Drunk Randy

Posted: September 3, 2010 in The People Involved

The night I checked myself into the hospital, I started having regrets.  A male nurse with a very thick African accent kept grilling me on my alcohol use.

“Sooo what eeez tha longest tiyam you have remeened sobah?”

“Huh?”

He repeated himself.  I said, “I cannot understand you.”

He was asking me what was the longest time I had ever been sober.

I said  “I’m not here for that.  Drinking is not my problem.  I took Chantix, I had a bad reaction to it, and I haven’t slept in days.”

“Let meeee seeee you hands,”  he said.  I held them out.  They were trembling a little.  Hell, I was nervous, I was in a mental hospital for the first (and hopefully last) time in my life.  I hadn’t slept in days.  Your hands would tremble, too, but he concluded I had the d-t’s.  Alcohol withdrawal.  “The shakes.”

The next morning, a psychiatrist named Dr. Khan visited with me for 15 minutes.  He wrote in my chart that I was  bipolar.  No family history, no personal history of ever anything remotely like that.  But suddenly, after one episode of “mania” when I was still quite lucid enough to know that something was wrong and I insisted that someone take me to the hospital for help, I’m bipolar?

That was just the start of the fun, though.  After that, I met with the guy I call “Drunk Randy.”   Our first meeting was memorable.

“Hi I’m Randy.  I’m the chemical dependency coordinator here.  Looks like you have been abusing alcohol and drugs.  I actually think you’re addicted, but they diagnosed you as abusive so we’ll go with that.  HEY… it’s nothing to be ashamed of, I’ve been sober 25 years and 6 months.”  DRUNK RANDY!   And, in true reformed alcoholic fashion, he just knew that everyone else was an alcoholic right along with him.

So, Randy gives me this big thick packet of Alcoholics Anonymous paperwork and leaves me to enjoy the squalor… er… ambiance of the day room where we had been meeting.   He assigned me to the substance abuse group.  All therapy in that place was based on either being a substance abuser or having depression.  Who’s the lucky girl… ME, of course!

So I go every day for three days to these sessions with people who are all extremely pompous and downright proud of their alcoholism.  “Well I’m in the military and I have post traumatic stress syndrome.  They found me on the job with a .29 blood alcohol level one day.”

“Oh yeah, well mine was a .35…”  another guy would chime in.

“Hey what are you in for?” people would ask me.  I’d say “Well, I think I had a bad reaction to  Chantix, but they keep saying I”m a bipolar alcoholic.  I hope they’re wrong.”

These drunk people would just look at me like, ‘Poor pathetic loser doesn’t even know what she is….”

So, on Tuesday night, after I had asked to be discharged and they held me for “commitment,” I decided to play along and make drunk Randy happy.  I filled out all my AA paperwork.  Leading questions that, when answered the way Randy wanted them answered, would lead me at the end to say “Oh wow… I AM an alcoholic.  Thanks, Randy!  Let’s go to an AA meeting together right now, okay?  Pass the coffee, cigarettes and donuts, dude!”

But I didn’t.  What I concluded was that due to all the stress and trauma of the Chantix, I had been drinking to excess in the last week or so.  He was clearly not happy with my answers on the paperwork and I finally had enough so I said, “So, just what makes you think I’m an alcoholic?”  After asking him a couple more times, this is what he said:

“Well, your legal problems for one.  You were arrested in a Wal-mart parking lot, drunk and high on phenobarbitol.”  (Apologies to the medical folk out there, I don’t know how to spell that word).

I said, “I have never been arrested in my life.  Ever.  For anything.  Not once.” Which was absolutely true (and thankfully still is).

I’d give my left boob to have a picture of his face when he finally realized he had me confused with someone else, a gal named Cassandra M., who was in there at the same time.  I can show you her mugshot online but that’s not fair to her–she didn’t do anything to me.  She just apparently had a few issues that Randy mistook for mine, which is easy to understand since she was a dead ringer for me.  Brunette, petite, and 120 pounds.  Me, I’m 5’6″, 160 pounds, and blonde.  Easy mistake to make mistaking me for her, I suppose.

Welcome to UBH Denton, folks… home of the mistaken and confused Drunk Randy!!!!

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Comments
  1. patient says:

    haha OMG this dude was a joke! He seriously was the moron who refused to call the doc after they made a grave mistake. I wish I saw this post of your’s before I went;( I simply refused all treatment and food until they got me a doctor. I literally nearly had a seizure waiting and no one would call anyone because the staff is super lazy there…..

    • ubhdenton says:

      Yes, he is a BAD BAD BAD joke. Sorry Drunk Randy, but we are talkin’ bout YOU. I’m so glad you stopped drinking and sobered up every how many years ago it was now…. but that doesn’t make you qualified to actually help other people. Will you e-mail me privately and tell me about the grave mistake they made? They seem good at those.

  2. […] Mental Health Techs running “therapy” groups. A chemical dependency coordinator (see “Drunk Randy”) who couldn’t keep his patients straight. Oh, and a doctor who is chief medical director (see […]

  3. jeri olson says:

    THE WORST EXPERIENCE EVER.
    true definition of quackery.
    portland oregon is following suit on this….
    “worst hospital ever reputation”
    class action lawsuite anyone?

  4. […] I guess I should thank Dr. Khan and Drunk Randy for my new outlook on life?  Maybe that was part of their so-called “treatment plan” […]

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