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“Archer Colleymore. I got a call about Grant Duncan.”
“Duncan, Duncan, oh yes! Duncan. Third-floor, trauma unit.”
“Thank you.”
I find the stairs and take them two at a time. I barely break a sweat as I find the reception area.
“I’m looking for Grant Duncan. I’m his father, Archer Colleymore.”
The nurse exchanges looks with her colleague before addressing me.
“Could you please have a seat, Mr. Colleymore? I’ll let Dr. Beaumont know you’re here. I’m sure he’ll want to speak with you.”
I walk over to the row of chairs in the waiting area. But rather than sit, I stand. It feels like ages before someone finally taps me on the shoulder.
“Mr. Colleymore?”
I turn to see a small woman smiling up at me. She holds out her tiny hand.
“Hi1 I’m Dr. Beaumont. If you could just follow me to my office for a little chat, I’d greatly appreciate it.”
I follow as instructed.
“Have a seat.”
I sit and wait for her to close the door. I try to read her face but she is deceptively calm. I wait patiently as she fiddles with her computer.
“Ah! Here we go. Mr. Colleymore.”
“Please call me Archer.”
“Archer. Let’s just cut to the chase, shall we? How long has Grant been using?”
“Almost ten years. I don’t know what he’s using, though. We’re not exactly on good terms as father and son.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Either yesterday or the day before. Forgive me if I can’t recall exactly. I’ve been under some stress lately. Before that, he was in Ireland for months.”
As I speak she is making notes.
“Who was he with in Ireland?”
“His mother lives there, but based on what she says, he was basically drifting. As he does when he is here. Is he okay? What happened?”
“He was brought in early this morning. He’d been beaten quite badly and we suspect there are a few broken ribs. There are severe cuts and discolorations all over his body. He might be unrecognizable due to the swelling. Also, when we did his bloodwork, it’s a wonder he wasn’t brought in for the morgue. He was this close to OD’ing. And we almost lost him a few times while we were treating him as well. But I’m happy to say we’ve got him stabilized.” She smiles at me for a second, reassuringly. Then her face turns serious again. “We do have a bigger problem. While he is here, there will clearly be a withdrawal phase. We have him heavily sedated right now, but as soon as that wears off, he’ll begin craving a fix. In a day or too, we’ll move him to a psych ward where he can be better monitored based on that condition.”
“How long will it take before I can have him transferred to a rehab facility?” I ask.
“I’m glad that you already know the next step that needs to be taken.”
“He’s been in rehab before, and I’ve been fighting tooth and nail with him to let me admit him. That was what we last spoke about, as a matter of fact. I hope that this now convinces him that he needs to let me help him.”
“Do you have a facility or would you like a referral?”
“I have Dr. Ferguson waiting for me to say I’m on my way with him.”
“Good choice. He would be my referral as well.”
