Mrs Tessa Thompson

7/28/2019 Mrs Tessa Thompson

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The Drugs Dont WorkMrs Tessa Thompson, 59 of Lancaster Grove, woke with a start, remembering the

dread she had gone to sleep with at the anticipation of just this moment. A cup of

coffee would take the edge off it, if only she could muster the energy to leave her

cocoon. Her husband snorted a half asleep and half something else gutturalgurgling as she shifted the duvet and patted it back down flat. She took it as a

supportive, break a leg type comment. Avoiding the creaky stairs on the waydown, she was quickly met by the futility of her actions as Tim was clearly

already in the kitchen, banging cupboard doors and trainer shuffling. She

checked herself and had to self confess, for what would not be the first time that

day, that sometimes she really did have an aversive reaction to her own grown

up son. That, in spite of her aggressive protection of him. It had taken twenty-

seven years to get to this point, stopping off at pride and disappointment stations

along the way.

He leant over her as she filled the kettle, his breathing laboured and his breath

pungent. He looked thin, hollow eyed and vulnerable but she stifled the desire to

shove him; to allow her space to have a drink alone and in silence. He was

twitchy and wanted to talk, but her awareness that a chink of opportunity would

lead to a compulsive chain of bickering lasting until the appointment, made her

reluctant to respond. Instead, she internally chanted an unrepeatable flurry of

swear words, whilst maintaining a fixed grin.

Forty-five minutes later, they had left the Grove and were squeezing hands for

support as Tessa pressed the Clinic buzzer. She noticed that both the Dealer and

Subdealer parking spaces were occupied with tinted windowed monstrosities,each costing more than her house. Mr Jazzs car had a personalised plate, JJ 10

and a Little Prince on Board sticker on the back windscreen. Tim had noticedtoo and smirked conspiratorially the Old Tim.

This was a different Clinic, and the staff were excited to be housed in a more

corporate looking affair with water coolers, CCTV and leather chairs. Local FM

was being piped from the corners of the reception area, presumably for

relaxation purposes, although right now, a young man was reporting on a

stabbing in the town centre, thought to be alcohol related. The Old Tim silently

laughed.

Take a seat please Mr Thompson. Mr Jazz is just running a little late. Can I

get you a drink while you are waiting?A string of niceties, well rehearsedand fitting with the new building.

Tim shook his head and looked down, a little embarrassed and a little worried.

What about your mum? Would she like one?

You had better ask her.Tim wanted the receptionist to look away, but it

sounded like rudeness sarcasm even.


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No thank you.

The stock hospitality was over as abruptly as it began and The Thompsons were

propped on the edge of the leather sofa browsing copies of User Times thequarterly magazine for people like Tim. There was nothing much to read apart

from a tokenistic one page story about some youth or other managing hisillness in such a way that he is suddenly employed, married and has a car that is

not quite as impressive as Mr Jazzs. This is sandwiched between page after pageof adverts for insurance.

A school-like bell signalled the receptionist to escort them to the clinic room,

avoiding Craig and his dad, who were showing enough skill to escort themselves

out. Craig, low-fived Tim with gentle understanding. And then, they were in the

room, the plush clinic suite. Laminated motivational posters adorned the walls,with photo-shopped kittens proclaiming manifestos of Love your life, live your

life and Here today, here tomorrowdont let illness ruin your life. They didntneed the drug company logos in the corner to know that they were freebies.

Mr Jazz, all six foot four of him, sat proudly behind his new desk. He indicated for

them both to sit in front of him the chairs set out in quirky parallel, like travel

agent booths. His assistant (he of the other nice car) did not look up from the

paper file in front of him. His chair was a metre behind that of his senior. Jazz, as

he liked the young people to call him, cut a striking figure in navy woollen suit

and pink pocket hanky. He was tanned from foreign holidays that were clearly so

frequent, that he kept his sunglasses permanently on his head, just in case

another popped up. He smiled and nodded as if to indicate that something should

start, but when Tim began, Well, he was cut short by another hand-gesturethat clearly indicated, not yet!. He had been chastised and sank back in his

chair. Jazz, oblivious to Tims experience, turned to his assistant and took the filefrom him.

For two long minutes, Tessa and Tim looked at their feet whilst Jazz read, one

hand up above the desk to indicate, still not your turn yet. And then he sat back

and gave eye contact. When he spoke, it was a deep rich tone but with an unusual

intonation. Tim was embarrassed by his mothers persistent ignorance about hisprofessional language and constant questions about what he was talking about.

Why didnt she just look it up on the Internet at home?

Its been a while?

About three months..

Four,Tim corrected his mother.

You missed an appointment. That isnt good.Jazz was stern and parental.

He looked at both of them as he spoke.

Tessa was first to excuse,


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We tried to rearrange, because we had a family event. But we were toldthat we would have to wait two months anyway. But Tim was really

struggling.She tried her best empathic look and continued, In the end

we paid privatelyjust as a one offand saw a different Supplier, Mr Waddoat Elks. Do you know him? He hasnt changed much, but offered Tim a little

bit of a new brand of Hay, just to help him relax. He said he would write toyou?

Jazz turned to his assistant, who he knew would be shaking his head. He turned

back, put his elbows to the front of his desk and shut Tessa from his gaze.

Instead, he looked directly at Tim, speaking in a low casual tone.

