Cocaine Addiction

I suppose that I was was always seeking that ultimate “high” – always would top off a beer or two, with a bourbon or malt.

End of a meal it would have to be coffee – perhaps laced with Irish whiskey. Drinking wine with dinner was topped off with a cognac or port. Living alone, I often drank a glass of Benedictine or Creme de Menthe to get me off to sleep – that is if it did not keep me awake – dreaming dreams of what tomorrow might bring.

Sure, I was unhappy with my life – but I didn’t know why – I’d got the post-graduate position to study towards a PhD that I had applied for. Family and friends had supported and encouraged me, said it was a wonderful achievement.

I knew that I should be content and happy with that – but yet, it seemed that something in me, still cried out for more.

In all my student life, I never had a boyfriend, although I would go on dates that well meaning friends would set up.

Always, I decided it was more important to get down to my studies – I had to get that degree.

Being a single woman, introduced to a new social circle, I expected and took in my stride the attention that I got from the men in the field. Some were married, some were not. I didn’t want the pain of a workplace relationship, in case it ever went wrong, so I shied away from intimacy, kept my mind on the job.

Home was a small apartment, that I had furnished to my taste, I rarely entertained but readily accepted all social invitations – often going home bored, depressed that it had not been more exciting – no new face, nothing new in the conversation – the latest gossip in our circle – nothing more than that.

Enter Paul in my life – came to put a new wardrobe in my bedroom – and I can’t explain – I suppose it is what they call chemistry. He wouldn’t know an isobar from an isotope – but what the hell does it matter – somehow he merged into my my life – we became lovers, and were happy.

Perhaps it was me, wanting more that got him to admit, that sometimes he used coke. Next I knew he said he would bring some for me, next time he was around.

For the first time ever – I pinned him down to a time – I wanted to try that coke.

And – yes, using cocaine did it for me – so much more than I expected. I do wish that they would say inhaling cocaine – rather than say snorting it. With Paul I inhaled cocaine and enjoyed our love making.

All of a sudden the bubble burst – Paul had to go away to the country – couldn’t say when he would be back – he would keep in touch. I panicked. Not so much about Paul – where would I get more coke.

Paul gave me a contact – said I should mention his name.

In secret, with some shame, I made the contact and kept up my habit of using cocaine. No one at work guessed or knew about what I did weekends – straight after work I’d chase the dealer until I got the cocaine.

I didn’t want to meet up with my friends once I had hit up on coke. Anyhow, their invites really bored me. I missed Paul, hoped he’d come back soon, meanwhile I used cocaine, watched tv, watered the garden, and finally went to sleep in time to wake up for work on Monday.

My supervisor was the first one to take me aside and say – you seem to be not with us sometimes, is there anything wrong? I denied any problem, either at home or at work, Later a friend asked me why I had not come round for dinner like I usually did – was I having problems at work. No, I don’t have a problem at work – and even if I did – is it really your business?

The words sprung out, I wished they hadn’t, my friend was quite upset. Later, I thought what the hell – they were boring people.

This is Mishka’s story, and it goes downhill from here. Mishka was fine doing coke and her job, until one day she called up Paul on his phone – that he had asked her not to do. She really knew it was over, but something inside her still longed to make the call. A lady answered saying Paul had left his phone with her – she expected him back in a fortnight.

Mishka felt betrayed, suddenly alone – hitting up on coke did nothing at all, she was neither awake, nor asleep. Abandoned, alone, since some earlier time, Mishka picked up the phone again – and called a suicide helpline. It got her through the night.

Mishka is now a regular caller, usually late at night. She very often doesn’t speak – all you can hear is the volunteer saying, occasionally – hello, we are still here for you.

Just another day, of me doing domestic work for people just come out of hospital, with broken legs in plaster, arms in slings needing help for a few days to do the basic things. First on the list, one Thursday morning was the man who is your Dad. He had broken his leg. He lived in a two story townhouse, not as untidy as some – I was happy to do the housework – he seemed like a very nice man. He said he would go upstairs and wait in his room, while I did downstairs.

When I finished, I went up, knocked on the door of his room – it opened a bit and I saw him lying stretched out on the bed. His face looked flushed, he looked in pain. I thought I had better go in – see if there was anything I could do.

