42. Consequences
Chapter forty-two
Consequences
Drake
“Could you step into my office, please?”
I’ve just finished treating a patient with a broken leg from falling off a ladder when the head of my department decides now is a good time to pull me away. As if the emergency room isn’t a chaos-filled cesspit of screaming and blood.
I run a hand through my hair and tell the nurses to cover for me until I get back since I have no idea how long this is going to take.
I really hope this isn’t some kind of performance review. It’s been about a month since my last one, and I’m not due for another one until three months from now.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and remove the blood-covered scrubs, tossing them into a waiting laundry bin so that they can be washed and decontaminated. I was really hoping to leave in the next hour, too, what with my shift almost being over.
“Can you tell me what this is about?” I ask, rubbing at a sore spot in my shoulder blade. What I wouldn’t do for a hot shower right about now.
“Close the door behind you.”
Uh oh.
I try to keep my expression as placid as possible as I do what he asks, having no clue what this is about.
“Have a seat.” He gestures to the chair.
“I’d prefer to stand, thank you.” If the shit is going to hit the fan, I’d rather be on my feet than on my ass.
“Have it your way. It’s come to my attention that there have been some fraudulent prescriptions made.”
Oh shit.
“Your signature has been found on a number of them, assigned to ‘patients’ who are no longer in the hospital’s care.”
Oh shit.
“A nurse or two have brought it to my attention that a few months ago, you’ve been... short with them and unlike yourself.”
Oh shit.
“So now’s the time to explain yourself.” He leans back in his chair and tents his fingers together, waiting for me to say something.
Unfortunately, the only words my brain can put together right now are “oh” and “shit.” It was only a matter of time before it was going to catch up with me.
But that doesn’t make the fear or anxiety any better.
My throat is suddenly dry, but I don’t dare ask for any water. I’m already hanging by a thread.
“Let me just start at the beginning. Actually, first, let me apologize for what I did. There’s no excuse for writing fraudulent prescriptions, not when I could have sought help for my problems.”
His brow quirks upwards.
“I was going through a rough patch some months ago. The ER, the patients, they were starting to get to me. I wasn’t sleeping, I wasn’t eating, I was barely holding myself together.
So, I started taking painkillers to get me through it.
A little at first, a pill here or there.
Then, it became a crutch I leaned on to get me into work.
But I’ve been clean for almost three months now.
Not a single pill since. And I’ve been seeing a therapist who’s offering drug counseling on top of the usual therapy. ”
I swallow hard against the lump in my throat once I’ve finished. He doesn’t seem the least bit phased by what I had to say.
“You can ask Doctor Strickland and Doctor Baker; they can vouch for me, everything that’s happened. They’re the ones who found me a therapist.”
“That’s all well and good, but we take this kind of thing seriously in this hospital. I’m glad that you found yourself some help and that you’re recovering, but if you’re not punished for this, what kind of standard does that set for everyone else?”
I thought by going to therapy, things would get better. I thought that I could put all of this behind me and move forward. Instead...
“I understand. So what’s going to happen from here on out?”
“Firstly, your license is going to be revoked. The Board will have to decide whether you should see any prison time.”
Prison?!
My hands are shaking at my sides. I quickly shove them into my pockets and ball them up, my fingers digging into my palms.
“The time period is also something that is up to the Board to decide. You can make your case in front of them.” He stands from his seat and slides a few papers to the edge of the table. “The date of your meeting. Go prepared and make your case. I’m sorry it came to this, Doctor Strickland.”
“Yeah. Me too.” I step forward and retrieve the papers, refraining from looking them over. I know if I read it here and now, I won’t be able to walk out of here.
“Thank you for your time,” are the only words I can muster before I turn and leave. Everything around me is spinning, and my pulse is pounding in my head.
So much for wanting to go home.
“What am I going to do?” I bury my face in my hands, the noise of the TV blaring in the background. Ed, Stan, and Maria sit beside me on the couch; I couldn’t be home alone tonight.
