Thanks to all my loyal readers and to those new ones that give me motivation and hope with every encouraging word they say. You guys make my day!
Addicts Never Lie
Chapter 41: Session Two
It took a few seconds for the receptionist to transfer his call back to the doctor's phone. Wilson was relieved that she hadn't put him on hold, although the desperate tone in his voice may have had something to do with that.
"Hello, Dr. Wilson, I was surprised when Lindsey told me that you were calling," Dr. Keel said.
Wilson took a deep breath and tried to calm himself, he could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest. "I need to see you, sometime today if you can fit me in," he added.
"Why? What's going on?" the doctor asked. "Is everything okay?"
Wilson avoided the question and vaguely added, "I'd rather not try and discuss it over the phone."
"Okay," the doctor said. "Let's see if I have anywhere that I can squeeze you in," he said hopefully. Wilson sat silently waiting on the other end while the doctor looked over his schedule. "Um, looks like I can see you in about two hours, I had a cancellation, unfortunately I don't have any immediate openings, but I'd like you to come in as soon as you can."
"Are you sure that's okay?" Wilson asked hopeful.
"Sure, it's not a problem. Can you be here around two thirty?"
That was hours from now and Wilson could feel apprehension and anxiety building. "That's going to have to do."
The doctor hesitated, "Are you okay?"
"I'm…," Wilson hesitated, "I'm upset."
"Are you going to be okay until the appointment time?" the doctor asked.
That question surprised Wilson and sent his anxiety and heartbeat into overdrive. He paused before answering, debating how much he wanted to divulge to the doctor. "I think I'll be okay, I'll head out now and just wait in the lobby," he said, feeling foolish as soon as the words left his mouth.
"Have you been thinking about hurting yourself or trying to committ suicide?" the doctor asked. "Because if you have been, I can send someone to get you and take you to the emergency room…it's not good for you to drive in that state of mind," he added.
Wilson started to panic. "No, it's okay, I don't want anyone coming to get me. I can drive."
"Okay," the doctor said hesitantly. "I can recommend a very good phone number for a distress line if you need to talk before the appointment, but If you're sure that you're okay, I'll see you in a few hours."
Relieved Wilson sighed. "Okay, I'll see you then," and hung up the phone.
Before he could think about anything else, he grabbed his wallet and keys and left the apartment, headed for the hospital. However along the drive he kept getting the overwhelming urge to drive into oncoming traffic or drive over an overpass or bridge, or into a tree.
Trying to calm him breathing he opened all the windows letting the air in and turned on some up-beat music. That helped a little and he made it to the hospital in one piece. He sat in his car until it was close to time for his appointment.
He sat in the waiting room, clearly nervous and almost left a few times, but each time the secretary seemed to sense his distress and comforted him, telling him that the doctor would be with him shortly.
She handed him a small questionnaire to fill out. Basic questions about his current mental state of mind and he took his time filling out the form. He was so engrossed in the form that he jumped when his name was called and he was told that the doctor was ready to see him.
He slowly stood, feeling drained already and made his way down the hallway into the doctor's office.
Dr. Keel smiled as he entered and told him to take a seat anywhere that he would like. This time Wilson choose the leather couch, folding his legs under his body as he wrapped his arms around himself, practically curling up into a ball. The doctor recognized it as a defensive position and made a note of it on the chart.
He stood from his chair behind his desk and walked towards Wilson. "Do you mind if I sit in the chair across from you?" he asked gently.
Wilson cleared his throat, "No, I don't mind."
The doctor sat down. "Okay, let's get started then. What brings you here today on such short notice?"
"I don't know where to start. All I know is that things aren't getting any better and I don't know what to do anymore," he said quickly.
"Okay, well, why don't I ask simple questions since you seem to be having trouble expressing your needs and feelings today and we'll see how it goes from there?" the doctor offered. "I'm also going to use the questionnaire that you filled out to help me decide what to talk about, okay?"
Wilson thought about it for a moment and then nodded.
The doctor looked down at the paper and noted that Wilson had marked ten on a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst, on most of his questions, including the one about suicidal urges, ideation, or attempts.
"So by the looks of it from this sheet, things aren't going to well for you right now. How's your job? Have you been taking the prescription I wrote?"
Wilson sighed, "I haven't been to work. I took a two week leave of absence to try and get ahold of things. Try to see if the meds were going to work and figure things out."
