Carol had thus far been blessed with an uneventful day at work. She had been back now for too long and nothing had changed. She was just as exhausted and dizzy as she had been when she first returned. Carol continued to tell herself that this was all temporary and that soon her withdrawal symptoms would be gone. Her resolve to continue working through her illness was weakening and she was now beginning to question that decision.
It had been almost three months and she was no longer able to convince herself that this was such a temporary thing. The other addiction counselors were as surprised as she was that it had gone on for this long. The primary doctor at the mental health center told her that sedative withdrawal only lasted for a few weeks. He directed her to go get a complete checkup. “It can’t be sedative withdrawal," he had stated. “Something else must be wrong with you."
Carol knew what was wrong with her. The symptoms had started shortly after going off the medication and these same exact symptoms were present today. It was time to do some research. She already knew she wasn’t the only one experiencing this.
That thought reminded her of Brian and the strange conversation she had had with his wife the night before. Carol checked the time, and decided to give him a call. Her next appointment was not for another hour. She dialed the number and waited for Brian to answer the phone. A groggy sounding Brian said, “hello."
“Oh crap," Carol said. “Did I wake you up?"
“It’s okay,” Brian said. “I don’t know if you could really call what I was doing sleeping.”
“So how are you?" Carol asked tentatively.
“Getting run over by a Mack truck would be an improvement," he answered. “I really don’t know how you do it," he added.
“Do what?"
“I don’t know how you get yourself to work every day, much less work at all."
“I don’t know if you could really call what I am doing here working," she laughed weakly. There was a moment of silence, and Carol waited. She did not want to force Brian to talk about his situation if he didn’t want to.
Finally, he said, “This illness makes you do interesting things."
Carol didn’t respond, and waited for him to continue.
“My wife and I have disagreed about some very important things for a long time and I have always kept quiet about it. But last night when she laid into me about going off my medication, and how that has ruined her life, I was done.”
“So, what did you do?
“I just told her that I was sick, I was going to be sick, and her lack of understanding would not change that fact. It‘s the first time I ever actually stood up to her."
“Really?” Carol exclaimed. “Is she against the idea of you getting off the drug?"
“Probably. And I have to wonder about a marriage to someone who would want that."
Carol had a feeling that there was more going on than just Brian’s illness, but it sounded like he had taken a big step in the right direction. “Brian," she said finally. “That thing you said about this illness making you do interesting things. Well, I think this experience is like a wakeup call."
Brian thought about her words for a moment.
“I think you’re right. I was willing to live a life that didn’t make sense, as long as I could keep moving and stay busy.”
“When we stop running, it catches up to us," Carol agreed. “The one thing this monster does is stop you dead in your tracks."
“And grind you into a pulp," Brian added.
“Well," Carol said, “the eagle will rise again."
“Or at least crawl."
“Take some time to think things out," Carol added. “Don’t make any important decisions while you are in this condition."
“Sounds like good advice," Brian said. “And also, who has the strength for that?"
“That’s probably a blessing," Carol laughed. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks," Brian said. “I think I’m proud of me, too."
The call ended with Brian promising to drag himself to a meeting when he was up to it, and Carol promising to take it easier. As she waited for her last appointment to arrive, Carol thought about her promise. It was not only a good plan, but one she had no other choice but to keep. She had expected to be better by now, and it clearly had not been an accurate prediction.
When Carol arrived at home, she found her husband parked in front of the computer.
“I did some interesting research," Josh announced. He didn’t know if she would be interested in Dominex’s stock issues, but he was sure she would be interested in what little there was from the FDA about prior complaints.
Josh pulled up the FDA website and went to public information. When he found the appropriate page, he pointed to the screen.
“See, all quiet on the eastern front."
“That’s incredible," Carol said. “According to this, there are no current complaints about Valipene."
“Pretty interesting," Josh agreed. “Considering all the trouble your little group is having, there should be at least a random report or two. But there’s nothing. That’s pretty strange."