I could not believe my eyes – there was a torn strip of material – it was pale blue, tied just above his elbow, his lower arm looked puffed up and red – and in the crook of his arm, hanging down, I saw an empty plastic syringe, plunged into his skin.

I would have screamed, caused an uproar – but in the instant that I saw him there, I felt no emotion at all.

I simply stood and observed – his eyes were rolled back, unseeing, I moved forward, kept punching him on the leg, saying, wake up, wake up and tell me – what drug you have taken. Is it insulin? His eyes rolled back into some sort of focus, he stared at me, seemed to be alert.

No, he said, don’t worry, it’s nothing and lapsed back, eyes both fully closed. I pounded him on the leg again and said tell me, what have you taken, what did you put in the syringe. He looked back at me once again. This time he seemed pretty dazed, said what are you talking about – everything is alright.

I said no way, it’s not ok – you’ve got tape tied on your arm, a syringe stuck in with a needle. He looked vaguely at the syringe and as if surprised, started to tug and pull it out from his skin.

He suddenly sat up, fell forward, face crashing down into the bedside table. I hit him again and again on the leg, said tell me what you have taken. Was it meth, or coke, or what. Should I should call an ambulance.

No, he said, it’s all ok, nothing, don’t get stressed, I’m sorry, I’m sorry – you should not be seeing this. I asked again, I wanted to know – what have you used, I said – was it heroin?

He said speedball – that I knew was coke and heroin.

At first he had not seemed to be breathing, but now he was sitting up, breathing quickly, in short gasps, holding his hand to his heart, his eyes again rolled back in his head.

Then he seemed to relax said he was real sorry to have put me through this. And do stop hitting me on the leg – will you please stop hitting me.

I stood back, closed my eyes and I took a deep breath.

Next time I looked, I saw that he was now lying, stretched out on the bed, peaceful, relaxed, and breathing strong, deep breaths.

Something told me he would be alright, there was nothing I needed to do.  I told him I thought it might be best if left and went on to my next job.  He said yeah, and looked so peaceful. I said sorry if I spoiled your trip, sorry for keep hitting you on the leg but you had me worried. I didn’t want you to die.

No, he said, nothing wasted at all – he seemed to be breathing steady,  so I decided to quietly leave.

We got on fine next time I went in to do the cleaning, we got to talking about the dope, how long he had been using. Then one day, he said that he had suddenly seen the light – wouldn’t use dope any more. We parted the best of friends, never expecting I think that we would ever cross paths again.

It was two years later and I had passed my exams for final year furniture design – no more cleaning. I was signed up to start a traineeship with a big furniture company. No one was further from my thoughts than your father on that day that all us students that were taken up by the company got an orientation tour.

As we walked by the accounts department, I couldn’t believe my eyes -  there he was, sitting working at a computer – I called out his name, he looked up, with enormous surprise. But it didn’t take long, he ran over to me, got me to meet him for dinner.

The rest follows on like a fairy tale – except that it is all real. He’d gone into rehab, got completely recovered, become a trainee accountant. Had always hoped to see me again, to show me how he had recovered.

I have never told this story to anyone – only written it down on paper. It’s a kind of preparation in case I ever want to tell the story to our kids.

We’ve talked to them already about saying no to drugs – but I have in mind a plan. If I ever see any of them looking like they might take an interest in drugs – I’m going sit them all down and tell them the truth  - about the day I met your father.

I never gave much thought to fixing my problem until it was all too late. It all came to grief on Christmas Day but don’t say that it’s all my blame – no, I won’t listen to that kind of talk. Who was the one who wanted designer gear for the kids, private school and even a pony. Who said they didn’t mind if I worked away from home, fly in fly out – no problem – we had to keep focused on the “benefits of education and social connection” for our kids, and a non-playing membership of the local golf club for entertaining friends.

These jobs that keep you away from home compensate you well – sure it was a dry ship we were on – but the food was superb, in house entertainment up with the best, a gym, a sauna and clothes were laundered daily.

Was always a bit of a culture shock to walk back in the door of our family home – you don’t expect perfection with three kids under 8, but it was a perfect mess. How the wife got the kid’s breakfasts – got them out the door to school, with all their gear and homework done, all perfectly dressed and groomed is beyond my understanding.

