Disclaimer: Just a reminder that this is fiction...any resemblance to actual events or people is completely coincidental, and the medical stuff again may not be totally realistic. For those who feel the last few chapters are rather dark, this one will begin to bring things back to a lighter time. Hang in there!
Chapter 20
Sleep overtook me quickly, and I wake up to the bright light streaming in the window. I still feel drug out, as though I've been on a drinking binge.
As if on cue, in walks Dr. Doom.
"Well, glad to see you awake. We have some work to do, now don't we?" he asks in a semi-sarcastic tone. How this man became a doctor is beyond me.
I stare at the window, choosing to ignore this pompous asshole.
"Ah, the silent treatment. OK, Jesse. It's your choice. You can make this easy, or you can make this difficult." he continues. He leans in close and says conspiratorially, "But if you again tell me to do something foul to myself, you'll have more to deal with than just a twisted mind, got that?"
I slowly move my eyes over to meet his. He has the look of a killer in him.
This is a DOCTOR? I nod slowly.
"Good" he says, full voice again. "First thing we need to do is get you medicated up, and then we'll be ready to do some talking." he says almost cheerfully. He writes something in my chart, then exits the room. The door click-locks again.
I take advantage of his absence to look around. A camera is in the corner, just as I thought. That explains the low voice when he threatened me. Even in my current state, I knew that there's no way I could prove that one. I look back to the window, and seated on the concrete sill outside is a small bird, looking in at me. 'What are you looking at?' I ask in my head. I watch him, and he's changing the angle of his head, as if he were trying to figure me out. No, wait a minute, he's outside, so he's seeing his own reflection in the glass. I chuckle as I realize he's trying to figure out who this other bird is.
"Hello, there! I'm Mr. Bird. Who are you?" I imagine the bird saying to his reflection, and then puzzling on why the other bird doesn't answer. I laugh out loud, finding this interchange funny in a way, and a pleasant feeling rushes through my body. Mid-laugh, the door opens. I refuse to look back, in case it was Dr. Asshole coming in to torture me.
Instead, a pleasant nurse walks over. "Well, this is a nice sound from how I saw you in here last night. How are we doing, young man?" she asks.
I look up at her, and decide that I need to trust her. "I'm ok, actually. I don't know why, but I feel pretty good." I am lying, of course. My body is aching all over from my muscles locking up on that roof. What was I THINKING?
"Well, good! That's a good sign." She messes around with the syringe, then pauses, puts it down, and ponders a second. I look at her, frowning inquisitively. She glances over, then sighs.
"Sorry, I just...well, never mind." She picks the syringe up again, but I can tell something's on her mind. She turns her body and points at her chest. I'm not getting it, but then I suddenly realize that if I follow the angle of her finger, she's pointing at the camera. I shoot her a look, indicating that I completely understand.
"OK, Jesse, all set. Please turn over." she instructs.
I roll over toward the door, and she raises the sheet. I pause, waiting for the injection.
"There we go. All done." she says, and lowers the sheet. Knowing I'm being watched, I keep my face still, and turn back onto my backside. I glance up innocently at the camera and notice the little red light went out.
"What..?" I whisper.
"Jesse, I'm convinced that Dr. Newsome is a quack, and has it in for you. I overheard him. I just injected that medicine into your bed. You need to do whatever you can to get out from under his care. I could be sued and lose my job if I'm wrong, or if he finds out."
"Why are you doing this?" I whisper back. "I know you shouldn't have just said that. What if I really was a danger to myself?"
She takes my vitals to cover. "No, I don't think you are. I talked with a friend of mine who is a doctor. Trouble is, we have no proof." Then in full voice, "Well, things seem ok here. The doctor will be back in a few minutes, I'm sure." And she whisks out.
Panic sets in. A quack. This is not good. And yet, maybe she's trying to trap me? My palms sweat. I distract my fears by considering my situation. Why should I let Scott destroy me? And why am I so quick to give up on others when I haven't even really been out there? And why is everything suddenly so clear? Maybe the medication, or maybe just the very hard sleep I just had has cleared things up in my mind?