And? What do you think has been happening Mr Thompson? It sounds like

your mother has been quite concerned? If not, very concernedClearly, youshould have called here and demanded an appointment, but we need to

move on from that and sort out any minor damage that may have been

done. But, in the meantime, would you be able to tell me how you have been

feeling since we last met?

Tim hesitated, and Tessa interjected, protective and informed, He has not been

sleeping well at all. And he seems really agitated and,

Pleaselet your son speak for himself, Mrs Thompson!And, turning to Tim,

What has it been like for you?. He was clearly irritated and they

confused. They still did not understand how to know whose turn it was to

speak and what the rules of this kind of conversation really were.

Tim was looking increasingly worried and Tessa put a hand on his back. He

spoke quietly but with a surprising amount of confidence.

I dont really sleep muchLast night I managed two hours, but I feelhorrendous today. I am shaking all the time and I cant relax, watch tele or

anything.When Mum took me to Waddo, he prescribed a bit of Hay and ithelped for a few days but now everything is bad again .Mum and I havebeen wondering if there is a different Drug you might prescribe because I

think the capital H inhaler isnt helpingOr we wondered about trying to

come off it completely

When Tim stopped speaking, he could tell that he had overstepped the mark. No

one should tell a dealer how to do his job. It is a careful art that takes years of

training. How the hell would Tim from the lower middle class new housing estate

at the other end of town know which Illness needs which Drug and how they

interact with each other? He shook his head in apology.

When Tessa was asked to speak, she felt relieved. At least she knew it was now

her turn.

Tim is very very agitated. He is grumpy nearly all the time and he is nowquite scared about leaving the house. After the new Hay, we had a couple of


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good days and we even managed to go out as a family and have a laugh. But

now he seems just the same.I am just not sure that the Big H is really the

right drug for Tim. As his mother, I would like to see him come off it and

maybe try something else? He is worse now than before we started coming

here and that was three years ago!II am just so disappointed that he has

no job, girlfriend or that many friends.He could be doing so much Shedidnt want to but she was starting to sound angry.

MmmI KNOW you are frustrated, Mrs Thompson. Let me tell you that I

meet a lot..and I mean A LOT of parents who struggle with accepting their

son or daughters illness. You know that there is still no curebut with the

new atypical drugs and methods of ingestion, we are managing it much

better..Neurostudies are progressing and we know so much more now about

just which chemicals in the brain are imbalanced. We might not be able to

stop the cause, but we can relieve symptoms pretty well

Mr Jazz, glanced at his colleague before continuing his familiar spiel.

Clearly, Tims symptoms are worse than they were, not helped by theintroduction of Hay, which I would like to see him reduce to half the dose

over the next two weeks. Often at this age and after such a long period of

illness, symptoms can be resistant to medication or, indeed, plateau Helifted his hands from the desk and used both as if smoothing the icing on a

cake.

He smirked slightly at Tessa,

The capital H, or Big H as you described it, really is a fantastic drug. It

may just be that the dose needs to be increased. Or, as in a lot of similar

cases, we could start to introduce another complimentary drug that can

help if people are a bit treatment resistant.

An abrupt knock at the door, halted the monologue and without an invitation, it

quickly opened and a young female professional looking colleague entered the

room with two steaming bright yellow happy face mugs with the slogan, capitalH heroin is for HAPPY on the side. The unlikely waitress in dark trouser suit

and high heels, blonde French plait sprayed in place and a face so airbrushed that

would put department store makeup rep to shame. After reaching over the desk

with the Assistants coffee, she deftly took a chair from near the doorway and sat

down and crossed her legs in one movement.

Im Sally, she said, leaning forward, expecting Tessa and Tim to turnround a little to make eye contact. She grinned, bright white behind a pillar

box border. I work as a Community Drug Administrator. I think you hadJoanne before? Anyway, it is my job to ensure that you have the right

amounts of the right Drugs and that you have all the paraphernalia you

need.


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Mr Jazz was clearly pleased to see Sally and a cheesy wink would not have been

out of place, although he didnt actually do this. Instead, he nodded appreciation

of the timing and continued,

I will be honest with you both. You cannot be expected to stay well if you

dont take the treatment properly. Withdrawal when your symptoms areworse is, to put it mildly, lunacy. Do you know of the number of young

people who attempt suicide because of not taking taking their drugs as

prescribed?

He paused for dramatic effect, although his eyes indicated a certainty in his

position rather than an act.

I would like Sally to visit you weekly to make sure you are taking theCapital H as prescribedAll the scientific evidence shows us that people who

do this, dont change dealers or drugs, use the correct paraphernalia, stayWELL..That is what we want for you..As your mum saysyou could bedoing so much with your life, but not if you throw it away by not taking the

correct treatment!

Tessa and Tim locked eyes, just for a fleeting second and the message passed was

something to do with a joint appreciation of their lack of knowledge. They had

been suitably chastised. Tessa felt the familiar pang of guilt followed by a rapid

loss of energy. How could she have believed that her son would suddenly get

better with no or some magical new treatment? What kind of mother would deny

her son what he needs? The worst realisation of all, however, was that she had

not accepted her son for all his problems and disabilities that she would preferhim to be differentthe Old Tim.

Mr Jazz scribbled in silver bullet pen on a piece of green prescription paper that

he duly passed to Sally. She explained that she would pick up the drugs later that

day and come and administer them herself, via injection, at 7pm that evening.

Tim and Tessa silently reorganised their evening of television and takeaway and

made room for intrusion. This is what he would need forever, after allTheymight as well start now.


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Mrs Tessa Thompson