I got into going down to the club and having a few drinks – got in with the sort of bar-flies that seem to live their lives in clubs, don’t seem to have regular jobs. This started to cause rows at home – not so much about me going out – but about me wasting money. There were things to fix around the home – surely I could fix things up when I was home, instead of her having to pay out money to tradesmen. I sort of thought I’d compromise, and divided my time 50/50 between doing chores and drinking at the club.

Then it turned out that some of the guys at the club were going to Vegas, at a time when I would be  off work and normally would come home. Said I would join them for a few days, couldn’t see any problem.

Tried to think of a way to tell the wife, but decided in the end less said soonest mended – and anyway, thinking about the trip had made me feel the happiest I’d been for months – why spoil it.

The wife fell for the overtime bit – great she said, more money – and I was off to Vegas.

Well, I don’t know how other people go on when they get to a place like Vegas – a town with no public clocks, that is like a giant fantasy – except that you are really in it. My mates from the club had good connections – really knew how to party – and yes, I have to admit there were girls, but not until well into the trip and only after one young minx had suggested that I try coke – it is real powerful stuff.

Vaguely I came to a recollection that it was time to pack my bag,  time to fill in the rest of my break –  back home and doing chores. I decided to stay on.

Once I was safely back at sea – I’d call my wife, tell her I’d worked right through.Too easy!

As I approached my next leave home, it became easier and harder – harder to go back home, easier to go back to Vegas. The wife was happy enough it seemed, anticipating more money. Back in Vegas, I relaxed, got into the gaming and the lifestyle. Third time I did this – I missed the time to get back to my hometown, and then fly up to the rig. I got back to work, just in time by using a direct flight.

Personnel called me in, asked if there was trouble at home – I said none that I knew of. They said to let them know, as leave could be arranged, and counselling if required. It made me think it might look better if I stayed at home next leave.

My wife was happy to see me, she had run up a little bill at the local department store on their in-house credit – could I fix a monthly debit on my account to cover it. For the first time in months, I went into my study, got onto my internet banking. I felt a sort of fear, a rising panic as I saw that the amount left in credit, in my account, wouldn’t even cover next months mortgage payment. Let alone the next term school fees.

I wanted escape, I wanted coke, I wanted to get back to the rig. I’d had a few wins in Vegas, where had all the money gone.

The break passed by in a haze of suffering, I badly needed some coke – there was nothing between me and the wife except her wondering why I wasn’t eating, why she had to stop spending money, why I was morose.

I suppose I could have got through, if only I had stopped using coke and got back to normal living. Ok, Vegas was off limits but I ended up buying coke down at the club – saw it as a consolation.

And so it took another year before reality set in. I’d re-financed with my bank, paid off various debts, happily went in again just before Christmas, to get another increase, only to be told that on my income I was now at the limit of my credit.

And so in our lavish home, there was no credit for Christmas presents, no money for food on the table.

Only enough money in my wallet to pay for a line of coke – it was my consolation.

More cocaine Info:

Since he first learned to walk, Gerry wanted to fly. Ran around the house, arms outstretched – making aeroplane noises. Unable to sit still in class, and learn his lessons, Gerry was the subject of many parent-teacher consultations – diagnosed with hyperactivity. Eventually everyone agreed – including Gerry – that his best possible hope for redemption – was to join the military who it was hoped would be able to instill some discipline.

Gerry chose to join up with the Navy, found himself in test pilot training. Gerry was in seventh heaven until the fateful day that he suffered a G-LOC or blackout. It meant a sad and sorry end to his aspirations.

Gerry took it badly at first, went back home and drowned his sorrows in drink. Encouraged to go out and socialize, Gerry ended up finding a sociable group who were heavily into cocaine.

Cocaine use got him out of the dumps long enough to think about looking for work.

Gerry became a technical writer, continued to use cocaine.

On internet he found communities who enjoyed playing video games – Gerry found the games almost like the challenge that test pilot training had been.

Except to go out and get cocaine, Gerry spent his time playing online video games.

If it had not been for his parents who supported him financially, made sure that he got enough food, Gerry could easily have starved.

It could have gone on for years that way, except that Melanie, who knew Gerry from school, unexpectedly returned to her hometown.

