Page 58 of Delayed Intention
“Thanks, Henry. Take care.”If I had an actual heart, it would be breaking right now.
“You too, Josh. Be well.” He hangs up.
I scan the letter and email the list of names while the incredulity I felt at first is being replaced with dread. Before I give myself over to panic, I call Michelle because my instinct has me reaching out for my big sister. I leave a message to call back while I pour myself some straight gin into a tall glass. I don’t care for gin—it’s leftover from a party—but it’s within reach and works; right now, nothing else seems to matter.
Michelle’s name pops up on my phone, and I answer after hesitating. Saying what has happened out loud to her will make this feel more real, but I need her help.
“Michelle.”
“Josh—what’s wrong?” The fact that she can sense something is off by the way I say her name makes me feel like I haven’t lost everything yet. I swallow.
“Are you sitting down?”
“Josh. You’re scaring me.”
“Well, that’ll make two of us then,” my voice sounds so unlike what it usually does. It sounds small, and I hate it.
“I received a letter stating my license to practice is suspended for allegedly treating patients while intoxicated.” I hear Michelle’s sharp intake of breath. “Some patients claim I treated them while drunk and high, but I would never...” I trail off because I don’t need to tell her. “I’ve got letters from Colorado and Nebraska. Henry called and told me the practice received notice from Wyoming’s medical board as well.” I pause, and she says something I don’t register, so I keep going. “The practice is hanging me out to dry, Miche. They suggested I hire my own counsel. Also, I think I know who is behind this.”
I wonder how mad she will be that I never mentioned the stuff with Lara before, but it’s too late for regrets now. Pausing to gulp down some gin, I tell her about Lara and her threats. How the practice and I had braced ourselves for trolling on social media… but not this.
“That doesn’t give them the right to leave you on your own.”
“I guess.” I’m spiraling, and I want to get smashed, not think about any of this. I rub a hand over my face, feeling like I’ve aged since this morning began. “You still in touch with your college roommate, that malpractice attorney?”
“Yeah, I’ll text you her contact info—give me a chance to reach out to her and let her know what’s going on, okay? We’re going to beat this, Josh—don’t worry. This is total bullshit and you’ll come out on the other side—”
I stopped her there. “Listen, all I want to do is get shitfaced, but thanks for trying. I suppose I should talk to Joyce before I’m too far gone.”
She sighs, “I love you, Josh, you know that? You are a good man. You don’t deserve this.”Don’t I, though?
“Love you too, Michelle. Thanks.”
We say goodbye, and in less time than it takes for me to drink my second glass, she texts me the contact information for Joyce Hunt.
Michelle
JH, (303) 322-4440 I love you, Josh. You’re going to be fine.
Just like her, to assume that this will all work out. My sister will fail to recognize the truth about what a piece of shit I can be. Part of that is my fault for compartmentalizing everything, every person in my life.
Me
Love u 2. Thanks
I called Michelle’s attorney friend, Joyce Hunt, and she listened to the shit show I’ve made of my life, saving her questions for the end. We know each other peripherally. My sister likely spoke up for my innocence. Still, I’m not sure that influenced her choice to be my attorney of record as much as my ability to pay her fees. She tells me her billable rate and says she’d be happy to help. Since she earns about $400 an hour, I’m sure she would.
While I’ve been speaking with Joyce, I’ve missed a few texts from Lily, and without reading any of them, I let her know I’m busy. I turn off all notifications on my phone and proceed to get hammered.Fucking Lara. She told me she would get revenge, and I felt sorry for her. Now, I’m alone, suspended from the only thing I’ve ever done of value with my life. Not to mention, I’m facing thousands of dollars in legal fees, all while getting drunk on gin I don’t even like. I grabbed my keys, resolving to head over to the bar down the road. The last thing I want to do is think about Lily, Lara, Henry, the practice, Joyce’s fees, or any of this.
I pour some food for Ginger and fill up her water bowl, knowing I’m not coming back for a while. She sensed something was wrong and had come in earlier to lean against my legs, looking up at me with her golden eyes. I can’t take her pity any more than I can my sister’s, so I grab my coat, scratch Ginger on the head, and take off in search of oblivion.
After a few more drinks in me, I still feel depressed. I’m a blurrier version of myself. I decided to reach out to Lily, after all. Might as well round out the day with all my ducks in a row. I know I’m hammered, so I reread my text several times before sending it, making sure the message is clear. The less ambiguity, the better.
Lily, I can’t talk for a while. Also I’m drunk and my phone is on do not disturb. I told you I don’t do relationships. Just so we’re clear, this benefits thing is over. Have a good night.
That should clear that up. Chasing another shot with a beer, it surprises me I’m still not drunk enough to stop my mind from trying to sort out how I can get through this. How will I keep on with the life I’ve come to love? I can’t. I don’t often feel overwhelmed by a problem, but this is too big and has too many layers. Henry’s tone and words keep replaying in my head, and I don’t know how justified the anger toward my practice is. Maybe they’re right. This is exactly what I deserve, and it should be all on my head, not to mention my dime, to sort out. I order three more shots to line up.
“You all right there, doc?” The bartender, James, looks at me with concern.
