People who have woken up during surgery, what was it like?

Seeking Proof

Over the next few days, I started doing research. Turns out anesthesia awareness is a real thing that happens to about 1 in 1,000 patients. But what happened to me wasn’t just random bad luck. Dr. Matthews had deliberately kept me understedated. I knew it in my bones.

I reached out to a medical malpractice lawyer I found online. His name was Richard Gonzalez, and he had great reviews. I scheduled a consultation and spent hours preparing what I’d say. When the day came, I was nervous, but determined.

Richard’s office was in a small building downtown. Nothing fancy. He was younger than I expected, maybe mid-30s, with glasses and a serious expression. I told him everything, the dinner, the racist comments, the surgery.

“This is a tough one,” he said. “Annesthesia awareness cases are notoriously difficult to prove. Without evidence that Dr. Matthews intentionally undermedicated you, it’s your word against his.”

But he did it on purpose. I insisted. I heard him laugh about it. Richard nodded sympathetically.

I believe you, but we need more than that for a case, medical records, witnesses, something concrete.

I left his office feeling defeated. “How was I supposed to get evidence? It’s not like Doctor Matthews had written, I tortured my daughter’s boyfriend in my chart.”

That night, Alicia called again. We’d been talking more regularly, but I was keeping her at arms length. I couldn’t tell her what I suspected her dad of doing. Not without proof. She’d never believe me.

Dad’s asking about you, she said. He wants to know how you’re recovering.

My blood ran cold. What did you tell him?

That you’re doing okay, but still in some pain. He said that’s normal and offered to prescribe you something stronger.

I almost laughed. Tell him no thanks.

Are you sure? He said he could drop it off himself.

I’m sure. The last thing I needed was Dr. Matthews showing up at my door with more dot drugs. After we hung up, I had an idea. If I couldn’t prove what happened during the surgery, maybe I could catch him doing or saying something incriminating.

I started recording all my phone calls with Alicia, hoping her dad might say something in the background. I know that sounds shady, but I was at my wit’s end. I also started keeping detailed notes of everything. Dates, times, what was said. If this ever went to court, I wanted to be prepared.

A week later, Alicia invited me to dinner at her house again. My first instinct was, “H, I’ll know.” But then I realized this might be my chance. If I could get Dr. Matthews talking about the surgery, maybe I could record something useful.

I agreed to go, but I was smart about it this time. I downloaded a recording app on my phone and tested it multiple times to make sure it worked. I wore a button-up shirt with a chest pocket where I could slip my phone camera facing out. I even practiced at home to make sure the audio quality was decent.

The day of the dinner, I was a nervous wreck. What if he caught me recording? What if he had another gun? But I forced myself to go. This might be my only shot at justice.

When I arrived, Dr. Matthews opened the door, thankfully, without a weapon this time. He smiled at me, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

The patient returns,” he said, stepping aside to let me in. “How’s the incision healing?”

“Fine,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. My phone was recording in my pocket, and I was hyper aware of it.

Dinner was tense, but less awful than the first time. Mrs. Matthews had made lasagna, and Alicia kept the conversation flowing. Dr. Matthews was civil, even asked a few questions about my classes. No racial slurs this time, which was a low bar, but still an improvement.

After dinner, Dr. Matthews suggested we have drinks in his study. Alicia looked surprised, but pleased. Apparently, this was a big honor. I followed him into a room lined with bookshelves and medical awards. He poured two glasses of whiskey, the same expensive brand I’d brought him before.

So, he said, handing me a glass. You’ve been avoiding my daughter.

I took a sip to buy time. I’ve been recovering.

Hm. He sat in a leather chair across from me. Anesthesia can have strange effects on the mind. Patients sometimes think they experience things that never happened.

My heart raced. Was he bringing it up himself? What kind of things?

Oh, awareness during surgery, for example. It’s extremely rare, but some patients believe they were conscious when they weren’t.

I leaned forward slightly, making sure my phone could pick up his voice. Did that happen to me?

He smiled, swirling his whiskey. You tell me.

I think I woke up during the surgery. I said carefully. I could hear everything. Feel everything.

Dr. Matthews chuckled. The mind plays tricks. The drugs we use can cause vivid hallucinations.

It didn’t feel like a hallucination. He set his glass down and leaned forward. Let me explain something to you, son. I’ve been an anesthesiologist for over 15 years. I know exactly how much medication to give each patient. If you think you were awake during that procedure, you’re mistaken.

The way he said it with that smug certainty made my blood boil, but I kept my cool. I guess I must be confused then.

Exactly. He leaned back, satisfied. Now, about you and Alicia, I understand you’re quite serious about her. The sudden change of subject threw me. Yes, sir. I love her.

Love. He said the word like it tasted bad. You’re both very young and from different backgrounds. I knew he wasn’t talking about our college majors. We have a lot in common where it counts.

He nodded slowly. Perhaps, but relationships are complicated, especially when families don’t mesh well.

Before I could respond, Alicia poked her head in.

Everything okay in here?

Dr. Matthews smiled at her, suddenly warm, just having a chat with your young man. Why don’t you show him that new painting in the living room?

I was grateful for the escape. As we walked to the living room, Alicia squeezed my hand.

See, he’s warming up to you.

I forced a smile. If only she knew. The rest of the evening passed without incident, and I left with my recording intact. When I got home, I immediately played it back.

The audio wasn’t great. Lots of background noise, and some parts were muffled. But you could clearly hear Dr. Matthews dismissing my experience and then making those vaguely waxed comments about our different backgrounds. It wasn’t the smoking gene I’d hoped for, but it was something.

I sent the audio to Richard who called me the next morning.

