Diana Geoffries, MPA, CJ

I am spending this Sunday morning trying find every legal article, statute, and example of case law or study because it looks as if I am going to be representing myself in court. I have not been able to find any legal representation here in North Carolina, even when turning to the NC Legal Aid, Lawyer referral services and over 80 attorneys, some even in Virginia, though licensed to practice in NC as well. Basically, they say, "It's not something I'm interested in", and, the more frequent excuse for rejection, "It would require far too much work and we might have to spend money to do it. We're not willing to do that." Help.

Please note the individuals' names used in this case history have been fictionalized to conceal their identities. Therefore, my case follows:
For several years, I have been on two medications, both originally prescribed and dispensed to me when I lived in Colorado: 1) Depakote for menstrual-related blackouts and petit mal seizures I would suffer at the beginning of my periods - if I suffered them at all. That medication has worked quiet well for six years; and 2) Zoloft for depression I started to suffer during the last year of my father's life (1998). I took care of him 24-7 for eight years, giving up my career, social life and every aspect of my independence to attend his needs. The stress of watching him become more and more frail and frustrated with himself was horribly painful to witness. As if that wasn't enough, in the three years from 1998 until 2001, I lost not only my father to death, but my last two remaining relatives and seven very dear friends who had been encouraging me through each day as I cared for my father. Ten people in three years. Yes I was depressed, but I was NEVER diagnosed as being clinically depressed or mentally ill and, in fact, was told that, as my life began to make its comeback, I could be phased off of the Zoloft. I never received any psychiatric counseling for mental problems; the problem was that I had been witness to the deaths of ten very dear people and it hurt. No mystery. While in Colorado, I would occasionally be tested for the levels of both medications in my system, but no "treatment" beyond that.

Upon moving to the Hertford/Elizabeth City area of North Carolina, I had high hopes of starting over at 45 and getting on with a thrilling life. Unfortunately, eight months after arriving (13 Jan 2002), I was brutally raped by a man who had been working on the construction crew remodeling a house I had purchased. The police refused to take a report. He was a friend of theirs and, the best they could tell me was "There's nothin' we can do for you." I went to the DA...he said he refused to believe that his police would treat me with such disregard and, therefore, I must be lying.

On 17 June 2002 at 7:35a.m., my house was broken into by three construction workers whose work had been done for a month and a drywaller who work was yet to be completed. They were accompanied by a deputy sheriff who said that, if I tried to follow them around the house to see what they were taking, he would handcuff me and "contain me" in the back of his vehicle "until they finish taking what they want." There was no warrant, no outstanding bill, no reason for them to break into my house. They did not knock on the door or ring the bell. They just came in and started ransacking. I was terrified. Again, even though I immediately wrote a fully detailed report of what occurred and turned it in to both the Perquimans County Sheriff's detective and to the DA in June, the DA finally told me on 2 October 2002 that there was no case.That, since a deputy sheriff was in attendance as an "escort", the DA wouldn't be able to prove "intent to commit a crime". Therefore, the issue was dead. The 'ringleader' of that group continued to stalk me from June 2002 through June 2003, pulling up in front of my house and sitting in his truck and staring at the house. My house is at the dead end of a road surrounded by water, so it's not as if he was on his way somewhere and just happened to stop in front of the house. I was denied a restraining order. The deputy sheriff was not charged with anything by either the DA or the sheriff, but was given the opportunity to either be fired or resign and do a lateral transfer over to the Hertford Police Dept. He chose the lateral transfer. I see him to this day in his cruiser as he 'patrols' the streets. He bears no affection for me.

So I had a house that was 40% finished and I had no one to work for me, was scared to even consider outside subcontractors and, basically, 'camped out indoors' while I took on the challenge of completing the house by myself....electrical, plumbing, painting, cabinetry, hardwood flooring, tiling, all fixtures....everything completely by myself. I admit a couple assisted me with painting and I found a retired electrician to hook up my breaker box. Otherwise, only my two hands built this house. For three months I had no electrical; for five months I had no plumbing. But I made it through, I survived. I didn't seek counseling; I produced results. Today it is complete and looks beautiful.

Those are just a few of the many not-so-great situations to which I have been subjected since my arrival here in North Carolina. I could have just thrown up my hands and walked away. I did not. I stayed and fought the good fight and now have something to show for it. However, I did feel that I wanted to stay on the Zoloft since so many horrible things had happened to me and I was being stalked. I guess what I am saying is in support of the fact that I am not mentally ill, but was depressed from some very harsh life experiences and, hence, reamained on the Zoloft.