I am interrupted in my thoughts as Dr. Newsome walks back into the room. "Well, now that we have some medicine in you, I think we can do some discussing of our next course of action. I think you need to be hospitalized, Mr. Corey. We treat attempted suicide fairly aggressively."
"I'm not suicidal" I reply. "I just...was angry and upset. I don't know why I sat on the roof, but it just seemed like something to do, you know?"
"Uh huh." he says, clearly not believing me. "And tall buildings are things to sit on the edge of, right? Come on, Jesse. If you don't own up to your feelings, you're not going to get better. What led you to the roof in the first place?"
"I really don't know. I didn't feel like I had any place to go. My boyfriend cheated on me, and..."
He interrupts me. "Your BOYfriend? You're QUEER. Well, now that might explain a few things." He writes something on his tablet. "I can see I have my work cut out for me. If I had a nickel for every queer that tried to off himself..." he stops, and continues writing. My heart pounds. This guy is homophobic or anti-gay, and I'm scared shitless now.
He finishes what he's writing. "I think that we need to definitely keep you here, and we'll get your chemistry back into order. We may have to consider shock therapy too, to assist with the depression, and then work on some reconditioning to get you away from this deviant behavior. I'll notify your workplace and your family that you will be admitted. Sign here."
He hands me the clipboard, with a big "X" where I need to sign. No way. I refuse to take the pen.
"I want a second opinion." I state matter-of-factly.
"Second opinion, huh? Sure...ok, if you want to go that route. I'll have Dr. Anderson stop in.."
"By a doctor of MY choice." I demand.
"Sorry, SONNY, it doesn't work that way. I'm the boss here, and I call the shots, got it? You'll sign the form, I'll see to that." and he stalks out, leaving me shocked that such a monster could POSSIBLY be in medicine. As the door shuts, I hear him mutter, "sick faggot."
I look around for a phone, and there isn't one. I look for a nurse call button, and there IS one, but no one answers the buzz. "Hello?!" I yell into it. The red light illuminates, and I gesture frantically, but no one comes in. Oh god...what have I done?
About an hour later (or I guess it was an hour, since I have no clock in my room), the nurse comes in, with another syringe. I notice that the camera is on again, too. We again do the fake injection routine, and the camera light goes off.
"Jesse" she whispers, "I just gave you what would have been a double-dose of sedative. If we're going to keep this up, you must pretend as if I gave it to you, do you understand?"
"Yes," I whisper back. She again takes vitals.
"I heard what the doctor ordered. It's worse than I thought. He's horrible with gay people."
"How can he be on STAFF?" I whisper harshly.
"Simple. He's the boss, and they listen to him. It's his word against the patients, and he has friends when they need a second opinion."
My mind works frantically. I don't want shock treatments. Then I suddenly have an inspiration and a flash of hope: my dad's best friend is Dr. Robert Arnold. I've known him all my life, and even call him "Uncle Bob." And, he just happens to be the chief of staff here at this hospital. I have to move quickly...
"Nurse, Bob Arnold is my dad's best friend. Can you get him to come see me?"
"You're not supposed to have any visitors. He's even restricted family." she says as she shakes her head, then out loud says "No, I'm sorry, you can't have a pen."
"Please. I didn't try to kill myself. I'm just having a horrible life right now and I got a little out of hand. I know I need help, but not THIS kind. PLEASE" I beg.
She looks into my eyes, and fear and panic sets into hers, but at the same time, she realizes she has the chance to set things right.
"OK, I'll try. I'm on shift until late. But I have to wait until his "gestapo" leaves, and that'll be around this evening. Don't worry, the doctor plays golf then gets drunk tonight. He does it every week. In the meantime, you MUST lie still and play sedated, or they'll not only fire me, but give you the medicine he ordered, and then I can't help you."
"Got it." I say. My heart sings for hope. She checks my vitals again, then walks out. I will myself to remain motionless. I hear a faint click, and I realize it's the camera coming on and going off. I make a mental note of that.
During the long hours of remaining motionless, I decide to try to come up with how to get out of this mess, but I also resolve myself to a few things:
1 - I need to get professional help. I have too many things left undone and too many loose ends. Scott hurt me, but I should never let someone push me to the brink like that again.