Josh was about to shut the computer down, when Carol stopped him.
“Wait," she said. “I need to check something."
Josh planted himself back in his seat. Carol was almost computer illiterate and this was his baby.
“Okay," he said. “Where are we going?"
“I want to look up sedative withdrawal," Carol announced. Josh went back into the search he had done that afternoon.
“You aren’t going to believe this," he told her, while they waited for the computer to churn out the results. Again, he pointed to the screen. “There are thirteen thousand, five hundred web sites under sedative withdrawal."
“My god," Carol exclaimed. “Where do I start?"
Josh showed her how to select a website by clicking on it. “See?" he said when the web site came up. “And when you’re done, you just click on the word ‘back,’ and it’ll bring you back to the menu."
“Thanks," Carol said. “I promise I won’t get creative. You don’t have to baby-sit."
Josh reluctantly left the room.
Carol began to read alarming stories from prior victims. They are calling themselves accidental addicts. And there are so many of them. Carol read several more personal stories. They were all describing her exact same experience. She went back to the main menu and looked for clinical information on the drug and the withdrawal process.
Some of it was way over her head, but some of it was right on target. In the course of the next hour, Carol learned that the drug she had become addicted to was never meant to be taken for longer than ten days. She discovered that the worst thing she could have done was to stop taking it abruptly, and that this had most likely caused her to become so ill. Finally, as she read further, she could not contain her emotions. The duration of the illness, she learned, lasted only a short time for some. For others, the illness could last for years. The condition was known as Benzodiazepine Withdrawal Syndrome. Each website emphasized that stopping the drug abruptly was a big factor in the magnitude and duration of the withdrawal process. Her tears began to flow.
Carol couldn’t believe her wet, blurry eyes. She couldn’t possibly have screwed up more if she had set out to do just that. And now she was in for a long and painful ride. She was an addiction counselor. She worked with a lot of professionals in the mental health field and this was the first she was hearing about this. How could she have missed all the warning signs? How was it possible that no one else had a clue?
Carol remembered the strange little doctor, with all of his questions. She remembered how he had looked at her each time she had come in for a re-fill of the drug. He had decided she was an addict, but had never seen fit to give her any real information about what she was taking. He just assumed that she already knew.
Then there had been all this information on the Internet. She could have accessed it at any time. But who goes looking for information on the medications doctors prescribe? If you trust your doctor and feel better as a result of what he does, why would you go checking up behind him?
Carol knew the answer to that question: you didn’t. Not until you found yourself addicted to a drug, sick beyond your comprehension, and alone. She would never be able to trust a doctor ever again. But the knowledge of what can happen when you are too trusting had come too late. Carol put her head down on the desk, and had a good cry.
Angela Porter had been sitting in the waiting room of Dr. Donovan’s office for almost an hour. She had lied to Dominex about having any prior psychiatric diagnosis. Her mission had been to get into their study, and ride the free medicine train. Now she was paying the price for her deception. She had been taking her vitamins religiously, and now felt just as sick as before she had started taking them.
Angela had been a nervous person all her life. She had been diagnosed with “Social Anxiety Disorder” at the age of fifteen and had always lived right on the edge. When Angela’s symptoms had begun to affect her daily routine, her mother had taken her to see a specialist in behavior disorders. She had always been afraid of being around large groups of people, but in her sophomore year, she had started having trouble being on school buses and in crowded classrooms. This was resulting in a lot of pre-fabricated stomachaches and absentees.
The Doctor that assessed her had said that they needed to rule out the possibility of “social phobia" and prescribed Valipene. Now at the age of twenty-nine, Angela thought about the doctor’s words. To “rule out a possibility” was the most vague and lamest reason to put a child on a drug. Granted, her “social phobia" seemed to dissipate shortly after taking the medication. She would have also responded very well to morphine, although she doubted that there would have been the need for it.