She took an interest in Gerry, until he admitted that he used cocaine.

As Gerry puts it – I couldn’t believe what she said, didn’t think that she would care, one way or the other. Told me I was wasting my life, told me to grow up, and get over not being a test pilot anymore.

Melanie got up as if to leave, and said that every morning she went walking around the park – if I had nothing better to do – I was welcome to join her.

So, early next morning, I made my way downtown and there was Melanie in the park.

I wasn’t long before I realized how unfit I’d got. Melanie said that if I wanted to play tennis she would book us a court at the weekend.

The walking and the tennis fitted into my life quite well – I needed something to do.

After a while I asked Melanie why she had come back to town.

Melanie said that she’d made a mistake, got pregnant, decided to have an abortion.

For a while she had thought that everything was fine, but had suddenly come down with a deep depression, was on some antidepressants. Hated taking the stuff, it made her feel quite strange. She would rather not be on them but was frightened that if she stopped, her depression would come back.

More than anything else I wanted to help Melanie get back to being her normal, happy self. Over the next few days I encouraged her to talk about her situation as we walked around the park.

One morning Melanie showed up with a happy grin – next thing you’ll be charging me by the hour Dr Gerry she said – I do think our walking and talking in the park has finally got me clear of all that guilt, and shame I was feeling – I’ve been off the medication now for over a week and there is no sign of my depression coming back.

I never thought about what it meant if Melanie got better until she told me one morning that she was so much better now that she was going back to her training.

I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.

That day I found that I had a real craving for cocaine – used up all my supply, had to get money from my parents to go out, get some more.

Never got to the park next morning – used cocaine instead.

Melanie’s final words to me were Gerry, if you are still using that stuff – please, do try and get off it.

In some ways she had been my lifeline. Now I felt like I was drifting away in my mind, back into into some vast unknown – like a sailor, lost at sea. I lived for the little hits of happiness that cocaine was giving me.

This could have gone on for years – except my parents pulled me up short. I had long since spent my savings, had no regular income, had been dependent on the folks for some time.

We gave you money to help out they said, but we can’t go on at this rate – it will send us broke. I got a bit angry – said it hadn’t been that much. This made my Dad sit down and reckon it up. I think that we were both shocked to realize that – they had in dribs and drabs given me over ten thousand dollars.

I wanted more coke, and parent’s money had become an issue – I was feeling so frustrated I took my car and sold it to a dealer that afternoon for whatever they would give me, and felt a sense of reprieve.

It wasn’t until that money ran out that I realized I had a problem – went to my parents, said I needed help. Dad was easy, said he’d pay for rehab. He said the best value for money looked like it would be a comprehensive program – at least they gave an estimated time for full recovery – didn’t use any drugs in the treatment.

I walked into that center feeling happy, although I was a bit strung out – feeling like at last, I was going to get my life back together – and under control.

Relapse is not a problem when you have got addiction beaten! Alcohol, Cocaine or whatever.

see article:   http://www.alcoholaddict.info/alcohol-addiction/avoiding-alcohol-relapse.html

Cheers!

Jane was born to a quiet family, a sister and a brother, and from an early age her parents called her Calamity Jane. Things happened around Jane, that try as she might to behave herself – still inevitably happened. She grew up shy and awkward, as one might expect, in someone who was considered by her parents to be a walking disaster area.

Take for instance the farm stay holiday, when Jane swung out on a rope, as did her brother and sister – but the rope frayed out, on Jane’s second turn, dumping her into an open cess pit. As her mother scrubbed her down she could not resist to say – what you get up to is quite beyond me – you are a real Calamity Jane.

And it was true – if a fly fell into someone’s soup, if there was a caterpillar in a tossed salad – you didn’t need to ask – it would always be Jane’s.

Jane learned to accept her failings, took a fatalistic approach. If she survived a day without calamity, parental reproach – she was happy enough.

Came the time for leaving school, Jane had average grades and needed to find employment. Something safe, her parents said, with Jane’s reputation for calamity. She did a course in data entry and got a steady job.

Her parents were suddenly into investment. Having money to spare after paying off their home mortgage, a financial adviser revealed to them the meaning and power of “equity loans”.

They wanted the investment potential, but were mistrusting of tenants who might trash the place, or run up an excess water bill that they might have to pay.

