"He doesn't smile," the man thought to himself. He had just met his new doctor who had presented with a winning manner, unaffected, avuncular but that did not have an analog in his face. At one point the doctor looked down at a chart and the lines around his eyes were dark valleys.
On Wednesday the man got the message that every parent dreads: his youngest, his baby, his daughter, a thousand miles from home, had gotten t-boned at an intersection. All airbags in the car deployed and she could not get out of the driver's side. Her car was totaled. The message came in a text from the man's ex-wife who was quick to add that "She is unhurt." The man called his daughter to hear her voice for himself. She was shaken, as she would be, as anyone would be. Her back hurt, which it would, but the man is too much a lawyer to not know of grave internal damage that takes a day or so to manifest. "And I have ringing in my ears," she said, and this was long after the accident. Ringing in the ears is somehow ominous, or can be, and the man alerted to it. He connected his ex-wife on a three-way and both parents were in agreement that if she woke up the next day with muscular pain or especially with ringing in the ears she was immediately to go to the urgent care by her apartment to get checked out.
The man had two days, Thursday and Friday, left in his adderall prescription and texted the doctor Wednesday afternoon if he could see him sometime before the weekend. The doctor was leaving for the weekend starting Thursday but, good guy that he was, he said "You can come by my condo tonight anytime before 9 pm. to pick them up" (his and his son's). What a guy: He had given the man his personal cell and invited him to his home to pick up the script.
Yesterday, Thursday, the man texted his daughter first thing in the morning, "How's the back?" and got "It's fine!" back. Such a relief. He called at the end of her work day and she had a full and fulfilling day and was excited as could be. "No pain?" "No!" "Ear ringing?" "No, it went away entirely." The man texted her mother who was greatly relieved as well and thanked him for getting this important update.
Thursday night the man went to the doctor's condo. He had been there before, he vaguely remembered. A famous status symbol building, he had a couple of years before dropped his daughter off on a play day with a friend, one of the few she kept in touch with from the junior high school that she left because the other students were so mean and cliquish and materialistic.
The man waited by the elevator so he would not miss the doctor. After five or ten minutes the doctor walked out of the elevator, looked at the man unsure who he was and the man at him also unsure. "Ben?" "Doc? Yes." His eyes were big and deep set and deeply lined. "Crying eyes," the man thought to himself. Second time meeting him, same impression, he had some grief in his life.
The doctor said he sold his medical office, "after 22 years there." He and the new "medical administrator" regime were supposed to close Friday. "I'm going to Colorado to be near my daughter," he said. The doctor and the man were exactly the same age, 63. The man clapped him on the shoulder in happiness for him but the doctor did not smile back. They talked for maybe a half hour, face to face, close face to face. The doctor never smiled. He had those sunken eyes that had cried too much. As they walked toward the lobby and the front door the man put his arm on the doctor's shoulder and squeezed it at his good fortune. The doctor didn't reciprocate or thank him. "Good talking to you Ben," he said as the man left and he seemed to mean it.
The man waited by the elevator so he would not miss the doctor. After five or ten minutes the doctor walked out of the elevator, looked at the man unsure who he was and the man at him also unsure. "Ben?" "Doc? Yes." His eyes were big and deep set and deeply lined. "Crying eyes," the man thought to himself. Second time meeting him, same impression, he had some grief in his life.
The doctor said he sold his medical office, "after 22 years there." He and the new "medical administrator" regime were supposed to close Friday. "I'm going to Colorado to be near my daughter," he said. The doctor and the man were exactly the same age, 63. The man clapped him on the shoulder in happiness for him but the doctor did not smile back. They talked for maybe a half hour, face to face, close face to face. The doctor never smiled. He had those sunken eyes that had cried too much. As they walked toward the lobby and the front door the man put his arm on the doctor's shoulder and squeezed it at his good fortune. The doctor didn't reciprocate or thank him. "Good talking to you Ben," he said as the man left and he seemed to mean it.
