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Chapter 88 ... From Restraints to Rehab

"When I die, I want to go peacefully like my Grandfather did, in his sleep -- not screaming, like the passengers in his car."  unknown



Allegedly I was gone from this soft and warm earth for 8 hours; In my mind I had one question: Would someone please explain to me what’s going on? From the time an actual interesting thing happened till now, so many things have happened I feel like my life is on buffer.

I ascended two stairs to our room and my next glance, I was in St. Catherine’s hospital, arms and legs tethered and my mother, Mary and Mel apparently upset.

“We will untie the restraints if you remain calm”.

Remain calm? I guess I better, but calm is the last thing I was.

“What???? What is going on?”

My sister proceeded to tell me the story; They heard me vomiting and came upstairs. That immediately sounded peculiar since I vomited almost daily and Mel never cared before.

Why this time?

It seems I was vomiting in my sleep. I was in bed and I vomited all over myself almost suffocating. I do not remember going to bed. Mary said I took an overdose of something. She suspected I took my mom's entire bottle of Xanax. Which was downstairs in her room and would have been impossible to do without someone seeing.

However, the doctor reassured me that was not the case. They had taken blood tests and the only medications in my bloodstream were a minute amount of morphine, which I take on a regular basis. The doctor was curious why there were only trace amounts. Also in my bloodstream was Haldol, which they had given me in the emergency room and Xanax, the few milligrams the nurses had given me.

After I was untied and the doctor left, my sister told me an amazing story. She said I was screaming that I hated my mom, the most believable thing they told me, and that I was trying to hit everyone around them. They called the police, who Mary said, were quite afraid of me and didn’t shoot me because I was a Schuch. Yeah…right. I was put in restraints several times and I managed to tear myself out of them. Mel told me Mary sung to me and that was how I stopped. Uh Huh… Everyone was of course terrorized, upset, worried. There was obviously only one direction in their faces and that was I was responsible.

The doctor was convinced I had taken something or ingested something, or perhaps had been bit by a rabid animal. But my family felt as strongly as the root in every tree this was not so.

I was discharged the following morning. When I put on the pants to my pink BIG DOG jogging outfit, the previous days medication, all 4 MSIR’s were in the pocket. Does that sound like someone who would steal someone else’s medication when I hadn’t taken my own? Also, remember the tape recorder I carried around? There was a spent tape inside.

Mary came to pick me up at the hospital and as I apologized, she said not to talk about it, the situation was over.

Not so much...when I got home, they “sat” me down to talk about drugs”, I let them carry on about my superpowers ripping off the restraints...like Superman on Cryptonite! and then, patiently explained that the doctors said I took no overdose of anything and then got up to have some privacy.

“Justin must’ve taken them” I heard Mary say. I’ll bet he didn’t, but I’ll bet I know who did.

Losing 8 hours of my life was a traumatizing thing, I didn’t remember anything, not one single thing and I can tell you, that is a frightening situation. I took out my tape recorder and rewound the tape. Mary, Mel and my mom were talking about incidentals, nothing to do with me. No crying, none of the hysterical concern and then Mary started to sing. Just a verse of a lullaby and them laughing. The tape must’ve run out. The strange thing is nothing is on the before that...or after.   It seems someone turned on the tape suddenly. But who? Could I have done it?

I had no bruises on my hands or feet. Wouldn’t one have marks from ripping out of restraints? When I asked the nurses about the restraints they had to go to the chart to find out.  Wouldn't they remember a hysterical patient ripping out of her restraints repeatedly?  The nurse only noted that I was, indeed, in restraints.

I had my own legacy of drug use.

During the previous year I had so many issues with pain, and Mel would use her psychobabble and get her desired results.

She made requests and they were filled. Yes I had pain, but worse I had ‘restless leg syndrome” a treacherous malady where your legs get these electrical types of charges, once you lay down and you cannot stop moving them. It is maddening. These jolts literally make you feel like your legs are gonna shoot right out of your body. You want to scream, and I spent many evening in emergency rooms doing just that. They’d give me a powerful shot of Xanax and that would keep them still a couple of days.

I tried potassium, chloride, everything you could imagine. Some nights I would finally fall asleep out of pure exhaustion, and even then it took a long time and most times it was in the bathtub.

I could live with the pain, but the RLS was something that can make a person crazy. I felt strange complaining or even describing it to a doctor. I figured he would just say “Well, it isn’t painful, what do you want me to do” but I was wrong. I told my doctor, Dr. Alo, whom Dr. Monk referred me after her retirement, and he knew immediately what the issue was. He gave me Clonopin and all was resolved. Yes I had some pretty shitty neck pain, but I would work 10 hours at a computer drawing and would follow that with a couple more hours at home. So my body was telling me to give it a rest already. I took handfuls of aspirin and ignored it.

Mel wanted to fix it, so again more doctors more invasive tests more suppositions and more drugs. I had a Myelogram. That is where they actually put you on this device where you look like DaVinci’s Vetruvian man. They spin you around after injecting die into your spine. You are knocked out for most of it. Then I had this test where they stuck needles (no not acupuncture) it’s called an Electromyography they dig them into the muscles. I had spinal blocks. I did whatever she wanted me to do. In the beginning it was codeine, then codeine and soma, then codeine soma and morphine. The codeine, soma, morphine and fentanyl. Not only was I a mess, but the cost was unreal. The fentanyl was $150 for .25 mic.s growing to $600 for 100 mic.s. The strange thing was, the more of this shit I took, the better I worked.