NOW, to the real meat of the matter at hand.

I have been unable to find work for two years and, being caught up in building my own house, work on a variable schedule was even more impossible to find. So I have been surviving on a savings account and living very frugally, growing my own food during the many months that are wonderfully productive and fruitful. To obtain my medications, I was entered into and qualified for the Patient Assistance Program that, since I had no income or health insurance, the pharmaceutical companies who manufactured my medications (specifically Abbott Laboratories and Pfizer), would send three-month quantities to my doctor and they, then were to be dispensed to me. I was entered in September 2002 and submitted the two prescriptions on two different occasions; by February 2003, I had yet to receive any of the medications, the doctor and counselor simply saying, "Well, we don't have anything for you." Five months and nothing had been provided. However, one little glich in the system as interpreted by the doctor who was going to write my prescriptions was that, in order for him to write the scripts, I had to "develop a patient file", basically, be seen in weekly or bi-weekly counseling sessions, to verify that I was a "mental health patient". I did not want to participate in any counseling; I knew what my problems were, how to best overcome them and was doing quite well. I did not want to go to any kind of counseling...especially with someone who wasn't even a PhD in therapy. But, no counseling, no "patient file development", no writing of prescriptions. This was a condition/policy of the Center where the doctor practiced, not a policy or condition of the Patient Assistance Program. In the best interest of my own health, I conceded to the sessions that started out weekly and went to every other week after about mid-October 2002. I got nothing from those sessions. I talked about books I was reading. I showed the counselor photos of the progress I was making on the house. I pleaded to be able to see her only every three months, the minimal requirement of the PAP so new prescriptions could then be written. She denied my request. This "therapist" spoke to me of her dysfunctional family, hateful siblings, how she didn't want a husband but just a sperm donor so she could give her mama two grandbabies before mama dies, and on and on. If anything, I was her therapist. All paid for by tax money. What a waste. I repeatedly told her that the kind of things we were talking about were things girlfriends talk about over lunch or morning coffee, not in a therapy session. She said that was not possible because it would violate her "professional ethics" (want to run that one by me again?!) I complained to the doctor and the Albemarle Mental Health Director about the counselor Annie Smythe's lack of professionalism and ethic, that I was getting nothing out of the sessions, and that no "therapy" was required for me to participate in the PAP. I repeatedly asserted I did not need "counseling" and I tried to find another way to be able to get my prescriptions, but was told only there was no other way. I was now getting to be a problem because I was speaking out to people in high positions.

After regular reminding of Ms. Smythe and the doctor that my reserves were getting low, I finally ran out of my Zoloft on 2 December 2002 and my Depakote in early January 2003. I let them know from the outset of the physical withdrawl symptoms I was experiencing from the Zoloft (nausea, lightheadedness, frequent headaches, difficulty sleeping, among others). I pleaded for them to get me some small supply. The doctor gave me two coupons for the Depakote that I was able to redeem, but was unwilling to look into an interim supply of the Zoloft.

On 19 February 2003, I went in for my biweekly appointment with Ms. Smythe and to hopefully pick up my prescriptions. I had received written notice from the pharmaceutical companies they had been sent. The weather was horrible and it was the first day of my period. Needless to say, I felt horrible. Heavy bleeding, cramping, dizziness, nausea, and I had to drive 27 miles to get there. As we entered her office and she closed the door, Ms. Smythe said simply, "We don't have anything for you yet." I was furious. I told her how horrible I felt (from my period) and that today was the wrong day to bring me bad news. I said, "It seems the state of North Carolina can't find a good reason to keep me alive." I went on to say that, in the five months I had participated in "counseling" at the Center's insistence, I had received nothing from them. I reminded her that the only reason I was coming there was to continue two medications I had already taken for years. I reminded her that I had no desire or need to be in therapy, but that I was given no choice if I wanted to obtain the meds I need. I told her again and again that my continuation in this "program" as implemented by the Center was pointless and that I intended to end my participation in it following that session. I made it quite clear that I was making every effort to find work in and move back to New York City, where I had previously lived (prior to caring for my father). Ms. Smythe excused herself from the room, then returned about ten minutes later with a Dr. Tom Hunt. I had never met him before. He asked what the problem was. I said I was getting nothing out of the program specifically, the medications, which was the only reason I was coming to the Center. To me, five months of receiving absolutely none of the prescriptions and two 1/2 months of being completely without was inexcusable, a blatant demonstration to me that the Center had no interest in my health or welfare. I told him I wanted to move back to NYC where life was at least more organized than what I was witnessing here. Hunt and Ms. Smthe left the room. She returned again after about five minutes and said, "You're not going to like what I have to say....We've decided you're a danger to yourself and we've decided to have you involuntarily committed."