This morning the man's daughter sent him a photograph of her totaled car. It looked like a death car that he had seen so many times before. The impact was on the rear driver's door which was completely caved in. No one sitting in the rear driver's side passenger seat would have survived without at least grave injury and reasonably would have been killed. If the other car had hit a foot and a half further front his daughter would have been killed or had massive injuries. The man looked at the car picture once and then deleted it, he couldn't look at it again, it was too near to being a death car.
The man went to the pharmacist who had referred him to the doctor. Told him how much he liked the doctor but damn if he wasn't retiring just as had his previous doctor. Now he might have to get a new one again from the pharmacist as the pharmacist had gotten him Doctor Weinstein. The man signed the credit card receipt for the script and was about to leave.
"He's had a lot of tragedy," the pharmacist said. "His daughter o.d.'d about six months ago and died."
"Opioid?" the man made a reasonable guess.
A silent head nod from the pharmacist. "21 years old. He went looking for her and found her under a bridge."
The man stared at the pharmacist.
"Yeah," he said, "And of all people, an addictionologist."
The man was so not there that he walked out without the prescription. "Hey!" the pharmacist called after him and he went back to pick it up.
"Enjoy the rest of your day if you can," the pharmacist's wife said.
That's why he looked haunted. He was selling and moving to get away from everything.
"He's had a lot of tragedy," the pharmacist said. "His daughter o.d.'d about six months ago and died."
"Opioid?" the man made a reasonable guess.
A silent head nod from the pharmacist. "21 years old. He went looking for her and found her under a bridge."
The man stared at the pharmacist.
"Yeah," he said, "And of all people, an addictionologist."
The man was so not there that he walked out without the prescription. "Hey!" the pharmacist called after him and he went back to pick it up.
"Enjoy the rest of your day if you can," the pharmacist's wife said.
That's why he looked haunted. He was selling and moving to get away from everything.
This was ALL cutting WAY too close to home so the man called his daughter again. "My back hurt today and my ears feel like when you're on a plane. I went to an urgent care though and they took a CT of my head and felt around my back and said that there was no damage in either place. They gave me a prescription tylenol." Relief...and
"Honey, I went to my pharmacist to get a refill of adderall for your brother and me and the pharmacist told me that our new doctor, Dr. Weinstein, had a daughter die six months ago of an opioid overdose. Exactly your age. You put in your text yesterday that you had been prescribed some pain relief that had an opioid in it. Did it really?"
"No, just codeine-fortified Tylenol and I might not take it."
"This whole thing spooks me: your near-death accident, Dr. Weinstein's daughter's death from opioids, you texting that you had been prescribed an opioid. I went to pick up the prescriptions from the doctor's condo, The Imperial, that I dropped you off at once for a play date."
"No, just codeine-fortified Tylenol and I might not take it."
"This whole thing spooks me: your near-death accident, Dr. Weinstein's daughter's death from opioids, you texting that you had been prescribed an opioid. I went to pick up the prescriptions from the doctor's condo, The Imperial, that I dropped you off at once for a play date."
"Wait," when he finished as if she had been processing. "Maggie Weinstein?"
"I don't know her first name."
"That's who it is, it must be. Yeah, you dropped me off and picked me up afterwards."
"Oh my God. It was...her?...Her name was Maggie?...She's...gone," he said gently. "This is really weirding me out now."
His daughter was silent, she keeps a lot in.
"Honey, you are all I have in the world, you and your brother. I know you won't get addicted to opioids but be careful driving, be careful with life, darling."
"I will daddy."
"Okay. Love you."
"Love you too daddy."
But there was distance in her voice. The man thought, "I think this shook her." He texted her shortly after, "That is totally freaky." She didn't respond.
"I don't know her first name."
"That's who it is, it must be. Yeah, you dropped me off and picked me up afterwards."
"Oh my God. It was...her?...Her name was Maggie?...She's...gone," he said gently. "This is really weirding me out now."
His daughter was silent, she keeps a lot in.
"Honey, you are all I have in the world, you and your brother. I know you won't get addicted to opioids but be careful driving, be careful with life, darling."
"I will daddy."
"Okay. Love you."
"Love you too daddy."
But there was distance in her voice. The man thought, "I think this shook her." He texted her shortly after, "That is totally freaky." She didn't respond.