As Angela developed a tolerance for the medication, her symptoms would return. Each time she was brought back to see the doctor, he would increase her dosage, and she would return to her happy “normal" state. Her mother would sing the doctor’s praises. “That Dr. Jordan," her mother would say. “He is just a genius." Everyone was happy with how well she was doing.
Over the years, Angela learned that “problem, plus pill, equaled solution." So, when Dr. Donovan handed her the vitamins, she went home and happily complied with his instructions. Now her phobia was back, along with a multitude of horrible symptoms. Angela just wanted the pain to go away. She didn’t care what she had to do.
When the nurse called her name, she eagerly went inside. “We will get you back on your feet," the nurse assured her, after listening to her problem. The nurse finished taking her temperature, and wrote an additional note down in her chart. Her blood pressure was an alarming 210 over 150. “Dr. Donovan will be right in. And don’t worry, he’s the best." With that, the nurse left Angela to wait and hope. The doctor would know what to do. She felt sure he would find a solution.
Angela was too dizzy to sit on the examining table and planted herself in a chair with her head leaning on the wall behind it. She felt terrible, and wished the doctor would hurry. As the minutes ticked away, she began to feel a strange sensation. Before she could react or call out for help, Angela went into convulsions and fell hard on the tile floor. Unassisted and unnoticed, she continued to jerk back and forth uncontrollably. Her head had a large gash from the fall and she was losing blood at a rapid pace. Finally, the seizure subsided, but Angela never regained consciousness. The seizure had been her first, and her last.
The Newark office conference room was filled with cheering and chatter, as Sheila announced that they had finally met their goal of a forty percent increase in sales. There were bottles of champagne and platters of food, compliments of Party Time Catering. Everyone was elated.
Sheila held up the envelope she had been holding, and said, “Now if everyone will pipe down, we have a winner."
The room became quiet. Sheila waited for a dramatic moment.
“Stewart Gross," she announced finally. A young man in his twenties stood and began bowing graciously.
“Sit down, you ham," one of the other staff members yelled.
“Yeah, we all know you cheated," another chimed in.
“How can you cheat in a sales contest?" Stewart laughed.
“He probably placed the orders himself," a third member interjected.
“Yeah, let’s drug screen him."
“Sorry, folks," Stewart said, with too much humility. “I’d love to be subjected to all this scrutiny, but I have to go home and pack for Hawaii."
The group continued to give the poor man grief as they all went over to hug him and shake his hand. Sheila watched the commotion with a combination of happiness and longing. She was thrilled that they had reached their goal, and that she was free to return home. She also felt another emotion she had never experienced before: she was going to miss these people. They had become her friends. She knew she was only here for one purpose, but now that the time had come, she had to admit that she had become extremely attached to this group.
Quietly, Sheila left the room, and left them to their celebration. When she returned to her office, she sat at her desk and composed an email to Jerry.
Dear Jerry, We did it! I will be leaving for Atlanta by the end of the week. You won’t have to hold the fort down much longer. Love, S. Sheila clicked on the send icon, and stared at the computer screen. What was waiting for her at home? She wasn’t as driven to return to Atlanta as she had been when she first arrived here. But she still had a mission. She was going.
Sam and Jeff were in their usual disaster control mode. It was getting to be a pretty regular thing lately. Sam had just informed Jeff that Sheila was arriving back in Atlanta on Friday and would be at her desk on Monday morning.
He also informed him of their first fatality.
He had been called immediately when one of the volunteers was found dead in Donovan’s office. The police and the medical examiner were called, and the cause of death had been determined to be a stroke. Her age raised a big red flag. Very few twenty-nine-year-old women suffered such a fate; however, her medical history explained the strange phenomenon. Not only had the woman had a long history of drug addiction, the doctor explained to police, but also she had recently increased her drug seeking behavior. The case was closed, but Sam was still a little concerned about its implication.
“I’m getting tired of putting out fires," Jeff groaned.
“Don’t talk to me about fires," Sam answered. “Fire fighter is my middle name." The two men sat in silence, pondering what to do about the Sheila situation.
