The Addict Next Door: Waiting for the call and arrest

VERA MORET
Posted 8/21/12

I had had no reason to anticipate an arrest from my pill pilfering. I knew the nursing department where I worked was not taking that route. They were good people who wanted me well. It was the …

This item is available in full to subscribers.

Please log in to continue

Log in

The Addict Next Door: Waiting for the call and arrest

Posted

I had had no reason to anticipate an arrest from my pill pilfering. I knew the nursing department where I worked was not taking that route. They were good people who wanted me well. It was the pharmacist at Wayne Memorial in 2008, whoever he may have been, who made that call. I called Eric in a state of panic. I was very fragile emotionally as it was. Going through the criminal justice system for over a year nearly destroyed me. Jail was easy. We’ll get to that. But I was not in any way prepared to face criminal charges. I can feel the adrenaline surging now, seven years after the event. I was told to expect to be arrested around Labor Day.

A female narcotics officer offered me an opportunity to speak with her at the Blooming Grove station to, as she put it, “walk me through what to expect.” It turned out, of course, to be her and a trooper doing their best to get me to talk. I wouldn’t look at any of their documentation, nor did I answer any of their questions. I essentially walked out. Once you’re a criminal it’s okay for them to trick you. That’s how it works. We see it on TV now all the time. The police can and will lie.

No, jail did not destroy me, but that year of grinding through the criminal justice system did. You feel nameless and faceless and have no opportunity to really tell your story. I knew I needed an attorney, but what I wanted was simply to tell my story. It doesn’t work like that. It’s routine for everyone in the courthouse—including your lawyer. He does this every day.

I don’t recall when we went about looking for a good lawyer. I know that, since my arrest was presumably to be within a week, time was of the essence. We contacted a friend and neighbor and attorney whom we trust. We drove into Milford in Pike County to speak to him. We went to his office, and he heard me out and then said he would make some phone calls. We then went home and waited. We shortly received a call from another lawyer, arguably the best criminal defense attorney in the area. We whisked back out to his office where he questioned me. I remember very little of that meeting. My charges were in Wayne County, adjacent to Pike. But I did know I was being charged on 12 “counts,” which was quite literally 12 pills. And I was in a great deal of trouble.

We paid the retainer and walked out feeling that at least the legal issues were out of our hands. We did not tell any family at this point. We had no idea what was going to happen or what the possible outcomes might be. My children were still only 15 and 8, and it wasn’t fair to them. None of this has been fair to them.

So, Labor Day came and went without an arrest. I would be permitted to turn myself in when the time came. I was off all medications and in a very poor state. My attorney, however, steered us toward the therapist who was—and still is—our port in a storm when we need her. I won’t divulge her name, but she did tremendous work with Eric and me. She also referred me to the psychiatrist who sorted out my meds. She deserves great credit.

Therapy still terrified me. Eric was doing the talking. All that year, I felt like making myself as small as possible. I squeezed into corner seats as close to my husband as I could. But the summer was awful. Eric’s commute was two hours, so he could not babysit me. The house restoration we had planned on was on hold. Still is. Over the years, we have lost nearly every penny we had worked all our lives for. We have no retirement funds. And a portion of Eric’s check went to his ex-wife. I was not working. The house was a disaster. I was not functioning at all.

I began drinking more and more. Every time the phone rang, I jumped. Every time a car went by, I jumped. I was in fight/flight mode at all times. It wasn’t so bad at first. But time dragged. We were caught in limbo. Christmas came and went without getting the phone call. It was an awful period I do not wish to relive. In my mind’s eye, I’m right back there—trying to make pretend for our children’s sake that I was anything but what I was. Sleeping was out of the question. I was alone all day, all the time. I was doing a terrible job of parenting. I could only try.

The call came in February. My attorney said to be prepared in case the local media had gotten wind of the story. Thankfully, that did not come to pass. By this time, my family was obviously made aware of the situation—at least as much as we knew. I was brought before the judge and pled “not guilty,” and was then brought before a very pleasant woman in another room who released me on my own recognizance. We then went to the Blooming Grove station in our car. The narcotics officer—a very young woman with no people skills whom I personally despised—decided to accompany us for no reason. We all three waited in the lobby and simply ignored her. I was called in and booked, fingerprinted, photographed—the usual.

Between the arraignment and my sentencing, I was supposed to be proactive and go to AA meetings and just make a good show of things and give the impression to the judge that I was pulling my life together. I was too depressed to get out of bed and too anxious to go anywhere. I don’t believe my attorney had any idea how sick I was.

I was supposed to have been diverted into a program which, if I completed it successfully, would mean no criminal record. But I blew that. My sentencing was to be in September, and I drank my way through that summer. I don’t even like to drink, but its legal, and of course, the inevitable happened. The night before a family vacation on July 12, I was to meet my husband at Walmart, go to the track to run and then do our shopping for the trip. But I got stopped for my overdue registration and was immediately arrested after a humiliating 20 minutes in front of Kmart. I was wondering how many people I knew saw me. I was brought to Matamoras and booked on DUI charges. The car was impounded. We had no cell phones. I was finally released, and I found a phone to use at Walmart. Eric had been trying to find me. All I said was “I’m in trouble,” because indeed, I was. But we still had to pack for the vacation, and act normal. It was hell.

Comments

No comments on this item Please log in to comment by clicking here