So they turned to Jane and said – if she wanted a place of her own, they would buy the property. She could pay them rent, live there – and have a life of her own.

Jane said ok, she would do that, and it was agreed. Her parents said they would buy the furnishings, after all, why not – tax deductible, according to the financial adviser.

In the vast apartment block, Jane soon met up with people from all walks of life. Most fascinating of all was Henri, known to be into drugs, according to tenants who appeared to be somewhat concerned for her welfare.

Henri was no chancer – made the right moves. Got out of rent, and into Jane’s flat in less than a week. Cocaine user, and part time dealer, Jane fell under Henri’s spell.

Cocaine and Henri, Henri – cocaine. And then it became – cocaine, cocaine, cocaine.

Jane stopped going to work. The bank stopped a rental debit against Jane’s savings account.

No answer to phone calls. Jane’s enraged parents decided to go round and visit their daughter – Calamity Jane. Hammered on the front door.

Jane got up wearily, answered the door. Offering no resistance, Jane’s parents took her home.

They took in tenants, bore the risk, to cover their position on the apartment. Told Jane that she was a hopeless case, a calamity, never to be trusted.

And Jane decided, they were right, she was a hopeless case – stole what she could from the family home to keep on buying cocaine.

Jane survived until one day she took some notes from a pile that her father had left on the kitchen table – thinking he might not notice. Turned out it was black money intended to cover apartment repairs. The contractor was not impressed, thought he was being ripped off..

Jane’s father sorted the problem out and then he turned on Jane, saying – get out of my house – right now. I don’t want to see your face, ever again.

Jane felt wronged, felt overwhelmed. Decided to stand up for her rights.

You and Mom have picked on me, every day of my life, made me the reason for your problems – the scapegoat for everything that’s ever been not perfect in your lives. It’s not my fault I fell out of the tree, it was the rope that broke – always you have laughed at me, told your friends about that.

Jane’s father was taken aback, surprised – what are you talking about – what tree, what rope – I don’t understand.

Years ago, I fell into a cesspool – because a tree swing broke – you and Mom always blamed me for that – said I was a Calamity Jane.

Jane’s Dad remembered it then, could have gone either way, supported Jane in her misery, or told her to get over it. Jane’s Dad said yes, I remember it now – your mother was so upset. You really should not have played on the tree swing – being so un-athletic, not like your brother or sister.

Jane took him at his word, why not, she had always been a failure – hitting up on coke had been the only happiness she had known.

Jane went back to her room, took anything of value. Got money, found a dealer, used cocaine and overdosed.

Saved by paramedics, taken to hospital – Jane vaguely saw her parents standing by the bed – but she heard, and responded to the words they said.

We need you Jane, we love you. We want you to come home – we need to talk – and get things sorted out.

Cocaine relapse can happen at different points in the recovery process for individuals. Cocaine is a highly addictive drug that perpetuates a strong physical craving for more. I lived in fear of relapse. Being able to recognize the variety of trigger points and avoiding them helps me steer clear of using again. Without continuing in cocaine rehab treatment, relapse is likely. Alcohol is the most common reason for cocaine relapse.

Getting cocaine addiction advice and learning about the issues that fuel a cocaine craving helped me understand what I was going through. My relapses came in stages:

Emotional responses, management of feelings and behaviors
Triggers like stressful situations
Cravings

In rehab, I learned that certain thoughts and behaviors can lower your resistance to a craving. These “set-up behaviors” can put you in a place where you are vulnerable to a relapse. They are a combination of physical, psychological, and social triggers. Physical set-ups for me were:

Poor diet
Excessive use of caffeine or nicotine
Lack of exercise

Psychological set-ups:

Remembering only the good aspects of cocaine and not all the problems it caused.
Denying the strength my addiction
Believing that using now and then won’t hurt.

Social set-ups:

Lack of communication with friends and family
Socializing with other drug-using friends
Social conflict

Triggers activate immediate craving in me. They deal more with the mental, emotional and even spiritual aspects of certain situations. Intense cravings make me very susceptible to a relapse. I don’t have many friends, but when I experience a craving, I can call a counselor who can encourage me. I know I have turned to Wikipedia and Cocaine Addiction websites to know my enemy better.