I have an endorphin deficiency.

While most folks would fall dead asleep, I would become hyper. And if I take diet pills, amphetamines, I fall asleep. But from the narcotics, I also could not shut up! I ran around like bullet in a steel room, perpetually bouncing off walls and babbling about everything and anything. Mel kept the drugs under lock and key and dispensed them as prescribed. But sometimes she allowed more. Recently one of my daughter’s friends told me she would give them codeine at night to shut them up. I found this hard to believe and since I am not on speaking terms with my daughter, I really will never know. But I pray my instincts are right and that did not happen.

The problem with the fentanyl patches were, in the summer, they wouldn’t stick. Sweating. Sometimes I would have so many on my arm it looked like I was wall papering myself. And still, they didn’t stick.

When I was at work, our secretary, whose father owned a pharmacy, said to me “Why don’t you just slit open the ones that don’t stick and consume the contents?”

Her father was a pharmacist, she must know what she’s talking about. So I did it….




After learning the tricks of the narcotics trade and swallowing Fentanyl patches whole, I knew it was time to do something.

I was in rehab in 6 months.

Withdrawal is a bitch. It is painful, sickening and scary. The first three days you shake so hard you feel your bones are breaking. That is because when you take narcotics, your bone marrow quits growing. Once you stop it works overtime to make it up. You are constantly drenched from cold sweats. Forget about sleeping. Everything hurts, you are vomiting and I had one more problem, and that was my restless legs were back. I had to sleep in a tub of extremely hot water. That was the only place that my legs were calmed.

I was miserable. I would go to the front desk and ask them for anything to help me.

Their response “That just the craving, you need to learn to overcome that” “Bullshit, a craving is for something pleasurable that fills a temporary desire. Like watermelon when you are pregnant. This is the not the desire to have a temporary pleasure, this is the NEED to not feel this way. So take your psychobabble 12 step shit and shove it. You don’t know what the fuck you are talking about. The next time you have the flu, chills and feel like shit, I hope someone tells you to just shut up, it’s simply a craving.”

This is frickin worse than the flu. I actually had seizures.

And the 12 step program? Listening to everyone talk about their antics while trying to score, use, abuse only made things worse. And then the pep talks:

“Only two percent of you will be successful, and one out of 10 of you will probably be dead from your drug of choice within the next 10 years.”

Well then why the fuck bother?

Now I know I am going to get some guff on this, and that is why I am probably the only person that will actually speak up about it, but it doesn't work for everyone.

One of the leaders of this dog and pony show was a black guy who dressed like a pimp. Zuit Suit and hat matching boots. If the suit was magenta, the hat and shoes were as well. All perfectly matched with a festive faux silk tie and handkerchief and an offensive color shirt. Guess what? He was a pimp, retired…not so much, he had a new direction for his aggressive field of management. Trust me I’ve stepped on better things than him.

So he starts out the meeting saying he was a “different kind of pimp now”. He no longer scored drugs and sold women.

Now think about this, out of 100,000 sperm..he was the fastest. He was now a 12 step pimp. Yes, he said that. This son of a bitch actually said we were all his whores and he was going to lead us around like the filthy pathetic drugees we were and we were going to do his bidding. And we were paying for the privilege. Ok. Whoooooa. I got up and left immediately, which made a few of the other ladies get the courage to do so. I marched up to Dr. Decker’s office and asked him to sit in on this meeting, I explained what an unbelievably terrific job the guy was doing and he really needed to see this. You see if I complained, I would have been admonished back to the meeting. These people thrive off of successful ego trips and this was “one of his own”. He relegated himself to being some sort of a god at that point: But, you see, all gods are homemade, and it is we who pull their strings, and so, give them the power to pull ours.

It was rather comical. Dr. Decker came in and sat down behind the guy so Mr. Pimp couldn’t see him. As Mr. T continued, Decker locked eyes with me, I smiled, he smiled, shook his head and did a “naughty girl” shake of his finger at me. He then dismissed us, only 15 minutes in. The guy was fired. But he had already done his damage. We were pretty pathetic at that stage and vulnerable. Well all the other ladies were. I was simply put, fed up. How does an insurance plan cover a program with a 2% success rate?

Every meeting starts with “We are not to glamorize our drugs here. And then they proceed to do just that. I heard about everything from how luscious it was to take 15 Vicodin and how they were never able to get that first high again. How people cleaned their houses so well on drugs, worked better (or so they thought) on drugs. I heard about people doing crack, getting so sick they vomited all over the place, but once they did, “They were good!:” And then proceeded to tell what the high felt like. Now if I was a true addict, this would have sounded like a game plan. But I had no desire to do street drugs and meth and crack were supposed to be the worst and hardest to get off of. I found out you can get drugs off the internet, and I was told of the sites that did this.

They finally asked me to talk.





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Yes, this is absolutely positively true. If you lived this wouldn't you write about it? Some of the names of characters in this blog are fictitious. This is an account of actual events. Some of the events have been compiled together for the flow of the story. Even when I read my own work, I wonder how it could be so. But if you study your own life and compartmentalize it into less than 200 pages, you would be surprised how interesting it really is!  


TRUTH HAS WITNESSES (Dianne Lindsey) This material is the copyright Dianne Schuch Lindsey and cannot be duplicated in any fashion without the express permission of the Author. All rights reserved ©

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