Determination (21 page)

“Dr. Lindman, thank you for seeing us on such short notice. This is my son, Jamie.” The good doctor held his hand out for me to shake, so I did. The longer we stood around making small talk, the more my anxiety grew. I wanted to know what the hell would happen—if these people could even help me.

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“It’s nice to meet you, Jamie,” Dr. Lindman told me, and I couldn’t completely repress a sardonic chuckle.

“Dr. Lindman, I wish I could say the same, but under the circumstances…,” I replied, and he laughed. My father put his hand on my shoulder, and when I looked up at him, he smiled. My father’s closeness relaxed me.

“Why don’t we go into my office and talk.” Dr. Lindman led the way around the receptionist’s desk, and I caught the guy’s eye as I passed. He winked, and my face flamed because he really was cute.

After walking down a short hallway, we reached a large, open office with floor-to-ceiling windows on the far wall. Impressive-looking, framed certificates covered the space between two sizable bookcases full of mismatched books with titles like
Uncovering the Inner Addict
and
Addicted to Addiction
. The doctor gestured to a black leather couch in front of the bookcases while he took a single wingback chair across from it. My father and I sat side by side on the couch, and I felt like a kid sent to the principal’s office.

“Jamie, based on the conversation I’ve had with your physician at the hospital and your current medical condition, I’ve drawn up a tentative treatment plan. I’d like to discuss different options with you and your father so that we can proceed,” Dr. Lindman explained, and I simply nodded. I had no idea what kind of treatment plan he had in mind, but it sounded like he’d already decided I’d receive that treatment at his clinic.

“From what I understand, Jamie would undergo a rapid detoxification during which he would be anesthetized and the drugs removed from his system. After that, he would need six to eight weeks of intensive counseling, followed by continued meetings, counseling, and support,” Dad confirmed. I glanced sideways at him, touched that he’d done so much research about what I would need in such a short period. He seemed to be deeply committed to my recovery, and that made my heart a bit lighter.

“That’s correct. The detoxification takes anywhere from four to six hours, depending on the degree of addiction and the amount of drugs currently in his system. It’s been nearly a week since he’s had street drugs, so the process may be a bit easier on his body, but we need to keep his blood pressure, temperature, and other vitals stable during 134

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the process. Once the procedure is complete, we can move him into his room and monitor his progress. When he comes in for the procedure, he’ll just need to bring clothes and toiletries for his stay. I’ll give you a… Jamie, are you okay?” Dr. Lindman’s expression had gone from confident to puzzled as my mouth opened and closed rapidly and I put my hand on my father’s arm.

“Dad, I can’t stay here, I can’t live here. I need to go home with you… Dad, please.” My voice had risen to almost a scream in my panic. He was going to leave me here, just like Mom had left me at the Sunshine Center. I’d be at their mercy, having seizures, terrified.

“Dr. Lindman, I’m sure you saw in his file that he has seizures.

I’m not sure that an inpatient program is appropriate for Jamie.” My father’s voice wavered, like he wasn’t positive he’d made the right decision.

“I can’t stay here,” I yelled and jumped off the couch, which pushed it back several inches. “Daddy, please.” I begged my father as my arms wrapped around my stomach, and I backed away from them until I hit the wall near the door. My heart thudded so hard in my chest, I could nearly feel it in my temples. If I turned just a bit to my left, I could run, but I froze.

“Could you excuse us for a moment?” My father asked as he hurried to my side. He waited until the doctor left to kneel down next to me. “Jamie, what is it?”

“I can’t stay here,” I whispered.

“I don’t want you to stay here. I’d planned to talk to him about an outpatient program because of your seizures. You need to be home with me. But you look terrified, son. What’s wrong?” He continued to stay on one knee by my side. With his admission, my heart rate slowed, and I took a deep breath to try to calm myself. My hand shook as I wiped it across my mouth, which had suddenly gone very dry.

“You… you’re all I have. I’m so scared all the time that you’re going to hear something or see something and leave me again. I mean, you couldn’t even look at me before Mom took me to the Sunshine Center. You could put me in this place and never come back.” Tears welled in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Somewhere deep in Determination

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my mind, I recognized my own overreaction but could do nothing to stop it.