Megan was a model and Karon worked as an editor for a lifestyle magazine. Cousins due to their mother’s being sisters, and both being an only child, they had always been close, very much like sisters. They were highly competitive and took a delight in meeting up and showing off the latest in designer clothing, and fashion accessories – both ordering low calorie salads and mineral water – and perhaps a small black coffee.

Megan didn’t drink, but used cocaine with discretion to keep at bay what would otherwise have been an obsession for chocolate and creme covered pastries. Karon saw her frugal lunches with Megan as a brief respite from the regular alcohol drinking, long lunches and editorial deadlines that filled in her time while husband Adam was away.

It was at one of their regular lunch time meetings that Karon burst out with her “news” – after trying for ages, at last – she and Adam were pregnant! Megan was thrilled to bits – she too had plans to start a family at the end of the season.

Karon gave up the alcohol and found that it wasn’t that hard – what with the job, and planning a nursery, and looking at baby clothes she felt cool, in control, and on top of the world. She planned to go back to work part time when the baby was born – but Adam was insisting that she take a year off, and get properly into motherhood.

In fact it was more than a suggestion. It seemed that Adam had changed – his attitude was pointedly clear – her work had been fine to pass the time, but he saw her real job as being a mother to their child and hopefully more children to come.

Karon read books, bought the accessories, knew pretty much what to expect, true she wanted this child very much, but she didn’t want to part with her job. She compromised by deciding to work right through to the very last minute. And so it was only one week after her send off party from work that Karon went into labor and had a healthy and boisterous son.

Karon was fine in the hospital where everyone was helpful and efficient. Five days later she returned home in a taxi, with her young son.  Adam had been there for the birth but was now overseas on a six month contract.

Holding Josh in her arms and standing in the hallway, Karon heard the taxi door slam and take off down the driveway. Karon suddenly felt light headed, fearful of what to do, she clung fiercely to the baby, while wanting to put him down and fix herself a drink.

The telephone rang, it was her mother – calling interstate  – making sure that things were o k, and of course Karon said that they were. Starting to fix a drink – planning to wash the dirty clothes that she’d brought back from the hospital, hoping to fix some lunch, baby Josh cried out from the couch, where she had put him down.

Karon found herself hours later with nothing done, sitting on the couch holding a well fed baby who wouldn’t be put down in his cot, who wanted to be held.

Karon felt overwhelmed at the power this baby had, her total loss of freedom, finally bundled him under one arm, determined to get that long awaited drink if it was the last thing she ever did.

Lunch with Megan was at Karon’s house the following week, Karon was visibly tired, looked extremely depressed. Megan was sympathetic, said that she understood. It must be like hitting a brick wall after having such a high power job. The best pick me up that Megan knew of was a little whiff of coke – why not try it, I’ve got some right here in my purse said Megan, and Karon said o k.

For Karon it was white magic, suddenly all was right with the world, Josh and his demanding ways wasn’t a problem any more. Karon straight away felt like calling back some other young mothers she knew. They had planned to meet after Josh was born but Karon had not felt up to returning their calls.

As Megan was leaving, Karon said – I’d like some more of that – I’ll pay you whatever it costs – can you come back tomorrow. Megan looked shocked but said that she would try and see what she could do – it’s not like I’ve got a habit she said, I usually wait til the weekend to get more from my dealer.

Megan called next day, said it was difficult. If Karon would wait til the weekend, she would get her some coke then. Karon was angry, but bit her lip, sure Megan, no problem, I’ll wait.

The next time Josh cried out, Karon made him wait, it was a sort of payback for Megan not bringing the coke. She found that if she left him long enough, Josh would simply stop crying and go back to sleep. Next time he cried she picked him up, encouraged him to feed. She had heard that alcohol in mother’s milk sent babies back to sleep, and it seemed to work. Josh asleep gave her some respite, but she felt trapped in the house.

Instead of calling up her friends, Karon simply sat in her chair, waiting for the weekend, when Megan would be round with the coke. Let the washing pile up, leave the dishes unwashed, what the hell does it matter.

Opening a bottle of sweet white wine, Karon sloshed it into a glass, raised it in mock salute towards the nursery door, drank the wine, poured out another glassful and quickly drained the lot. Here’s cheers to motherhood, said Karon bitterly, as she began to sip her third glass of wine that morning.

