“You don’t look so good,” he said as he stepped into the room.
“I’ll be fine. I just need to get a cold washcloth to lay over the back of my head,” I said, tipping over a little as I started to walk to the bathroom.
He caught my arm and pulled me back to my feet. Looking directly into my eyes, he said, “What is really going on? You look as if you have been on a week’s bender.” I sat down on the couch and reluctantly went through my battle list. With my head down toward my knees, and slightly shaking from the ongoing withdrawal, he slid next to me and held me close, saying, “I have a local doctor that I think you should see. Remember, I have gone through this before. I know what it’s like.” I just sat there holding on, knowing this was keeping me attached to my reality. Picking up his cell phone, he punched a number and was shortly connected with his trusted doctor’s assistant. “They can get you in today at three,” he said. “By the way, you look as if you haven’t eaten in days. Let’s have a late lunch and meet up with the doctor after.”
“That sounds great,” I said. Let’s hope that I can keep the food down, I thought.
*****
Dr. Miller was a plump man in his early fifties and short on introductions. “First of all,” he said, “your doctor should have never prescribed that antidepressant, knowing you were on vast amounts of pain medication for your ribs and head injury. I’m afraid you will have to deal with the withdrawal until it clears your system. The ribs will heal on its own, and all you can do is sparingly take something for pain when needed. The head injury is another story. I want to have some scans taken. It will only take a few minutes and, hopefully, determine why you are having the headaches.” Forty-five minutes later, we were back in the examination room. “I’m going to give you a shot of a mild sedative and prescribe a larger dose of ibuprofen. This should alleviate some of the pain. I’m concerned about the hit you received to the front of your head. There seems to be some swelling and could be the cause of the headaches. The ibuprofen should help with that as well. When you get back to the hotel, I want you to take this sleeping aid.” He handed a small bottle with one pill sitting at the bottom. “This will also help you to relax. Don’t take it until you are ready to lie down. When it takes effect, you will be out for a good amount of time. One last item,” he said as he was sitting on the edge of his desk, “you will need to have someone keep an eye on you to make sure you don’t have any adverse reactions to the medications.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” said Richard. “He can stay with me tonight.”
“Perfect,” said the doctor. “I want you to come back on Friday. We can go over ongoing treatments to help with the depression and any lingering pain issues. Nine o’clock okay?”
“Yes,” I said, “we’ll be back. Thank you for getting me in today.” With that, we left for the nearest Walgreens and then to the hotel after.
Retrieving my bag still sitting unpacked, we walked next door to his room. Richard pulled down the covers on the unused bed and put my bag on the empty rack. I excused myself to use the bathroom and take the lone sleeping pill. After putting on a long tee and boxers, I slipped between the crisp white sheets. With Richard sitting next to me on the bed, we exchanged thoughts of what was going on that week. Before I knew it, I was deep into the void. I didn’t know when he left. Several times I awoke alone, only to drift back to nothingness. At one point, I felt someone holding me; another time, the reverse.
The next morning, when I was finally released from the sleeping pill’s grip, Richard was lying on his bed, looking over at me. “I have to tell you about something that happened while you were sleeping,” he said. “At some point during the night, you were having a really bad nightmare, yelling and screaming. I slid in next to you and held you close until you drifted back to sleep. We stayed together the rest of the night. I really didn’t want to overstep my welcome.”
“I don’t remember anything from last night,” I said. “Thank you for being there. I hope I didn’t keep you up all night.”
“All night!” he said with emphasis. “You have been asleep for a day and a half. This is Friday morning. We have a doctor’s appointment at nine. I really have to say, though, it was something nice. I was holding you. Later on, I realized you were holding me. I haven’t slept that sound for years. Strange as it might seem, I see you as a younger brother.”
“Younger brother, you do know that I am a few years older than you.”
“I know, in my mind, you seem much younger, so vulnerable.”
Thinking to myself, I thought, Yes, vulnerable and weak. Looking back at him and smiling, I said, “I’ve never had a brother. I like the idea of being yours, even if it’s your younger.” Like two schoolboys, we both got up with vigor. “For the first time since I left for London, my head doesn’t hurt,” I said, then thinking to myself, Instead of the pain running through my head, it has been replaced by those ever-present beats by stanzas, random but consistent. “Other than my chest being sore, I can actually think clear.”
“Do you still have the need to tap out the beats in your head?” he asked.
“Yes, that’s still there. The metronome is still ticking in my mind. I’m not sure what to do with that.”
“I think we need to set you down in front of a drum set,” he said, half smiling. “Let’s see what you really have to offer.”
“Sure, let’s hear the mess that is blasting through my mind. I have never been able to play any musical instrument. This should be amusing to your bandmates.”
*****
It was nearly seven thirty, and we had plenty of time to grab breakfast before my doctor’s appointment. Pulling into a local bakery and café, we grabbed the last available booth, after which he ordered what I thought were huge quantities of comfort food: French toast, crisp bacon, mounds of hash browns, and for good luck, the “good luck cinnamon roll”—it took up an entire plate by itself. To wash this all down, two thermoses of hot black coffee. Richard preferred a little cream and sugar, which I had to harass him about by saying, “You must not be a true coffee drinker.”
“That may be true, but I am a true beer drinker and will put you right under the table if you keep this up.” It was great to be able to laugh again and think about moving forward.
The doctor’s appointment was quick and to the point: a prescription for a mood enhancer, not to be started until I returned home later that next week, and a good report on the swelling in my head. “It looks much better today,” the doctor said. “Keep taking the ibuprofen for a couple more days, and I think you should be good to go.” I thanked him and quickly made my way back to the car, where Richard was talking with someone on his cell.
“We have a change in plans. I don’t have to meet with my mates until later this afternoon, so I thought we would visit my friend Grace. She is only a short distance away.”
“Works for me. It’s just good to be out in the fresh air and not sleeping my life away.”
Grace ran a women’s support center about twenty minutes away from the hotel—twenty minutes if no one was on the road and the traffic lights stayed green. An hour and a half later, we pulled into her driveway. I got out of the car, and when I looked up, I was transfixed by the house she lived in. It was quaint, sided in clapboards and painted lavender, small to the prying eye; however, it felt like a place that was full of wisdom and love. We walked around back to be greeted by someone as transfixing as her house. Grace was an absolutely beautiful, full-bodied woman; she looked Victorian in a sixties-hippie kind of way, with dark-red auburn hair that was tied in a bun on the back of her head. I could see what attracted my friend into her vortex of healing energy.
Greeting us, she said, “It’s good to see you again, Bradleigh.”
“Have