2 - I am clearly depressed and may possibly need some regulation of my body chemistry to help me get back on track. So, resolve #1 and #2 means a psychiatrist who will help me with that. But not this asshole.
3 - Scott isn't the end of all there is for me. There definitely is someone out there for me, and I just need to find him. BUT, the resolution is that I must take it slow, and not hop into bed with the first guy I meet. I'm going to keep sex out of the picture until I really know the guy, and if he's not ok with that, then he's not for me.
Throughout the day, nurses check on me, and I do my best to play sedated patient. They feed me lunch and dinner, and I recall the days of my hospitalization to help me play the helpless patient part, and they buy it. My Angel of Mercy nurse comes in just after dinner.
"Jess, I'm about to go off shift, but I'll be here tomorrow, ok?" she says out loud. Then, in a whisper, she says "Dr. Arnold will be paying you a visit, but late at night. It was hard to convince him, but I told him that it was you, and he instantly agreed. He also said he's going to talk to your father. I told him what you told me, about how you don't want to kill yourself. I think he'll help you, Jesse." she whispers to me quickly, then squeezes my hand. I wink at her, telling her that I understand and thanking her at the same time. We play the shot scenario once more. "This is the last one for today, Mr. Corey" she says out loud, then pats my arm, and whisks out the door. I don't know it yet, but I'll never see her again.
I turn over slowly, as if moving in slow motion so that the watchers on that cursed camera think I'm still medicated. I doze off, unable to keep my eyes open anymore. The next thing I know, someone's gently shaking my arm. I hear a soft, familiar voice.
"Jesse, wake up. Come on, son, wake up." It's Uncle Bob.
"Uncle Bob! I'm so glad to see you!" I whisper. "You have to help me."
"Whoa son, calm down a second. First, let's talk about you." he says gently.
I relate to him the details of the last six months of my life. Leslie, Vic, Mark, the accident, Scott, and the roof.
"Wow. That's quite a story you have there. So, you're gay, huh? I never saw that coming. I'm glad you told me, though. That's a good sign, that you accept who you are."
"Yes," I say eagerly. "Which is why I want to get out of here and get some real help. This guy is like a Nazi prison camp administrator."
Bob laughs. "Oh, come on Jesse, he's strict and firm, but he needs to be."
"Bob, I don't find anything funny about shock treatments. He's sent in a nurse to sedate me 4 times today."
He shakes his head, and starts to say something, but I cut him off.
"Look, I admit I need help, ok? I know that. I also know that what I did wasn't the most rational thing to do. But, please believe me, I didn't want to kill myself. I really didn't. I just...checked out...for a moment, and when I checked back in, I almost shit myself when I realized where I was."
Bob stares at me, thoughtfully. "Well....I have to admit that you don't exactly sound like a typical suicide risk. But, you have to understand that Dr. Newsome is an expert in dealing with these type of situations."
"I see." I reply curtly. "So, you think it's ok to give shock treatments to someone who admits he needs help and is willing to get it? Someone who makes up their minds to change their lives and make things right for himself?"
Again the thoughtful stare. I continue, "Uncle Bob, do you think homosexualiity is a deviant behavior? Do you think it's perverse, or twisted?"
"Well, the teaching used to be that, but it's changed." He thinks for a second. "No, I don't think so. I think we've learned a lot about it over the past few years."
"Fine! Your precious Dr. Newsome DOES think that. He threatened me, Bob. He said he'd fix me if I told him to go fuck himself again, AND, he called me a queer, and when he left this room last, I know I heard him call me a sick faggot. Now does THAT sound like an expert?!" I inhale, having said that all in one breath.
He gets up and paces the room, then comes back and sits down. "He SAID that?? He really said that? Jesse, a court would say it's hearsay. It's your word against his. How do I know who to believe?"
I stare at him incredulously. "I can't believe you'd say that to me. You've know me ALL my life!" I yell, no longer caring who hears me. "Have I EVER lied to you? Do you even KNOW me?!"