“What are we going to do.” Maria squeezes my shoulder and rubs comforting circles on my back. “We’re not going to let you do this alone.”
“I could go to jail!”
“It would be a white-collar jail,” Stan interjects. “They’re not going to throw you in with hardened criminals.”
“Gee, thanks, Stan, that makes me feel so much better.”
“I’m just saying.” He shrugs and takes another swig of his beer.
“Okay, let’s not argue right now, okay? We should be focusing on what can be done to help Drake.” Maria shoots Stan a look. He sheepishly avoids her gaze.
“A time machine, for one thing.”
“Ed!”
“I’m sorry, Maria, but what did he really expect? Just because we covered for him, someone wouldn’t figure it out eventually? Actions have consequences. It was going to come back and bite him in the ass eventually.”
I grab a cushion and throw it at the wall with a yell. I hate it when Ed’s right. I hate it even more when I agree with him.
“C’mere...” Maria holds out her arms and I gladly fall into them, glad for the warmth of her embrace. Her fingers dance through my hair, which instantly soothes me.
“I know it feels like it’s the end of the world, but it’s not. You got through one struggle, you can get through this one.”
“Really? And what am I supposed to do now? Just sit on my ass at home...? Shit, how am I even going to afford my place now?!” One problem after another raises its ugly head until there’s an unbearable pressure pushing down on my chest.
I need to get out of here. I need...
“Let’s do this one step at a time. Without your license, what can you do in the meantime? For work.” Ed leans on the armrest of the couch as he bites on the tip of his thumb in thought.
“In a way that isn’t practicing medicine?” Not many things come to mind. I’ve only known medicine my entire life. I don’t know what other practical skills I have.
Stanley suddenly snaps his fingers.
“Writing.”
“What, like, fiction?”
“No. Articles. Online articles. There are plenty of online medical journals that post articles. You could freelance for a few of those.”
“And that wouldn’t get me in trouble?” This sounds way too easy to work.
“It’s not practicing medicine. You’re not giving anyone any medical advice. It’s all scholarly.” Stanley’s face begins to brighten. He’s really believing in this plan of his, isn’t he?
“Don’t I have to have some kind of writing degree? Or past history of writing articles?”
“I’ve seen you write papers back in college. It wouldn’t be that different. A lot of research and editing, you submit it, and then you get paid. It might not be the best pay, but we’re taking this one step at a time, remember?”
Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, a voice at the back of my head whispers to me. At the same time, I need to be cautious about all of this before I make another mistake and dig an even deeper hole for myself.
“And hey, maybe after a while, you could get your license reinstated.”
Reinstatement. I hadn’t considered that either. Okay, okay... This isn’t looking so bad after all. I just have to get through the rough part first.
That heavy sensation in my chest starts to dissipate.
If I was alone in my apartment right now, I probably would have relapsed, and that wouldn’t help my case at all. Instead, I’m surrounded by the people who care about me, who will go to the ends of the Earth to make sure I’m taken care of.
I can’t believe I’ve been taking them for granted all this time. They were the answer right in front of me, and instead of asking for help, I chose to deal with matters selfishly, on my own. That was such a big mistake.
“That’s one hurdle over with. For the worse part, what do we do if they slap a prison sentence on you?” Ed starts a circular pace around the couch.
“Pretty sure there’s nothing for me to do from jail.”
“If you’re lucky, they could still reinstate your license after you get out. It’s just going to be a lot tougher that way.”
“If someone doesn’t shank me in there.”
“White. Collar,” Stan reiterates. “No one in there wants to make matters worse for themselves. I know you hate being told what to do, but if you end up in there, Drakey boy, you’re going to have to do what they say.”
“You make me sound like some kind of antagonistic, petulant child.”
Ed and Stan share glances. If I had something in my hand, I’d probably throw it at them right now.