"And I take it that didn't go so well judging by your demeanor today?"
"I tried," Wilson said quietly. "I really, really did. But it just didn't work. I'm taking the meds, but nothing's helping. I don't want to leave my apartment, hell, I don't want to leave my bed, I'm not eating, not showering, the place's a mess, I've been avoiding friends and phone calls…I just…," Wilson stopped, feeling the tears coming. He tried to calm himself but found that he was having trouble breathing. He quickly uncurled and stood up.
The doctor recognized the panic attack in it's early stage and did his best to try and calm Wilson down, but nothing he said or did seemed to work. When Wilson started wheezing the doctor called his secretary to request a shot of Ativan as soon as possible, Wilson appeared on the verge of hyper-ventilating.
He quickly explained to Wilson what was about to happen and then grabbed him by the arms and steered him back over to the couch. Wilson was wheezing, stammering and mumbling, and crying by time the shot arrived. He wasn't even aware of what was happening as the doctor quickly snapped on some gloves and used a sterilization pad to clean the area before he gave Wilson the shot directly into his vein.
Wilson felt the effects slowly taking place and felt embarrassed and weak. He sat in relief as the medication worked. About ten minutes later he felt calm enough to speak.
"Thank you for…what you did," he said awkwardly, not making eye contact.
"Dr. Wilson what just happened has me very concerned. Your mental state of mind is very fragile right now. I don't think that the meds are working."
"Do you think I need a different med or a higher dose?" Wilson asked.
"You've indicated that you've been having suicidal urges and ideation. Have you been thinking about a plan…and I need you to be honest," the doctor stressed.
Wilson flinched at the word "suicide" and the doctor noticed. "Yes," he said quietly.
"Just vague, random thoughts like before or are the thoughts getting worse," the doctor asked gently again, treading on thin ice.
Wilson shut his eyes. "It's worse. It's almost constant. I broke the medicine cabinet mirror in my bathroom today, on accident," he added, "and my first thought was to just shred my arms and bleed out," Wilson said shaking. "I've thought about other stuff too, even researched stuff online."
Dr. Keel jotted down a few notes. "I'm glad that you're being honest with me, but it also makes me incredibly worried about you. With most patients that admit that they have a plan and are actively suicidal and in immediate danger…I recommend inpatient commitment for observation-"
"No!" Wilson cut him off. "I, no, I can't do that." Starting to feel trapped he stood up, not knowing where he was heading.
"Dr. Wilson, I know this is upsetting to hear, but sometimes in these situations monitoring to get the correct dosage of medication and intense therapy are needed to keep you from finding yourself in a crisis situation."
"I can't go inpatient," Wilson pleaded. "I understand what you're saying. As a doctor I've recommended hospitalization a few times to a few of my patients, but…," Wilson paused trying to think of how to explain the situation. He turned back towards the psychiatrist and took a few steps back towards the couch. "I can't risk my practice, I can't lose the faith and trust of my boss, my co-workers, my patients…my friends," he said softly.
"You might lose far more if you don't look at this situation and give it all the seriousness that it deserves," Dr. Keel said. "Please come and sit back down and we'll talk about it," he coaxed.
Wilson hesitated, but slowly, reluctantly sat back down on the couch.
"Tell me why you feel like you can't be admitted? Is it the confinement? Or the stigma attached to it, or something else?"
Wilson looked the doctor straight in the eyes, "All of the above."
"James, you're sick. Right now you don't know what's best for you. You need to rely on me and the other doctors to help you until you're well enough to help yourself."
Tears started forming in Wilson's eyes as he fought to maintain composure.
"I think that I need to call my boss Dr. Cuddy. House currently has my medical proxy, but he's in Baltimore and isn't in any condition to be making decisions for himself, let alone me," Wilson explained.
"That sounds like a good idea, it's good to keep her informed. She sounds like she's a good friend and having her input might make this easier," Dr. Keel added.
Wilson's heartbeat quickened as he hit the number for Cuddy's speed dial. When she picked up he told her what was going on and that she needed to get to the hospital as soon as possible. Sighing with relief after a few minutes of conversation Wilson hung up.
"She said she'll be here in about a half an hour," he said.
The doctor smiled reassuringly. "We'll be waiting for her."