Lance was one of a group from his school that had decided to be doctors. The five of them went to university and joined the medical school. Early on Lance realized that he lacked the ambition that he saw in others to get to the top of the tree, thought that being a humble GP would be enough to satisfy what he now could see had been more his parents ambition than his own. Although Lance daydreamed about other jobs, such as being a pilot, he was realistic enough to know that if he played his cards right, he could set up as a local GP and have an easy life.

This attitude meant that Lance didn’t spend too much time on study other than what was needed to pass, no swotting up to sound brilliant and impress the professors. Lance took the opportunity play sport, party and experiment with drugs. Using drugs of different kinds suited Lance’s laid back style. All sorts of drugs came down the ranks, out of hospital cupboards

Lance took it all in his stride, drank alcohol, mixed uppers and downers, the occasional hallucinogenic. Due to his youth and natural health he tended to weather it better than most, and by his final year had settled into a comfortable balance of alcohol and cocaine.

He took the view best not buy your meat where you get your bread. There had been a nurse in trouble for stealing drugs. He didn’t want to get tied into any messy situations like that, in fact he liked the feel of going out on the street to buy coke, looking kind of seedy – wouldn’t his dealers be surprised if they knew they were dealing with a doctor. He liked the feel of his double life, in a world where it seemed that everyone knew everything about you.

In fact, reviewing his situation, Lance felt he’d done quite well – his longtime girlfriend was a socialite, and very well connected. He started to imagine a surgery, started with her money, him dispensing medications with authority, complete with mid-week golf at the club where she had put him up for membership. He wondered if he could get by without more than a promise of marriage, he shied off whenever the topic got mentioned. He really didn’t like the idea of being leg-shackled to anyone. It was something he would deal with in time, and meanwhile enjoyed to the max his new found status in society as a doctor to be.

Getting the practice went without hitch. Each day he basked in the glow of success as he drove from his townhouse, parked up and strode into his consulting room. He had sublet to other doctors and was making a profit each week before he even walked in the door.

Lance didn’t feel it at first but after a while he felt restless and unhappy. Seeing another endless round of patients, writing out the scripts, and calling for the next made him feel depressed, somewhat bored – was this all there was to being a doctor. Lance felt jaded and forlorn – and Jemma was starting to reel him in towards setting a date for their wedding.

Lacking any real enthusiasm Lance relented and gave in – do whatever you need to do he said, I’ll leave the detail to you, made an excuse to leave and straight way called up his dealer.

Lance spent the next five years in a haze of alcohol, cocaine and the daily necessity to go in and see to his patients, even the birth of a daughter failed to arouse much pleasure – or dispel his feelings of gloom. He stopped playing golf and only went down to the club for a drink, soon he was up to a bottle a day and using coke to get started of a morning. He ended each day with a drink from the cupboard, and a small hit of coke.

Lance knew he was in trouble, but couldn’t think his way out.

Late one evening Lance missed his footing, fell down the stairs, ended up home with a broken leg. Self prescribed medications covered his sudden withdrawal from coke and a need to hide the alcohol shakes from his wife. His wife complained to a doctor friend about the number of medications her husband was taking, and was told it was lucky he wasn’t dead of an overdose, what did he think he was doing. He would come over and talk to Lance, see if anything was wrong.

Wrong with my life, exploded Lance – there’s nothing right with it – I feel like I’m a puppet, going through the motions, leading someone else’s life. Sure, once I get mobile again I’ll get off this prescription shit – boot up with a lovely hit of coke – I’m counting the days.

George was nothing if not a doctor with a good bedside manner, he stayed with Lance a while, and talked about addiction from a holistic point of view, telling Lance that he needed to quit or it was a downhill road to nowhere. I’m nowhere now said Lance. You’re a doctor – so save me, I can’t do it on my own.

That is how Lance got to be in an addiction recovery center in another province, with no medical people,  no one that he knew. A quantum leap into a vast unknown – no drugs, and natural methods that George had done his best to explain.

Enough, said George, you want too many facts – get in there, and start getting in touch with your feelings. I don’t want to see you again until you’ve completely recovered, and done away with your drugs.

