta Journal Constitution, and had been making good money in sales and distribution. But without the constant distraction of his job, Brian had become painfully focused on everything else. His anger and bitterness at his wife, past and present, was almost as bad as his withdrawal.
It was midafternoon and Brian knew that his wife would not be home for hours. She had never worked a normal eight-hour day since he’d known her. Consumed with the emptiness of the house, he began flipping channels. He was about to settle in on Wheel of Fortune when the phone rang. Brian cursed the noise and got up to answer it.
“I’m trying to find Brian Carter," the caller stated.
“You found him," Brian said humorlessly.
“Brian, this is Sam Reynolds from Dominex Pharmaceuticals.”
“Go on,” he said coldly.
“I understand that you have been having some problems stopping the medication."
“To say the least," Brian interjected.
“Well, we don’t want to leave you in the lurch," Sam said, trying to console an obviously angry volunteer.
“You have a magic wand?" Brian asked, not letting the man off the hook.
“I wish I did,” Sam said, “but we have made arrangements for you to see a doctor and we will take care of all your expenses.”
“Really?" Brian asked incredulously.
“Sure. We never intended for our volunteers to have any problems."
Brian thought about what he was hearing, and finally said, “Okay, where do I sign?"
Sam gave Brian all the information regarding Dr. Donovan.
“You don’t need an appointment," Sam concluded, so you can go whenever it’s convenient.
“Okay, thanks," Brian said, feeling less at odds with his caller. He hung up the phone and finished writing down Sam’s instructions. “No time like the present," he said to himself. He really didn’t feel as though he had the strength to move, but the idea of getting some medical attention made the most sense.
He made his way out the door and to the driveway, when he suddenly remembered that he had not driven a car since the onset of his illness. For some inexplicable reason, he was afraid. He paused, not knowing what his next move should be. He certainly could not count on Pam. She would never let him live down the fact that he was afraid to drive and she wasn’t available during business hours anyway.
Brian was angry with his wife for abandoning him when he needed her most. He was angry with his doctor for facilitating his addiction and subsequent withdrawal from hell. Anger was a good motivator. Brian looked up at the sky and said, “It’s you and me. We’re going in."
Determined, Brian started the car and backed it out of the driveway. He stayed focused on his anger all the way to the doctor’s office and that diversion kept him from acknowledging his fear. Brian parked the car in the underground lot and kept his ticket for validation. He had been instructed that Dominex would cover that expense as well.
The elevator beeped for the visually impaired as it made its advance upward Brian got out on the twelfth floor and rounded the corner to suite 1210. The waiting room was packed and Brian silently groaned, knowing he would have to plant himself and his illness in a room with too many people for a very long time. Well, he was stuck here. He signed the check in sheet at the receptionist’s window. Looking around, he found one seat at the end of a long row of chairs. He quickly grabbed it knowing that at least he wouldn’t have people sitting on both sides of him. This was going to be a test in anxiety control. Brian remembered his anger and decided to take the challenge.
One and a half hours later, Brian heard his name called. The nurse held the door open as he walked to the examination area. Brian explained his connection with Dominex while the nurse slipped the blood pressure cuff over his left arm. Wordlessly, she completed the preliminary examination and began writing. Brian waited for her to complete the paperwork before asking her if everything was okay. “You’re blood pressure is high," the nurse said vaguely, “but that is to be expected in your situation.” Brian did not like the detached manner of this woman and pressed on.
“What, specifically, is my blood pressure, and what, specifically is my situation?"
The nurse looked up from her clipboard and studied the determined young man. She was not used to inquisitive patients. Most of the patients she came in contact with did not allow themselves to go into withdrawal and knew their situation better than she did.
“Why don’t we wait for the doctor? I’m sure he will be able to answer all of your questions," she concluded and went quickly out the door. Brian sat staring at the closed exam room door, wondering if he had made a mistake by coming here. This was not the treatment he had expected. He was very sick and he expected to see some concern and urgency. Just then, the door opened and a man entered the room.
“Hi, Brian. I’m Doctor Donovan. Sorry you had to wait so long."
Brian began to relax. Maybe he should give this guy a chance.
“You are having some difficulty since you stopped taking Valipene," the doc said, more as a statement than a question. Brian just nodded. “And you do not want to go back on the medication, is that right?" Donovan inquired.
“I can’t be addicted to a drug," Brian answered flatly.
“I don’t blame you. Then in that case,” the doc continued, “we will start you on these vitamins.” Brian looked at the doctor with a face that said, “Are you kidding?" “I know what you’re thinking,” the doctor responded. “But these are very powerful vitamins. You can’t even get these at the drug store. They are distributed by physicians only."
“I’m having a hard time believing that this illness can be dealt with by just taking vitamins," Brian said.
“Most people say that when I suggest this course of treatment, but it really does help."
“Okay,” Brian said, reluctantly. “I was really afraid of taking any other medications anyway."
“No doubt," Donovan agreed. “I would predict that you will start to feel better within three to five days."
“That would be a miracle," Brian interjected.
“Miracles do happen," Donovan said as he wrote in Brian’s chart.
Donovan walked over to a locked cabinet, and removed a small brown envelop. Brian noticed that the cabinet was filled to the brim with similar looking packages.
“Looks like you are prepared for an epidemic," Brian noted.
“Generous salesmen," Donovan responded as he locked the cabinet. “Now these are very powerful. Do not, and I repeat, do not take more than one a day.”
“What would happen if I did?" Brian asked suspiciously.
“They would become toxic," Donovan explained. “More than one per day will not speed up your recovery and will most likely cause liver damage.”
“Good reason," Brian agreed.
“This is a one week supply," Donovan continued. As long as you stay on these vitamins you will be fine. When you are running low come back to the office. If you are not having any problems the nurse will do a quick check in and give you another week’s supply. You won’t have to wait to see me." Brian liked the sound of that.
“Thanks, Doctor," he said, and reached out his hand.
Driving back home, Brian felt hopeful. He silently prayed to the drug god and promised to never touch another medication again if he could just escape the pain he was feeling at that moment. He was so focused on his little envelop of vitamins he forgot to be nervous about driving home.