Demons And The Doctor

Like I said, as far as I was concerned Don had become a demon.  So getting him out of the house was a great relief to me.  There were still things unsettled between us, but we would work on that in separation.

At this point there is so much coming back to me  I am hoping to condense in all into one or two chapters, otherwise this story might go on forever.  I don’t want it to.  I’ve lived the horror.  It started at the onset of being given those prescriptions and my need of prescriptions just to manage along with the majority of their attempt to cover it all up went on for years.  The truth is I will never recover.  The truth is, I’ve lost 13 years of my life because of “them.” And although I come from pretty healthy stock, I am pretty sure physically and mentally I’ve aged over 25 years at least.  Now I just want to get it all out of my system.

I can’t recall when it was, but in the duration for some reason I was given a brain scan.  I remember the specialist said my brain appeared healthy but there was a lot of scarring.  He could see that by little white flecks.  He said that type of scarring he usually only sees in 70 year old but that was not a problem because it  just means those areas recovered.

Also, I remember at some point during physical therapy I was given another type of brain and sensory exam, too.  I don’t remember when that was.   Unusual to our regular schedule, though, this particular appointment was late in the evening.  I remember it was dark outside, so it must have been during the winter months with the short days.  Anyway, they asked me if they could run an exam that might help them figure out what was taking me so long to recover.    I said, “Sure.”  A woman came in from outside rolling a machine along with her until she got behind me lying there on my back.  I couldn’t see her but the physical therapist, under the woman’s instructions it seemed, began connecting monitors to my head, shoulders, back and even on my chest.  I don’t know why I didn’t ask what it was for.  I don’t know why I was never given its results, either.  And, actually, so much was going on  in my life that I didn’t even remember that was done until sometime afterward.    When I called to ask if the company still had those records they told me they did not.  The brain scan and this monitoring at the physical therapist’s was not related.  I do know that.

What was going on in my life?  I will tell you what was going on.  My behavior was becoming outrageous.  What I mean is that my mood and emotions were running like a pendulum.  I would be going through extreme highs so that I would dance all night long, alone inside my house.  It was not simply dancing to the music, either.  It was extreme, very animated, and very sexual, like I was dancing for the demons.  That high would last for days, than I would go so low I’d literally slide down the side of the tub and onto the bathroom floor (usually) where I would sob uncontrollably for what seemed like hours.  That was not me.

THAT WAS NOT ME!

I was so broken.

Because I’d been so well taken care of at St. Joseph’s I decided that, to get myself together, I would look into volunteering there.  And, I’m telling you, I was tripping.  What I’m saying is that everything to me revolved around that doctor.  During one of the visits I told him how pleased I was with St. Joseph and that I would be taking an introductory to become one of their volunteers.    During that visit I was on a high.  He certainly was noticing because somewhere along the line he told me I’d changed.  I know I’ve said it before that he told me I’d changed, but I want you see it was obvious.  He’d been my doctor for years.  He knew what he’d done because also somewhere along the way he confided to  me being a doctor was hard.  Is that a red flag, or what?  In my condition I didn’t notice it though.  Anyway, I took the one day introductory at St. Joseph to see if volunteering there fit.  Honestly, I was in no condition and I guess I realized it because I didn’t go back.

I continued going to physical, massage and mental health therapy.  Really, I had no idea why I was seeing the mental health therapist except for that Dr. Sargent said I “needed help.”  It would probably make me laugh (or cry) if I could see again the preliminary paperwork I filled out at Gary’s office.

 

The problem was I needed him to act like a doctor.  For one thing, behind my left breast I was having pain.  I wondered if that could have been from the wreck, so I asked him.  I guess he thought I wanted him to grope my breast, because when I asked he acted like a total cluck.

The doctor and I had become estranged.   By that time Jerry, (my attorney), and I became sort of friends.  Kind of like confidantes.  So we were chatting on the phone rather often.   Jerry wasn’t happy about the estrangement because he needed the doctor’s testimony about how badly I’d been injured in that accident.  Without the doctor, Jerry said, there was no way to prove it.