I lost it. Every swear word I knew rolled off my tongue. Here, I had gone to pick up my prescriptions and, because I bothered to vocalize my dissatisfaction with their disregard in carrying out their end of the agreement, I was now seen as a "threat to myself and others." In the two small absences from her office where she had left me, a total of 20 minutes, Ms. Smythe not only recruited the affirmation of a doctor who knew nothing about me but had completed her affidavit and petition for involuntary commitment then run across the street and obtained a magistrate's signature on an involuntary commit order. When I questioned her at a later date, Ms. Smythe's recalled she only told the magistrate that I "was frustrated, didn't like North Carolina and wanted to move back to New York." On this lack of information, the magistrate signed. The magistrate never asked about my financial status as required by NC General Statutes, nor did he schedule a competency hearing. He signed his name to have my life stopped abruptly and scheduled abuse to begin because I didn't like North Carolina.

The Sheriff of my resident county of Perquimans was contacted to transport me. He and a female deputy showed up to transport me to Ahoskie, NC...about 75 miles away…to Northside Psychiatric Hospital, a part of Roanoke-Chowan Hospital. NC Statutes require that the transporting authorities be in plain clothes and in an unmarked vehicle. The sheriff was in plain clothes and stayed in the car. The deputy was in full uniform with all hardware dangling; she read me my rights in front of a full lobby of clients, then escorted me out to the vehicle by taking my arm. The vehicle was a marked car, lights and all, again in violation of NC General Statute 122C. It is also required that, if they transport, they are to provide transportation home once the patient is released. I asked the sheriff en route when he would be there to provide transportation home. He simply replied, "Oh...we just get you there. After that you're on your own." That was his final word. Making matters even more stressful for me, the deputy sheriff smoked heavily in the vehicle the entire way, all windows shut until I started coughing from the smoke and, after about 45 minutes, convinced the sheriff to open a window about 1/2 inch for ventilation.

Once at Northside Psychiatric Hospital, I was escorted into the locked facility and subjected to the "intake". The woman who performed this "intake", Carolyn, could barely read. She used her finger to try and work her way through the lines of the Patient Rights manual, then would give up in frustration, having read maybe two lines from each page. She asked me to sign at the end, saying it stated I had been read my rights and understood them. I said I would not sign it because I had not been read my rights. She replied, "I read you what I thought was important." I asked for my reading glasses so I could read the document myself and then consider signing it; she refused saying, "You could hurt yourself with your glasses...you could hurt me with your glasses. So Just sign." I refused. She said, "You're really going to make this a lot worse for yourself than it needs to be." I stood my ground.

I asked for tampons or sanitary napkins because my flow was horribly heavy. I was denied tampons because "You could choke on them" and I was denied any sanitary napkins. So I made it with rolled up toilet paper for two days, until my discharge from the hospital.

I was given a meal card to circle my meal preference. I am a vegetarian and circled that. Every meal I received was inundated with meat and meat by-products. Hence, for two days I subsisted on fluids with the exception of one patient who gave me his vanilla pudding.

I repeatedly demanded my Depakote, saying I was at my greatest risk since my period had just started and I had not had any that day. They ignored my demands, even though they acknowledged that same note was in my file. At about 4 a.m the first morning after my arrival, I suffered a seizure. I had been without three doses by that time. At about 7:30 p.m. that same day, they finally gave me 125mg of Depakote, one quarter of my recommended dosage. That was the only depakote they dispensed me the entire time I was there. However, they did try to get me to take a multitude of psychotropic medications of which they claimed they didn't know the names, what they were for, what their effects and side effects were, and who prescribed them, only telling me, "They're to make you happy." I protested saying that cocaine and methamphetamines were taken to make people "happy" and that we were talking about my body. I refused to take anything unknown to me or which I felt I did not need. I hate taking medications of any kind and have never abused drugs or taken them 'socially'. I like my body and want to keep it for as long as possible. Again I was warned that I was "going to make things hard for [myself]". Again I stood my ground.

During my 46 hours there, I was repeatedly asked to sign various documents. I refused since I was denied access to my reading glasses so I could see what the document read. The only document I signed was the inventory showing they had in a locked locker my purse and all its contents, including my reading glasses.