“Jamie, we can talk about what happened before when we get home, but even if you stayed here to get better, I wouldn’t leave you. I am so happy to have you back in my life,” my father told me and then wrapped his arms around my shoulders. “I love you, more than anything in the world. Nothing that you tell me—about your past, about rehab, or about who you want to be—is going to make me turn away from you. Now, come back and sit on the couch with me, and we can tell Dr. Personality that you’re going to be an outpatient.” I giggled a little at his nickname for Dr. Lindman and took my father’s hand when he offered it to help me off the floor.

“I’m sorry, Dad.” I felt like an idiot for freaking out the way I did, but the thought of being alone scared me. It felt like I had no one left, no one but him.

“No need to be sorry, son,” he assured me and left me on the couch to get the good doctor. I didn’t pay much attention as they worked out the details of my rehab, but I did get the important bits. The detoxification would happen tomorrow, and then my dad would drop me off at the clinic on his lunch break for the daily sessions and pick me up after work. The nurses at the clinic were equipped to handle my seizures, and I’d have an implant of medication to help me not want the drugs. Finding out I could handle their program was a relief. My fear of the unknown was usually worse than whatever actually happened.

Once my father signed the paperwork and left them a check, we were free to go. Dr. Lindman made sure to remind us that we needed to be back the next morning by 7:00 a.m. to start the prep for detox.

DINNER was a subdued affair as we danced around talk of the procedure. We’d ordered out for pizza because neither of us felt like cooking. As we sat in the living room with our feet up on a highly polished coffee table, the conversation seemed stunted and awkward.

Eventually, we gave up and Dad turned on the baseball game. I’d never been much into sports, but the Padres had apparently gotten into the 136

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play-offs, and it took the pressure off us to talk. Dad woke me up during the seventh-inning stretch and told me to go bed.

By three in the morning, I knew I’d never fall back to sleep. The shadows played across the ceiling as I stared at it and waited for dawn to come. I’d never gone under anesthesia for any reason before, and it made me anxious. It hadn’t occurred to me to ask Dr. Lindman what would happen if I had a seizure during the procedure. So many unanswered questions chased each other through my head that sleep eluded me. Finally, around six, my father came in to wake me.

The constant anxiety frayed my nerves as I pulled on the sweats I needed to wear to the clinic. The instructions Dr. Lindman had given me specifically asked that I wear loose, comfortable clothes even though I’d be changing into a hospital gown for the sedation. When I got downstairs, I saw my father had already eaten and cleaned up the kitchen. Because of the anesthesia, I had to fast. He’d also packed up his tablet PC, a book, and a newspaper so he would have something to do in the hours he waited.

“Are you ready for this, Jamie?” he asked as we sat side by side on the couch to put on our shoes. The running shoes he put on were such a stark contrast to the dress shoes he had worn to work my entire life. Many things had changed about my father in the last few years.

His relaxed personality was certainly one of them.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” My voice was dull but determined as we headed out to the car. It seemed to take less time to get to the rehab center than it had the day before, probably because I dreaded it. When we got to the door, we rang the bell as Dr. Lindman had asked, and we waited for someone to let us in. It took several minutes, but eventually a slender woman in scrubs opened the door and led us to Dr. Lindman’s office.

“Jamie, how are you feeling?” the doctor asked, and I shrugged.

“I’m scared, nauseated, and just really want to get this over with,”

I replied truthfully. Dr. Lindman said he could certainly understand that feeling but assured me the detoxification was the safest way to allow the body to rid itself of the poison naturally. The doctor led me into a small room down the hall and left me with a hospital gown and nonskid Determination

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socks so I could change. My dad stayed with me because, right then, I didn’t want to be alone.

“It’s going to be okay, Jamie. I’m not going to leave the building, so I’ll be right there when you wake up.” Dad said, punctuating the sentiment by meeting my eye and nodding. I tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. “Did you call Brian and let him know what was happening?”