But I was already flipped out, and gone over the top.  Remember, I’ve already told you now about those weird extreme highs and lows I was dealing with?   On top of that, with the one medical assistant’s having called me the doctor’s wife I was starting to believe he was talking about me to them.  Like if he was making plans or something!  Can you imagine?  And, by the way, at the time he was not wearing his wedding ring.  It seemed to me he used to.  That was another red flag. One that was really none of my business.  Except that I was no longer myself but someone else.

So, whew, yah, I was out to lunch.   That said, though, I really wasn’t happy about any of it.  I was mad, actually.  So I cut out a picture of the doctor that was in some ad, and I put a heart around the face.  Ugh, just thinking about that right now makes me want to puke.  Anyway, at the next appointment I took that and when he sat down I shoved it into his face and I asked him why he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring anymore.  He held onto the picture, stared for a bit, than started babbling about the remodeling of his house.  And that was that.  I was mad!

Remember, I was still going there every other week to get a note for my insurance company, and at one of the next appointments around that time the doctor’s medical assistant, Christine Monroe, started talking about what a great guy the doctor was to her.  She was actually gushing over him.   She told me that her husband tends to become a jerk,  and when he’s like that she was able to talk with Dr. Sargent who helped her get through it to get her marriage back on track.  She told me that, come to think of it, her husband was back to being a jerk, so that needed some attention.

For some reason that blew my gaskets.  The doctor wasn’t talking to me, so okay, he must be talking about me.  I thought it through, than decided to talk to Monroe.  So I did.  I called her up to tell her I was having weird feelings for that doctor which I didn’t like.  I told her that the staff acting familiar with me was not helping.  I told her that I needed this doctor to help me, too, to get over that, and whatever else it was going on with me.  I asked her if he was married, to which she said yes. For some reason I didn’t believe her.  For some reason I thought she was his wife.  For some reason I was obsessed with knowing, and for some reason when I’d ask him he would not respond.  What was the problem?  Well, for one thing, I was.  Whoever I was.

In the meantime, I wanted to get back to work.  I tried returning to Countrywide, because that’s where I was employed but on the leave.  There the environment had grown very hostile. So I left, and was given back at job at Eagle by David Floan.  David wanted me to work out of Bellevue.  He really tried hard to convince me to not work out of the Kent office. I didn’t want that drive to Bellevue, though, because in the past I’d driven it for years and the traffic had only gotten worse not better.  And the idea of the costs and the wasted time on the road was something I did not want to deal with. Especially because of all of the medical appointments in Kent, my schedule was pretty tight.  So, he caved and said alright.

Than suddenly I found myself incoherently writing letter after letter to the Multicare administrator, Debbie, like I have done one time before while distraught after Chase ripped me off $27,000 in commission.  I had written like that one time before but with an attorney way back during the 80s.  Back then the attorney was the editor and proof reader so it was under control.  But, this time I didn’t have an editor or a proof reader.

I knew who the administrator was because I’d met her regarding a project the Rotary group I belonged to was planning for a Halloween Haunted House.  I had been put in charge of creating a room in it, so I was designing an operating room of terror.   Multicare was willing to donate supplies to use for decorating the room.  So we (Debbie the administrator and I) met from coordinating that.

Than suddenly there I was writing, writing, writing and sending out letters to her crying help, help, help!!! Please!  Somebody, will you please help meeeeeeee!  I was on my own 24/7 and I had been put over the top.  It was 5 or so months after the Ambien and I was blasted!  For me there would be no coming down, either, and at that altitude there lies a whole different world.

About work, maybe I should have listened to David, because maybe he knew something I didn’t.  Because it just so happened that the Kent office I went to work in was filled with demons and  flying monkeys just waiting for me.  None of whom were my own.

 

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