Rain was rapping gently on the window pane as Stacy lay awake in bed. Maybe it's almost time to be up, she thought. And she turned slowly to reach for the glasses resting on the nightstand. As she lifted the frame, the red blur of the clock sharpened into distinct figures. 3:03 AM. It'd hardly been three hours since she had retreated beneath the covers. Stacy turned away from the clock to face Jason. In the darkness, she could barely make out his features, but she imagined an expression of complete bliss-- undisturbed by the storm without and unaware of the storm within. With a sigh, Stacy returned to that all too familiar position. Hands folded across her chest and back flat against the bed, she stared into the darkness above her. Everything and nothing simultaneously flooded her thoughts. Everything was what she had. A beautiful home. A loving husband. A successful career. But nothing was what she wanted-- or what she felt, what she was. Stacy had been battling these thoughts for months, and yet it never got easier. How was it possible for emptiness to feel so heavy? At last she resigned and reached for her white flag. Her hand instinctively grasped the small, amber-colored bottle beside the clock. She shook it and popped it open. Only two small tablets rested on the bottom. Stacy dumped them into her other hand and tossed the pills into her mouth then swallowed hard. They left a bitter, metallic taste in her mouth. But she'd rather this than to continue fighting a lost cause. Before the thoughts could resurface, the pills carried Stacy away. Every night, they would draw her deeper and deeper into the abyss. One day soon, they would carry her beyond recovery. But she didn't care. What she didn't know couldn't hurt her, or so she thought. To her, anything was better than the terrible emptiness that taunted her in the light of day.
Some time during the semester, one of my classmates asked me what I thought should happen to people (healthcare professionals in particular), who are found guilty of substance abuse. To be completely honest, I hate this question. It assumes that healthcare professionals are more ethical than everyone else. But it's naive and arrogant to think that just because someone wears a cheap but impressive-looking white coat that he or she is somehow in a higher moral plane than everyone else. It is rightly expected that we should have more integrity, but we don't. We're not even honest enough to admit that. And no, despite all those essays and interviews, we did not choose our professions simply because we "want to help people." There is a myriad of other professions that benefit society, but we didn't choose them. Why? Because they don't pay as well. It's one of the reasons why there are so many specialized doctors and not enough general practitioners. Sure, "the good of the people" is always a great reason to follow a certain career path. But it is rarely the first or only priority.
Anyway, back to actually answering the question. Normally what comes to mind are desperate students popping amphetamines because they don't think their honest B's and C's will be good enough, or the just plain irresponsible that will snort or smoke anything to feel better. For the most part, I have no sympathy for these people. I couldn't care less if they were banned from the healthcare field forever. But then there are those individuals like the (semi-fictitious) one mentioned above. The ones who at some point had a medical need for some controlled substance, but slipped somewhere along the line. They shouldn't be blacklisted and have their lives ruined forever. They're probably miserable enough without having to worry about finding a new career.
The above account isn't entirely true. It's just something I imagined to be true of individuals like the one I met over the weekend. At first glance, she seemed like a completely normal person, well groomed and sporting a royal blue argyle sweater. But moments later it became obvious that she didn't need the medication early for travel reasons. Her eyes were sunken and she was clearly very nervous. Perhaps the saddest part was when she said she is a pharmacist.
After she walked out, my boss turned to me and said, "You know, it's sad... she's married. Her and her husband own a nice home. She [has a good job]. I don't understand. She doesn't even work retail, where she would have easy access." It's sad, because we often joke about the junkies and how they're all nuts. But this wasn't a case we could laugh about.
It was such a poignant reminder of how nothing of the world can satisfy the deepest longing of the human heart. Money can't do it. Success can't either. Not even love-- at least not the kind you get from other people-- could. This woman had obtained everything the world ever tells us to strive for. And yet, she wasn't content with her life. She turned drugs just to get a little peace at night. But those drugs don't fix anything; they just fend off the symptoms for a time and then leave some feeling even worse than before. That's not even the saddest part. To me at least, the saddest part is that something in her seemed to be crying out for something more and so many others experience that same longing, without realizing what it is that they long for. And so they turn to everything to satisfy that longing, not knowing that there is only One that will forever quench the thirst of the human heart.
Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.- John 14:27
For I am convinced that neither death nor life, nor angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither heights nor depth, nor anything else in all creation is able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. - Romans 8:38-39
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