My outburst shocks him. "Oh my god," he says. He covers his mouth with his hand and closes his eyes. "Jesse, I'm so sorry. Of course I believe you. I love you boys like you're my own kids. Trouble is, it's still hearsay."
"Not if we set the bastard up." I say bitterly.
"OK, but how?"
I smile wickedly, and quickly lay out my plan. Sometimes I amaze myself on how fast I can come up with a scheme.
"Ahhh....I see the mischevious boy I used to know in that grin of yours. OK! You're on. I may have to threaten to fire a few people if this is going to work, but I think we can pull this off" he says. "Truthfully, Newsome has been a pain in my ass for years. I'll get it all ready. Don't worry." he says, as he puts his hand on my shoulder.
I fall sleep, comforted that at least I got my story out to someone. If they fry my brain and I forget everything, then I'll have the satisfaction that I told them so.
The next day, I am fed my breakfast, and I still play the weak and helpless patient. The nurse frowns, so I decide to perk up a little bit. We make small talk, and she seems ok. Guess I laid it on too thick. A while later, in walks Hitler, er, Dr. Newsome.
"Well, how are we this morning?" he asks, his hands behind his back, and he paces. "Care to tell me why the hospital administrator would be in here to see you?"
"I don't know. He used to play golf with my dad once in a while. I guess he caught wind I was here and wanted to say hello." I lie.
"I see. Curious that a man of his importance would be here late at night. But, whatever." He leans in and whispers "I thought maybe he came in for a blow job. That's your speed, right?"
I move my head away from him and give him a hateful glare.
"Well, no matter. Today we get down to business. Let's talk about your problems." he says.
I look up and sure enough, the camera light is on. EXCELLENT! "I think maybe we should talk about YOURS first!" I challenge.
"Mine?" he says, with a sarcastic tone and smile. "Why, I have no problem. I can walk out that door any time I want. YOU on the other hand cannot! And why? Because you don't leave until I say you can. So, you arrogant little queen, why don't we cut the bullshit and get down to your real problem?!"
"The only problem I have is dealing with a homophobic, pompous asshole who should be out shoveling shit instead of creating it!" I spit back. Probably not a good move, but I love seeing the blood vessels pop out of his head.
"Look you little bastard, you've just bought yourself a good series of shock treatments, how do you like THAT? I'll get you so wired up you'll be ready to kiss your dick goodbye!!!" he says calmly. I'd have been less scared if he'd yelled.
"Go fuck yourself." I tell him.
"That's IT!" and he moves over to strike me. Just then, the door flies open, and Dr. Arnold, another young doctor, and my father fly into the room.
"That'll DO, doctor" the young doctor says.
"What?! What is the meaning of this?!" Dr. Newsome demands. "This is my patient, and I'll thank you to leave this room so I can continue treatment!"
"You're done treating him" Uncle Bob says. "In fact, you're done treating anyone. Dr. Jacobs will take it from here."
"I'll see you in court! You can't do this to me!" Newsome spits out.
"Actually, we can" Dad says. "We have monitored this entire conversation, and as luck would have it, the surveillance of this room has recorders on them. Furthermore, I happen to be one of the best malpractice attorneys in this state, as in I've never EVER lost a case, and I have it pretty much wrapped up that you are an abusive dictator who clearly needs to get caught up on modern medicine! Now GET OUT OF MY SON'S ROOM!"
Dr. Newsome, in a huge rage, looks at each of them, then yells, "FINE!! Good luck with the queer!" and he starts to walk out. Just then, two officers enter the room.
"One moment, sir." the taller of the two cops say. "I think we need to have a little chat."
"Get out of my way!" Newsome bellows.
"I don't think so, sir." the lady cop says, and she spins him around and takes his arms and cuffs him. "You have the right to remain silent, ..." and reads him his rights.
"What is the meaning of this?!"
"Criminal negligence. Let's go, Newsome." the male cop says and they escort him out.
Dad comes over and hugs me. "I'm sorry, son, I had no idea."
"It's ok, Dad."
Bob pulls Dr. Jacobs out of the room, leaving us alone.