“So, what you’re telling me," Jeff began, “is that we have three days before the snoop is back here watching our every move?"
“Well we don’t exactly know if it was genuine snooping," Sam offered.
“Oh paleeezz. The woman did everything but break into our files."
“Okay," Sam conceded. “So what could I do? I had to welcome her back with open arms. What could I have said? ‘Oh sorry, did I say forty percent? I meant fifty.’"
“Why couldn‘t we just fire her? “She is high maintenance.”
“Because, technically, we don’t fire good people, and also, Charles would never let that happen. Look at what she accomplished in the Northeastern division with our same tired products. Imagine what she could do with the Suprame market.”
“I know,” Jeff said, reluctantly. “And besides, she’s probably not the only one we have to worry about. Remember, Jerry Owens is in on this too. I have to wonder who else is keeping tabs on this little venture.”
“Hell,” Sam concluded. “If we start doing damage control with our staff, we’ll end up firing everybody."
Sam continued to ponder Sheila’s return. He never expected her to make such a drastic change in the northeast division. “Who ever thought she would pull it off so fast?" he remarked. “In another world, we would be singing her praises. I never expected her to be so good at her job."
“So let’s reward her," Jeff added.
Sam looked at him with a perplexed expression.
“We’ll reward her for the achievement, with… Say, a trip to somewhere exotic."
Sam thought about it for a moment.
“I don’t think we can pull off the same tactic twice.”
“You’re probably right," Jeff agreed. “I’m too tired to be creative."
“We will have to move the remainder of the study away from here," Sam interjected. “She and the rest of the staff will be far less likely to pick up on anything suspicious if it isn’t right under their noses.”
“Don’t you think that moving the study will raise suspicion?" Jeff inquired.
“Sure, but it is the lesser of the evils. We’ll tell everyone that the study was becoming too costly. That certainly is the truth. Especially with the delay it caused us in marketing Suprame.”
The more Sam thought about it, the better he liked the idea. Not only was the study a continued expense, but now that they were at the end stage of the study, moving it would be much more cost effective. He wished he had thought of this sooner. Sam remembered the little matter of a bank loan he had to finagle to buy them more time.
“Your doctor friend has been very cooperative so far," Sam ventured, “and lucky."
Jeff just looked at him with tired eyes.
“Lucky the medical examiner didn‘t do a more thorough investigation of Angela Porter’s death,” Jeff added.
“Well, we returned the favor," Sam stated. “We managed to intercept a letter our friend, Carol Freeman, wrote to the medical board.”
“How’d you manage that?"
“We have had someone there looking out for us for a long time," Sam stated, proudly. “Just another one of my safety nets."
“Very impressive," Jeff agreed.
“So, the doc should be happy about the interception," Sam ventured.
“Yeah, but the letter would never have been sent in the first place if he hadn’t been helping us out."
“You think he’ll help us out again?"
Jeff looked up at the ceiling, and said, “Well, there’s only about five weeks left in the study. Everyone has started the process and we only need for the remaining volunteers to complete Phase Two. Yeah, I think he’d be okay with it."
“Good," Sam concluded. “And while you’re at it, take him out for dinner. Dominex owes him big time."
Down the hall from the fire fighters meeting, Jerry Owens read his email. Thank you, God! He had been keeping meticulous records of the volunteers’ activities. He had contacted every one of them and had them all listed by name. He had documented every conversation, as well as the volunteers’ continued statuses. He knew which ones had completed the study, and which ones had dropped out. He had documented whether or not the volunteer had gone to see Dr. Donovan, whether they had taken the “vitamins,” and who had decided to return to the medication. He had no idea what Sheila was going to do with all this information, but it was solid and complete. Jerry placed the information into his briefcase and carried it to the elevator. He had taken the incriminating documentation home with him every night, and now he was removing it permanently. Its next home would be in Sheila Montgomery’s apartment. He was glad to be done with it.