When Force Meets Fate by Jamison Hill

Author:Jamison Hill
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Inkshares
Published: 2020-12-23T19:26:02+00:00

Chapter 28

Soul-Crushing Revelations

November 20, 2012

I felt optimistic during my last appointment with Dr. Peterson. He did, after all, say I’d recover from this illness within a year. It seemed that, with his care, I would definitely get better. I still believe that I will, but I can’t ignore the reality of the situation. For the last two months, I’ve been taking the medications he gave me, and there has yet to be any improvement in my health.

I’m going to give the treatments more time to kick in, but these long road trips to Dr. Peterson’s office are beginning to take a toll on me. They’re full of expensive bills, stacks of paperwork, monotonous phone calls with my health insurance provider, soul-crushing revelations at the pharmacy, and lots of time spent in the waiting room.

It’s astonishing how quickly—less than two years, really—that my life has become consumed by these things. I want so much to return to the way it was before I got sick, when I didn’t have to worry about my health. I want to flush all my medications down the toilet and delete the number of the insurance company from my phone. I want to forget what the inside of a doctor’s office looks like. But most of all, I just want to know that everything is going to be okay, that I am going to be okay. Right now, I don’t know that. I only know that I’ve been sick for two years, and it has made me depressed to the point that I’ve had some truly scary thoughts lately.

A few nights ago, I took Valtrex, along with the other medications that Dr. Peterson gave me, then I went to the grocery store with my mom and tried to walk around. But I was too weak and sick to my stomach to stay on my feet, so I retreated to the car. While my mom shopped, I sat in the car, staring out the foggy windows like a depressed zombie. The despair I felt made me think of the car accident—maybe the man I killed was dealing with depression before my car collided with his on the Napa River Bridge; maybe he was sick like me, maybe even terminally ill. For a moment, I could see myself parked in the middle of the bridge, waiting, wanting someone to end my life because I couldn’t do it myself. I thought about that for a long time, probably too long. Then my mom got in the car, and I told her how bleak everything felt.

“I don’t want to do this anymore, Mom,” I said, looking at her across the center console. “My life can’t become this—all this medical stuff. And it’s not even helping. The medications aren’t working. I’m not getting better.”

“Oh, kiddo,” my mom said. She looked concerned and scared.

“I can’t live the rest of my life like this: going to see the doctor, constantly taking medications, calling the insurance company. I’m so tired of it.” My eyes

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