"Dad? I am so sorry for all of this. I don't know what put me up on that roof, but I know I need help, and I need to do it on my own. You can't keep coming to my rescue."
"JD, you are not a bother, and you have always been your own man. I've only picked you up when you've really fallen. You've just hit a rough patch of road (he grimaces) no pun intended. Mom and I are here when you need us."
"I know, Dad. I guess I've always known, it's just seemed like I've been so dependent lately. I'm 38 and I need to take my life back over."
Dad smiles. "That's good to hear."
"And, I need help. Do you think this Dr. Jacobs might be a good doctor? I'm a little nervous about them now." I reply.
"Well, let's find out." he says, and he goes over and knocks on the door. Dr. Jacobs and Bob come back into the room.
Dr. Jacobs starts: "Well, now, let's get caught up and see what we need to do here." he smiles pleasantly.
I look at Bob and Dad. Dad catches my glance, clears his throat, and says "Uh, Bob, it's been awhile since I kicked your butt in golf. Up for a game?"
Bob catches the hint. "Uh, yeah! Let's go! See ya later, Jess." and he walks out.
Dad comes over, kisses me on top the head, and says "I'll see you later, buddy. You'll be fine."
"OK, Dad, bye...I love you."
"Love you too, son." and he leaves.
Dr. Jacobs excuses himself, goes and gets a wheelchair and comes back into my room.
"Let's go for a little ride, Jesse."
Panic sets in. "Where to?" I ask.
"Just out to the terrace. It's a beautiful day outside, and it's a shame to waste it." he smiles.
A flood of relief washes over me, and I get into the wheelchair. We roll along silently, and I notice the others on the floor. In the corner is a lady having a conversation with Good Morning America. Another patient is on the floor throwing a tantrum like a 2 year old as the nurse tries to get him off the floor.
"These folks are all here for help, Jesse," Jacobs says to me as he pushes me along. "They're not bad people."
"I know" I reply.
He stops at the nurses station to sign me out. One of them starts to protest, but he informs her that he's in charge now. She says "Yes doctor" and does as she's told. We roll out of the contained floor and down the hall to a sliding door. We go out onto the empty terrace and over to a semi-secluded area partially shaded. The morning breeze feels so good. I never thought fresh air would be so wonderful. I have a pang of remorse as I remember the last fresh air I had was on that roof.
"So, my friend, what brings you here?" he says pleasantly.
I relay again the entire story, including everything about me, the guys I was with, Leslie, my dad's heart attack, and now my biggest anxiety: this hospital.
"Well, that's quite a story there." he says, unknowingly echoing Uncle Bob.
"I know, and I know I need help, and I was hoping that maybe you could help me?" I ask, hopeful. I like this doctor.
"Well, to be honest, I don't usually see patients on an out-patient basis, and from what you've told me, I can see no reason to keep you here. Newsome's practices have been questionable to me, but think about it: the longer he keeps you, the more insurance money he collects."
My heart leaps. I'm getting out of here! "OK, well, what do you recommend?"
We discuss my symptoms. Mild depression is the final outcome. "I think you can be treated by a psychiatrist, with the help of some anti-depressant medications. You probably won't need to be on them long, but because of their nature, you'll have to gradually get on them, be on them for awhile, then gradually come off. You need to understand this, Jesse. It has to be done exactly as the doctor orders. Stopping your meds early can cause it to come back full force." he instructs.
"Yes, doctor! I do want to get better. I realized when I woke up this morning that I wanted to change my life, and I let this bad experience blind me to it." I say eagerly.
I studies my face for a moment. "Jesse, I'm going to take a chance on you. I like you, and I can tell you're intelligent. I don't think you're playing me." He hands me a piece of paper.
"What's this?" I ask.
"An agreement. You and I will both sign it. It's an agreement that 1) you won't try to kill yourself, and 2) you will seek professional assistance, and do it faithfully, until that doctor releases you from treatment." he explains.
"And your side? What do you get by signing?"
He smiles. "Hmm, the lawyer's son. OK, what I get is the comfort in knowing you'll be ok and I won't find you in the morgue the next time I see you." he says gravely. "Do you understand?"