A few months later George got a call – it was Lance sounding happy and proud – George, if you’ve got the time, you can come with my wife to the graduation. I’ve done away with my drugs, recovered from my addiction. Great, said George, I’ll be there – wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Addicted Doctors Article

Rodney, known as Rod to his mates, was a typical student who was full of enjoyment of life. A straight A ranking student, he had no difficulty with studies for a demanding double math major with physics and chemistry as options. He also had a lively sense of humor, enjoyed playing cards in the recreation hall. It wasn’t so much the money as working out the mathematical odds and probabilities involved at any stage in a game.

Rod liked music and played keyboard, used a synthesizer that produced big band and choral effects. Rod liked to put music to lyrics that people wrote. Rod also was the proud owner of a motorbike.

One afternoon in light drizzle, Rod spun out on the road, crashing the bike he broke his leg, that required two operations to finally set it right.

Rod changed after the accident, wasn’t so cheerful. He still played cards, composed music, but wasn’t as social, didn’t bother much with drinking beer, going to parties any more. Some put it down to the pain, some said it was more that Rod was angry that he had the accident, had made a mistake of judgment.

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Not everyone saw the streak of perfectionism that was in Rod, that had been dealt a cruel blow the day he had the accident and came off his motorbike.

After the accident Rod frequently became depressed, and resentful , often appeared sullen and withdrawn to his mates. The general opinion was best to leave him alone, give him some space, probably when his fractures had healed he would come back to being more cheerful, like he had been before.

But for Rod things didn’t improve, in fact as time went on he found himself slipping into despondency and gloom – he felt like he was “damaged goods”, no longer filled a self image of perfection.

The precise calculations and resolutions of math formulas that had previously delighted and challenged Rod’s thinking now failed to excite him at all. He didn’t feel connection with resolving math problems any more – his study times increasingly became a chore that he had to attend to if he wanted to pass the exams.

Rod took to playing his music, late into the night. Instead of focusing on his studies, Rod started going to late night parties, with people that were musicians. At such parties, he was offered coke, and tried a snort or two. He started using coke whenever he felt like playing music – it sort of amplified the effects.

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Somehow, slowly his studies in math started to play second fiddle to the music making machine. Rod lost his Triple A rating with the math department when for the first time ever he was late handing in a math assignment.

One day sudden anxiety kicked in. It was nearly time for the end of year exams and Rod knew he had not covered the coursework. Inspired, Rod decided to hit up on coke and study, and was delighted to find that with a shot of coke inside him, some of the old enthusiasm returned and he could study into the night, started to catch up on the work.

When it came to sitting for the exams, Rod felt he couldn’t trust himself – hit up with coke just before he went into every exam, and came out feeling fine, thinking he had done well. Every exam that was, but the last – Rod only hoped he had done enough to pass – a failure would mean that he would have to repeat the whole year.

He hoped against hope that he had put together enough answers to pass muster, even though the diagrams and symbols had been dancing before his eyes, and he had felt spaced out for most of the time.

Instead of joining his mates for some post exam time revelry, Rod got into his music, and played it compulsively, morning, noon and night. Using coke and playing the keyboard, Rod simply drifted away, no discomfort in his leg, not feeling much at all.

Rod didn’t shave for days, wore the same clothes, and didn’t eat. He didn’t have much to say to anyone who called around to visit him, and generally, they didn’t stay. Rod seemed to be on another planet, and quite content to be there.

The exam results were as poor as could be expected – and Rod had completely failed the last paper. This caused him to receive a letter from the department, asking him to discuss his options if he wished to continue with his studies first semester next year.

The music went silent, and so did Rod. He spent most days lying on his bed doing nothing at all except hitting up on coke … and staring at the wall.

His parents didn’t worry too much, when he didn’t show up at vacation. They assumed he was happy enough in the city, too busy to want to come home. They even assumed he had passed the exams – as otherwise they’d have heard. Expected they’d hear from him soon.

Perhaps if his parents had called, it would have given Rod a chance to tell them what had gone wrong, but no way could Rod bring himself to be making a call to them.

As it was the call got made for him, in the way that these things happen, asking his parents to come to the city, a need to identify their son – very tragic, a terrible shock – a suspected cocaine overdose. There would be his belongings, and the keyboard, for them to collect from his room.