I look over at him...asleep in the seat beside me. He doesn't seem to be in a very comfortable position...his long legs jammed up against the seat in front of him...his head resting at an awkward angle against the head rest. I wonder whether it would be better to wake him...to try and prevent the aches he will surely feel if he spends too many hours in that uncomfortable position.
But I decide to let him sleep...knowing as I do that it could be his last chance to get some rest before the symptoms of drug withdrawal start to kick in. God knows he'll need all his strength to get through the next few days...not to mention the next few months...90 days seems such a long time...but I know that for some people it's not long enough...I pray that Carter won't be one of those people.
When the stewardess walks past, I get her to bring me a blanket and pillow...then I do my best to make Carter a little bit more comfortable but without waking him. I guess it's lucky I've had so much practice with Reese...strange the positions he can get himself into while he's sleeping. I'll go in to check on him and he'll be all twisted in the bed in a position that a circus acrobat would have difficulty with...but yet when I try to make him more comfortable he'll wake up indignantly...
Carter doesn't wake up as I slide the pillow under his head and tuck the blanket around him. He just mumbles something inaudible and stirs slightly, pulling the heavy cloth closer.
"I'm sorry, Carter," I say softly. And I am sorry...not just for disturbing him, but for putting him in this position in the first place...after all...I was the one who gave him his first shot of morphine. Oh I know that nobody would ever accuse me of being responsible for Carter's problem...nobody that is, but me. Medically speaking, of course, there was no way in which I could be faulted for my treatment of him. I only ever gave him what he needed in order to ease his pain...I never exceeded acceptable levels of medicating. But what I could have given him freely...my time...I doled out sparingly...begrudgingly almost...never giving him enough...always leaving him short. And when I did spend any time in his company, it was usually just sufficient to check on his progress, and update his prescriptions. I don't remember ever once asking him anything that wasn't medically related. Perhaps it wouldn't have made any difference...perhaps he would have turned to drugs anyway, even if I had made more of an effort...but that was something I would never know.
When he was lying there on that table...looking to me for reassurance...I had told him that I would get him through this...and I had...I had gotten him through the surgery...and then virtually abandoned him once his injuries...his physical injuries had started to heal.
Why hadn't I taken the time to see if he was coping with his pain...both mental and physical? Why had I taken his assurances that he was 'doing fine' at face value? The answer was simple...I had been too wrapped up in my own life to notice anyone else's problems. For once in my life things had been going smoothly. Work had been going well...rumor was that there was going to be an attendings spot opening up soon and Elizabeth had assured me of her full support if I went for it...Carla had dropped her efforts to take Reese away from me...granted we weren't exactly on good terms any more...but so long as I had full access to my son, I didn't care...and my relationship with Cleo had been working out as well.
I was a hypocrite...I knew that. In spite of my lecture to Kovac about our responsibilities in following up on patient care, I had failed in my responsibility towards Carter. Oh I could argue that Carter was a doctor...that he was surrounded by doctors...that he didn't need me to baby-sit him...but it didn't help. I knew that when he needed someone, I hadn't been there for him. Yet another person that I had let down when I had been responsible for them. I had let my mother down...if I'd been more careful then she'd never have fallen while I was supposed to be watching her. I had let Dennis Gant down. He had looked to me for support...for understanding...and I hadn't given him any...I might as well have pushed him under the train myself. And now Carter. I had failed as a son, a teacher, and a doctor.
When Kerry had called me down to the ER and explained that she and Mark believed Carter to be abusing pain medication, I nearly laughed in her face. I mean, Carter...the very idea that he would do something like that. I told her that it was ridiculous...I mean, all she had to go on was a single sighting of him with a needle, by a med student for Christ sakes...okay, Carter had been acting a little strangely...but hell, anybody would have been acting weird if they were forced to work in the same place where they had been viciously attacked only a few months earlier. Finally I had reluctantly agreed to sit in on the 'Intervention'; sure that Carter would have a reasonable explanation for his actions. My heart sank as I heard him taunt Dr. Chen about a mistake she had made as a med student. That more than anything else signaled to me that this wasn't the Carter I knew...the Carter I had trained would never have done that. And when he refused to remove his watch, I couldn't deny the truth anymore.
His sudden departure from the room took us all by surprise...I guess we had been expecting that Carter would break down and acknowledge that he needed help...but I supposed that that had been an unrealistic hope. We all stood there staring at each other, wondering just how we had mishandled things so badly. I couldn't just stand around and let him walk away...and I knew that I had the best chance of anyone of getting through to him...at least I hoped I had a chance. I tried not to think about what would happen if I wasn't able to get through to him...I didn't want to see him wheeled in on a gurney from a drug overdose in a few months time.
I didn't mean to bring up his cousin...but Carter wasn't listening to reason...and I was running out of time...the punch took me by surprise...in all the time that I had known him, I don't think I'd ever seen him look so angry as when he hit me...or so upset when he realized what he had done. I think that was the moment when he realized just how low he had sunk. I would have given anything not to have seen that expression on his face...that look of pain as the realization sank in...when I saw him like that, I knew I couldn't just put him on the plane and wave him off. I didn't care that that's what the original plan had been...it sucked. Okay, maybe Carter had to do this for himself...maybe it was no use us forcing him into Rehab if he wasn't ready...but there was no way in hell I was letting that kid fly off to Atlanta alone.
I look over at him again. There's lines of pain on his face that weren't there a few months ago...some weren't even there a few hours ago, and I can tell that withdrawal is setting in. I look at my watch and sigh with relief as I realize that we will be landing soon. "Hang in there Carter," I tell him softly. "We'll be there soon...everything's going to be all right...I promise...I promise I'll get you through this." A few months ago I spoke those words to him...and although I meant them at the time, I failed to see it through...but this time I mean it...this time, whatever it takes, I *will* get him through this.
His eyes flicker open and he looks at me. "I'm glad it's you," he says tiredly before closing them again.
I pat him reassuringly on the shoulder. "Stay with me man...everything's going to be all right."
THE END