Chapter 2 - THE PRESCRIPTIONS I NEVER TOOK
“Tell me what those pills were for.”
Julian stood near the window.
Emily remained beside my bed.
Nobody raised their voice.
That made the room feel more dangerous.
Julian rubbed the back of his neck.
“You couldn't sleep.”
“I never asked for sleeping pills.”
“You complained about insomnia.”
“So?”
“So I handled it.”
“How do you get a prescription for me without me seeing a doctor?”
He hesitated.
Wrong move.
“Who prescribed them?”
“I don't remember.”
“Three prescriptions, Julian.”
“Audrey, you've been through major trauma. Maybe this isn't the time.”
Emily said, “Actually, this is exactly the time.”
Julian looked at her.
“This is between my wife and me.”
“No. Right now, this is a patient-safety issue.”
Emily asked whether I wanted Julian to leave.
“Yes.”
His eyes widened.
“Audrey.”
“Leave.”
“You don't know what you're doing.”
“That's becoming a theme.”
He walked out.
Emily closed the door.
For the first time since admission, it wasn't left open.
She contacted the charge nurse and patient advocate.
They reviewed my chart.
The medication was zolpidem.
Three prescriptions.
Each apparently written by Dr. Aaron Patel.
My primary-care physician.
I knew Dr. Patel.
He had treated me for seven years.
He had never prescribed zolpidem.
I called his office from the hospital bed.
His nurse checked.
“No, Mrs. Mercer. We have no record of that prescription.”
“Could somebody have called it in?”
“Not without documentation.”
The pharmacy records had prescription numbers.
Dr. Patel's office requested copies.
Two hours later, he called personally.
“They aren't mine.”
My mouth went dry.
“The pharmacy says your name is on them.”
“Someone used my prescribing information.”
“How?”
“I don't know yet.”
He sounded genuinely alarmed.
The hospital notified its compliance department.
The pharmacy opened an internal review.
Emily returned with another question.
“Did you take any medications your husband gave you at home?”
I thought about it.
“Sometimes.”
“What?”
“He'd bring me Tylenol. Migraine medication.”
“Anything for sleep?”
I remembered little white tablets.
Not often.
Maybe four or five times.
Julian would say:
Take this. You look exhausted.
I had trusted him.
That realization made my skin crawl.
“Possibly.”
Emily documented everything.
Then she asked something that seemed unrelated.
“Do you remember the hours before your accident?”
“Yes.”
Mostly.
I had left my architecture firm shortly after six.
Stopped for coffee.
Drove south.
Then the delivery van crossed the line.
“Were you tired?”
“A little.”
“Dizzy?”
I stared at her.
“Yes.”
“How dizzy?”
I remembered gripping the steering wheel at a traffic light because the dashboard seemed strangely distant.
I had blamed exhaustion.
Then I remembered the travel mug Julian handed me before I left home that morning.
Coffee.
Already made.
My stomach tightened.
Emily saw my face.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
But it wasn't nothing.
Because Julian had visited the hospital every day since the crash.
May you like
And every day he had asked the same oddly specific question.
“Did they run a toxicology screen?”