“Thanks, I’ll be all right. No, I didn’t call Brian. If he wanted to know what was happening with me, he’d have called,” I replied, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “He wouldn’t have walked out of my life.”

“I don’t know what happened between you, but it didn’t look to me like he walked out of your life. Maybe he just needs a little time.”

Shrugging out of my shirt, I set it on top of my discarded shoes, and my dad turned around while I stripped off the rest of my clothes.

The gown hung off me like a shroud, and even without a mirror in the room, I could tell how much weight I’d lost. I pulled on the socks and sat down on the paper-covered table to wait. A few minutes passed before one of the nurses came to put in an IV. It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. I’d had one in the hospital, too, but they had put it in while I was out.

When she left, my dad sat in the room’s only chair and looked up at where I sat on the table.

“God, you’re so thin,” he remarked, and his eyes filled with sadness and regret. On one hand, I felt guilty for worrying him, but deep down I liked that he showed how much he cared so easily. It made the idea that he wanted me for a son easier to believe.

“I’m sure I’ll put some weight back on living with you,” I told him and crossed my ankles, letting my legs swing back and forth.

Nervous energy coursed through me as I waited for them to come, for something to happen.

“You mean because I’m such a wonderful cook?” he asked with a smirk. Back in Alabama, when we were still a family, my mom had done every bit of the cooking. It would surprise me if my father could even boil water. With her there, we’d never had to worry about things like cooking or laundry. She took care of the house.

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“Because no one will be beating the hell out of me and feeding me drugs,” I said, not thinking, as I rubbed the back of my neck. The shocked sound that came from him then made me feel awful. I hadn’t really meant to say that out loud, but my nerves were at their limit. I wanted the procedure to be over so I didn’t have to be scared of it anymore.

“Brian hit you?”

“No, Dad, of course not. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I’m just freaking out,” I said quickly, but he continued to stare at me. “Do you really want to talk about this now?”

“I guess we don’t have to, but I want to talk about it sometime.”

He still looked troubled, and I blew out a heavy sigh as I hopped off the table. I turned around to show him the scars on my back through the untied gown. Turning back to face him, I pulled the material to the side to show him my stomach.

“After I’d been homeless for almost two months, I met a guy who offered me food and a place to stay. He was nice at first, but after a while, he became… well, not so nice. I don’t want to get into the whole story here, but Brian and his friends rescued me from him.”

“The guy that did that to you, was he the one they found dead when they brought you to the hospital?” Already pale, his face continued to look troubled as his brow furrowed.

“Yes.” I certainly didn’t want to elaborate on that situation right then.

“Good,” my father barked, sounding vindictive. When I glanced at his face, the ferocity in it surprised me. Dad usually had a very even temper, and I don’t think I’d ever seen anything rile him. Before I could ask him about it, the door opened. Dr. Lindman came in with two nurses and a man in scrubs. Dad moved back out of the way as they rolled in a gurney.

“Jamie, why don’t you hop up on here and we’ll move to the procedure room,” the unknown man told me, and I looked quickly at my father, who nodded.

“I’ll be right there when you wake up,” he assured me. I held the gown closed behind me so I didn’t give anyone a show as I sat down on Determination

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the side of the rolling bed. They waited until I’d reclined against the raised side of the gurney and pulled my feet up before covering me with a thin blanket. My breathing became shallower, and I grabbed the rails of the bed on either side of me just for something to hold on to.

“Jamie, son, you’re just going to go to sleep. There’s nothing to be scared of,” Dad said as he put his hand on my arm. “Stress can trigger a seizure; you need to calm down.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Mayfield,” the nurse to my right said as she attached what looked like part of a syringe to my IV. As she depressed the plunger, she continued, “I’ve just given him something to relax him.” It took a minute, but my body began to feel heavy and slow. It should have panicked me because that feeling indicated the procedure had started. Instead, I just felt mellow, like when I’d smoked some good weed with Steven. As my eyes started to close and darkness enveloped me, I wondered if I’d ever get Steven O’Dell out of my head.