Cashing In

Chapter 8

8

“I’ll talk to you later,” said John to one of the nurses who worked at his office. “Thanks for all your help. You’re a life saver. I’ll be at the hospital tomorrow morning and make rounds in the office in the afternoon.”

“Have a nice night, Dr. Brown.”

John’s back pain continued to increase over time. He was taking up to fifteen Percocet pills per day. The physical therapy sessions weren’t helping. John’s pain management doctor kept increasing his dosage. John realized that he had a problem and considered checking himself into a rehabilitation program, but he worried about the potential consequences on his career. People would label him, and John did not want the newspapers to write about him. The entire situation caused him great anxiety. He started to smoke m*******a at nights to calm his nerves. He could not sleep, and pot helped him relax.

John got into his car and started to drive home. Suddenly, an unmarked police siren started to flash. Come on, John said to himself. What did I do wrong?

John pulled over and put his hands on the wheel. A young officer walked over and tapped on his window. John rolled down his window and remained calm.

“License and registration,” said the officer.

“Did I do something wrong, officer?” asked John.

“You almost hit my car.”

“Excuse me?”

“You pulled out and came close to me and almost hit my car. In addition, you came close to banging up another parked car.”

“I’m sorry, Officer, but that’s not how I see it. I was driving thirty miles per hour at most.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“No, Officer. I’m a doctor. I’m driving home from work. I…I…I didn’t do anything wrong.”

The officer tilted his head and said, “I need you to step out of the car.”

“What did I do?”

“Get out of the car.”

The officer called for backup.

“You stuttered. Are you sure that you’re not on anything?”

“Of course not, sir.”

The other officer arrived, and the first officer began to search John’s car. He found several bottles of Percocet in the glove compartment and another dozen bottles in a gym bag in John’s trunk. John didn’t want his girlfriend to know that he was addicted to opioids, so he had stored some of the bottles in the trunk of his car. The officer also found residue of m*******a on the floor of the backseat.

“Why do you have so many pills? Are you a pharmacist?” asked the officer.

“I had a back injury. I was hit by a car, and I need them to do my job. I have a prescription.”

“Please put your hands behind your back. You are under arrest for driving under the influence of drugs and reckless driving,” said the officer.

“What? I’m under arrest? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”

“Come on, Officer. I’m a doctor who had a back injury. I’m not some drug dealer.”

The officer escorted John to the back of the police cruiser and impounded his car. The cop booked him in the Miami-Dade County jail.

What just happened? This can’t be real, John thought to himself. A tear started to roll down his cheek. My life is over. How am I going to come back from this? Years of going to school and working hard, and I’m never going to be able to work again.