I stare at the paper in my hand. Two things, both easy. I can do this. I will do this.
"Yes, sir. I understand completely." I take the pen and eagerly sign my line, and he does the same.
"Good. I'll have the nurse make a copy for you, a copy for me, and one that I will mail to your doctor. Now, who would you like to see?"
I think about this. I don't have a doctor. "Well, Susan Frederick is who I was seeing before, but she was with EAP."
"Hmm...I know Susan. Not really her specialty. I think we need a bigger gun. Don't tell her I said that. I'd like to recommend Cal Riley. He's a good guy, sharp as a tack, and probably the only person I'd trust with your case. Oh, and he's gay."
"Why is that important?" I ask.
"You'll see. I think it'd be better to have someone with the same frame of reference. There are a lot of good people who could do as good a job, but I think a fellow gay man might be the best for you." he replies.
I shrug. "OK, you're the doc."
"Great. Now, let's get you checked out of here."
He rolls me back inside, but this time we go to the elevator and go up to the 9th floor. He rolls me down to a room, his office, and he asks me to take a seat on his couch. He calls the ward nurse and asks her to bring my clothes.
After he hangs up, I say "I only had jeans here."
He hesitates, then says "Well, no, you have clothes here for when you check out."
"But how?"
"Dr. Landry brought them by."
SCOTT!
"He what?"
"I wasn't going to tell you, but he heard about your hospitalization, and the nurse said he brought clothes up for you. He, uh, also asked us to give you this." and he hands me an envelope.
With shaky hands, I pull it open and take out the note.
"Dear Jesse:
I know 'I'm sorry' doesn't cut it. I had no right to do to you what I did, and please know that I AM sorry. I know I hurt you and you probably don't want to see me again. I don't blame you, and I'll leave you alone. I left these clothes for you for when you get out. I hope you are better. Please get help, Jess. You are a good guy, and I didn't deserve you. I feel horrible that I did this to you. You can hate me, it's ok.
You're welcome to stay in the apartment, but I'll understand if you want to move out. Just page me when you want to come over and we'll get out so you can get your stuff, if that's what you want.
I wish you all the best.
Scott."
I crumple the letter and throw it in Jacobs' trash can. I look up and he's watching me intently. My eyes stay dry.
"I'm over him." I say matter-of-factly. Shrugging, I continue, "I probably was never that into him. Or maybe I was, but, after what he did, I can't feel pain anymore. I won't let him."
"It's ok to feel pain, Jesse. Don't repress your feelings. I have a feeling that's exactly what got you up there. He told me you ran out and refused to talk to him. You should, if nothing else, write him and tell him how you feel."
"Maybe. Right now, I need to get my life in order. I need a new home, and I need to make some new friends, and...and..." and what? "And, I need to patch things up at work."
"Good! Keep that attitude going, my friend, and you'll make it. I've made you an appointment with Cal, and you need to show up, or I may have to have you brought back here. Deal?" he hands me a business card.
"Deal!" And I mean it.
I get dressed, get back in the wheelchair, and we head for the lobby. Dad and Uncle Bob are there, waiting.
"I thought you were going to play golf!" I say.
"We are. And you're joining us." Dad says, clapping me on the shoulder. "But first we're going to lunch to celebrate."
"Celebrate? Celebrate what?" I inquire.
And with a serious look, Bob bends down to look me square in the eye. "Your new life, Jesse. Today is the first day of the rest of your life."
I roll my eyes and groan.
"No, listen to me. I'm not just spilling out a cliche. You need to understand this. Everything is in the past. Today, you start over." He points outside. "There is the world, waiting for you, and YOU have the power to make it happen." and he puts his hand on my chest over my heart. "Do you understand, son?"
I look from him to dad and back. "Yeah...YEAH I do!" I say. And he's right!
to be continued....
Sorry that these chapters were so dark, but this is the turning point of Jesse's life. And it's all open to him. Thanks again for those who have stuck with my story for so long. I appreciate all of the feedback! I hope I left you with "what happens next?!" Tune in the next installment for the start of his new life!