According to North Carolina Statutes, I was to have been given a physical within 24 hours of my arrival at the facility. They sluffed until 28 hours...and all he did was look in my ears, take my blood pressure and listen to my chest. I told the nurse I did not want to participate...I did not want to take off my clothes. I had no choice. From the exam the 'doctor' performed, there was no need for me to completely undress.

As it turned out, the reason I was served the meat-ladened meals and the psychotropic drugs (both which I refused to ingest) was that the psychiatrist, Dr. Frank Davis, had ordered them for me. Davis did not meet me until noon of 21 February 2003, 43 hours after my arrival. When we spoke, Davis casually leafed through my "file" and I asked if that was the first time he had seen my file. He said very assertively, "Yes, it is." So this man who didn't know me from a hole in the wall had ordered psychotropic drugs and a diet I could not eat just because they are "routine" to the hospital's new patients. He is a somewhat attractive man and seemed to be absorbed in himself. When I told Davis of my desire to return to New York, he took off describing in great detail his years in med school and internship in New York. I approached the nurses' station following that 25 minute session and asked how soon I could leave. Somehow, from his personal testimonial, Davis was able to determine that he "wanted me to stay for about ten days for testing." Why? Because I love New York pizza, culture and opportunity? I asked for the phone book so I could call an attorney. As soon as I was on the phone, the nurse called Davis. Upon my hanging up I was told I could sign out "against medical advice." I signed out immediately and had to call a friend in Elizabeth City to come pick me up since the sheriff refused to accommodate me in that regard. Even though I was 'officially discharged', I was not allowed out of the lock-down facility until my friend and his wife arrived, almost four hours later.

At no time while I was at Northside Psychiatric Hospital was I on any kind of special watch or in any special care. I was denied basic hygiene necessities, food, seizure medication, and coercion was attempted to get me to sign documents without allowing me to read what they read. The facility was a locked 24-hour hospital, so I was not allowed my freedom of movement in an out. No crime had been committed, yet I was being treated as if I was a danger to the general public. In debates regarding my liability with the Risk Management Director and the hospital's billing department, I was informed that my signing or not signing any document while at the Northside wouldn't have mattered; that when a person is involuntarily committed, they lose their rights and are at the whim and will of the hospital and its agents. NC General Statute 122C-2, "Policy", states," to assist individuals…in ways consistent with the dignity, rights, and responsibilities of all North Carolina citizens." According to that, I was denied my very dignity, among other rights. And 19 February 2003 had started with me only hoping to pick up my prescriptions for my continued good health.

I have since learned, by contacting the pharmaceutical companies that, in fact, both sets of prescriptions had been sent to the Albemarle Mental Health Center, the first in late September 2002, shortly after my acceptance into the program. They show no record that the meds were ever returned. But the Center never dispensed them to me, only telling me "they didn't have anything for me." Six months' of medications "disappeared". So what was happening to my medications while in the possession of the Albemarle Mental Health Center? Who was getting them? They were being provided me at no cost by Abbott and Pfizer; I'm curious if someone had made a few dollars on the side or on the street or possibly satisfying their own needs off-the record. Haley, the intake technician for the PAP and not related to the Albemarle Mental Health Center, had complained to me in December of 2002 that, since September 2002 she had submitted about 265 requests for medications through the Patient Assistance Program but had only received 34. She was very frustrated since, like every patient, she received notice from the companies that the patients had been approved and the meds had been sent. Yet she got nothing. It wasn't just me. There are hundreds of others who were and may be still suffering from not being dispensed their medications. It just happened that mine were to have been dispensed by Albemarle Mental Health Center. I might note that, because of the mounting "missing meds" and the stress that it created, Haley quit her position a few months ago. Also, it seems too suspicious that, when I mentioned I was going to drop out of the program via the Albemarle Mental Health Center, I was immediately hastened off to a lock-down facility very much against my will.

In closing, I mention that Northside Psychiatric Hospital is now threatening to sue me to collect $1,799.70 for the 45 hours of abuse, disregard and disrespect I received in their facility. The two doctors, Dr. Davis and the physician who gave me a "physical" but not his name, are also demanding payment or will sue. Again, I stand my ground. I refuse to pay. There was no contract, I objected quite loudly to the involuntary commitment. I received no "care".

Thank you for your time in reading this and considering it. If someone would like to contact me for further detail, please don't hesitate.

Diana Geoffries, MPA, CJ
208 Webb Street
Hertford, NC 27944
(252)264-2152
dianag@inteliport.com