Page 2 of Property of Doc

My descent into addiction was slow and insidious. I was someone who only took a daily multivitamin and the occasional Tylenol. Suddenly, I was given strong pain medication to deal with my injuries, and after having three surgeries total for the torn ACL, I had become an old pro at how to get what I wanted—the good stuff. I was on my latest physical therapy rotation and today’s session had been brutal as my therapist had gone through another assessment to see where my progress was at. Newsflash, itwasbetter but not where she wanted it to be.

“Ithurts, Mom,” I snapped as I hobbled with my crutches toward my bedroom. “You know how physical therapy makes it worse!”

“But, Gretchen, the doctor said you shouldn’t need anything more than Tylenol by now. Maybe there’s something else going on,” Mom replied, wringing her hands. “I’ll go call his office.”

“You do that,” I grumbled as I made my way into my room.

Once I was on my bed, I grabbed one of my pillows and slid it under my knee. So, maybe sometimes I wasn’t in as much pain as I alluded to, but the blissful feeling was addictive. The problem was, my knee specialist wasn’t prescribing ‘the good stuff’ any longer, just Tylenol with codeine. In order to make sure I still had some of the better meds, occasionally I would lie about my pain levels.

Ten minutes later, Mom came into my room, a worried frown on her face. “He’s ordering some more imaging tests, Gretchen, to see what’s going on,” she said.

“What do I do until that appointment?” I snarled, because today, unfortunately, Iwasin pain.

“He’s going to call in some Oxycontin and wants you to take Advil as well for the inflammation,” she replied. “Let me get it for you.”

“Fine,” I said, tears springing to my eyes.

She sighed then softly stated, “Let me see if we have anything left from one of the surgeries. I’ve already texted your dad to swing by the pharmacy to pick up your prescription on his way home from work.”

I perked up slightly but not too much, of course, then said, “I guess that’ll have to do, Mom. I should’ve never run that race.”

She nodded. “You and those other girls who got hurt are all still having issues.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Gretchen, age eighteen

“Clear!”

I was floating above my body, watching somewhat dispassionately as several paramedics worked on me. I had just seen my body jump after paddles had been placed against my chest and a button was pushed.

“Anything?” my mom asked as she stood off to the side. “God, Gretchen, what did youdo?”

“I’ve got a pulse, quick now, we need to get her to the hospital,” one of the paramedics said.

I came to in the ambulance. Things were still a bit fuzzy, and when I tried to pull the mask off my face to ask what was going on, I found that my hands were restrained.

What on earth is going on?I wondered. I mean, all I had done when I got home from school was take a couple of pills to get me through the day. I had tried to parcel out what I was given after my surgeries, and made them last a long time, but I eventually ran out. Thankfully, my mom never threw anything out and I found a bottle of hydrocodone in her medicine cabinet. Since it took more to get that blissful, euphoric feeling, I took three of them, not paying attention to the dose.

Apparently, it was more than I was supposed to take.

“Your daughter has become addicted to pain pills,” the doctor told my parents. “How long has she been taking them?”

“Nearly three years, on and off,” Mom replied. “But only when she had to have surgery,” she quickly added. “And I always monitored when she took them.”

I barely resisted rolling my eyes. She did that the first few days, but after that, the bottle was on my nightstand ‘within easy reach’ because she was tired of getting up in the middle of the night. Don’t get me wrong, she was a good mom, but when she was sleep-deprived, that was a different story.

“Our suggestion is that she go to rehab,” the doctor advised.

And just like that, I was off to Starlight Recovery Center to start my medically supervised detox, before I went into the residential side for further treatment.

CHAPTER

ONE

Gretchen, sixteen years later/present day

“Hi, my name is Gretchen, and I am an addict. I have sixteen years clean,” I say as I stand in front of a group of men and women.