By Peter Grinspoon
Loose Refills is the harrowing story of a Harvard-trained doctor run horribly amok via his dependancy to prescription medicine, and his recovery.
Dr. Peter Grinspoon looked to be a complete good fortune: a Harvard-educated M.D. with a thriving perform; married with nice teenagers and a stunning spouse; a pillar of his neighborhood. yet lurking underneath the skinny veneer of getting all of it used to be an addict fueled on an everyday boatload of prescription meds. whilst the police ultimately got here calling—after a tip from a sharp-eyed pharmacist—Grinspoon's condominium of playing cards got here tumbling down quickly. His expert ego became out to be an obstacle to getting fresh as he cycled via restoration to relapse, his popularity, family members existence, and way of life in ruins. What eventually strikes him to get well and reclaim life—including operating with different physicians who themselves are addicts—makes for uplifting examining.
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Extra resources for Free Refills: A Doctor Confronts His Addiction
If you so much as stirred in your sheets, blinding lights would flash in your face; and somewhere, invisible behind them, she would subject you to a ruthless interrogation. Miss Nichols moved in a perpetual fug, a great grey bulk of musty pullovers and thick woolly stockings and steel-capped walking-shoes that clicked like the deathwatch. Her face loomed out of the dark, wrinkles dusted with white powder that wedged itself in granules between the furrows, a ghostly mask capped by a cast iron hairstyle with steely ringlets that had not changed since the old Queen died.
Thursday 30 March 30 is my parent's wedding anniversary, neither of whom were particularly interested in gardening. Though in our family film it might seem otherwise: my mother picking the roses, and dad pushing a large wheelbarrow jauntily along blooming herbaceous borders. On this day nearly 50 years ago my parents posed for their wedding photo under a daffodil bell hanging in the lych gate of Holy Trinity, Northwood. The photo, with my father in his RAF uniform and my mother holding a bouquet of carnations, her veil caught in the March breeze - captured the imagination of the press.
The tide was low, the sands a pale blue, the sea ochre yellow with little white breakers blown back; above them, mauve clouds. Behind Prospect Cottage the sun was setting huge. Later a full moon was up in a cloudless sky - very clear. At midnight your shadow had gradation. The sea swelled right up, almost to the top of the shingle, moving slowly and relentlessly; the wind had dropped. Shimmering path of the moon across the sea. Ships etched against the sky far out in the channel. Very cold. Thursday 23 A bright sun dawned but cold winds soon blew in a very grey day.