This is interesting, he said, but not enough for a case. He’s careful with his words. We need more.

I was starting to think I’d never get justice, but then something unexpected happened. Dr. Matthews invited me to play golf. The invitation came through Alicia, who was thrilled.

He never invites anyone to play with him. She gushed over the phone. This is huge, babe.

I agreed to go, even though I’d never played golf in my life. I spent the next 3 days watching YouTube tutorials and practicing my swing at the driving range. I also bought a new recording device, a small elevated quality mic that looked like a button. It cost almost $200, but it was worth it.

The golf course was exactly as pretentious as I’d expected. Perfectly manicured greens, men in pastel polo shirts, and not a lot of diversity. Dr. Matthews met me at the clubhouse looking annoyingly at home in his golf attire.

Ever played before? he asked, eyeing my rented clubs.

A few times? I lied. I’m not very good.

Well, it’s not about skill. It’s about the conversation.

That set off alarm alarm bells immediately. Dr. Matthews wasn’t the type to care about conversation, especially not with me. We started playing and I was predictably terrible.

Dr. Matthews was actually patient about it, giving me tips and not seeming too annoyed when I took six strokes to make it onto the green. Around the fourth hole, he brought up the hospital.

You know, I’ve been thinking about your surgery.

I nearly missed the ball. Oh, it was a routine procedure. Nothing complicated. He lined up his and swung smoothly. The ball arked perfectly onto the green.

But sometimes patients have unusual reactions to anesthesia.

I took my shot, sending dirt flying but barely moving the ball, like waking up during surgery.

He watched me with those cold eyes. That’s extremely rare. What’s more common is a phenomenon called anesthesia dreaming. Patients think they’re awake, but they’re actually experiencing a type of dream state.

Interesting, I said, trying to sound casual. So, there’s no way to know if someone actually woke up.

There are monitors, of course, heart rate, blood pressure. They would show signs of awareness. He took another shot. In your case, everything was normal.

I nodded, filing that information away so there would be records that could prove or disprove my story. That was useful, you know. Dr. Matthews continued. Alicia’s mother had a similar experience years ago. Claimed she woke up during a C-section.

This was new information. Really? What happened?

He shrugged. Nothing. I explained it was just a dream and eventually she accepted that.

The way he said it made my skin crawl. Was he implying he’d done this before to his own wife? That must have been scary for her, I said carefully.

People fear what they don’t understand. The mind is powerful. It can convince you of things that never happened.

By the end of the game, I was mentally exhausted from trying to get him to say something incriminating while also pretending to care about golf. Dr. Matthews had struck me by about a million points, but he seemed pleased with the outing.

“We should do this again,” he said as we returned our carts. “You’ve got potential,”.

I forced a smile. “I’d like that.”

When I got home, I immediately checked the recording. The quality was much better than last time, and I could clearly hear Dr. Matthews talking about his wife’s similar experience. It still wasn’t a confession, but it suggested a pattern. I called Richard and sent him the new recording.

He was more interested this time. If his wife had a similar experience, she might be willing to talk, he suggested.

I doubt it, I said. She seems completely under his control.

Still, this is good. Keep gathering evidence and see if you can get access to those medical records. He mentioned the monitors from your surgery.

Getting those records turned out to be easier than I expected. The hospital had an online patient portal where I could view my chart. Most of it was medical jargon I didn’t understand, but there were notes about the anesthesia and vital signs during surgery. I downloaded everything and sent it to Richard.

He called me a few days later. I had a medical expert look at these. He said, “There’s something interesting here. Your heart rate and bloody pressure spiked at one point during the surgery, consistent with awareness, but there’s no note about adjusting your anesthesia in response.”

So, that proves I woke up.

It’s suggestive, but not definitive. We need more.

I was getting frustrated. How much more evidence did we need? But I kept pushing forward, determined to expose Dr. Matthews. Around this time, Alicia started noticing something was off. We were still dating, but I was distant. Always recording our conversations, always asking subtle questions about her dad and his work.

“Is everything okay?” she asked one night when we were studying at my apartment. You seem different since the surgery.

I wanted to tell her everything, but I couldn’t. Not yet. I’m just stressed about finals. I lied. She didn’t look convinced.

You know you can talk to me about anything, right?

I nodded, feeling guilty. I was keeping huge secrets from her, but it was for her own protection. At least that’s what I told myself.

The next day, I got a text from an unknown number.

Back off or things will get worse for you.

No signature, but I knew exactly who it was from. I showed the text to Richard, who advised me to be careful.

He’s feeling threatened. That’s good and bad. Good because it means we’re getting somewhere. Bad because he might escalate.

I didn’t have to wait long to find out what escalate meant. The following week, I started feeling suck. Nothing major at first, just headaches and nausea. I figured it was stress, but it kept getting worse. By Friday, I was throwing up constantly and could barely get out of bed. Alicia came over, worried.

You need to see a doctor, she insisted.

The last thing I wanted was to go back to Waterstone Hospital, but I was too sucked to argue. Alicia drove me to the ER where they ran some tests and found nothing obviously wrong. They gave me fluids and anti-nausea medication, which helped a little.

As we were leaving, Dr. Matthews appeared in the hallway. He was in his white coat, looking every bit a concerned physician.

“Alicia mentioned you were here,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” I said wearily.

He nodded. “Good, good. These stomach bugs can be nasty. Make sure to stay hydrated.”

After he walked away, I turned to Alicia. “Did you tell him I was here?”

She looked confused. “Number, I mean, I texted mom I was taking you to the ER, but I didn’t specify which hospital.”

That’s when I knew he was watching me, tracking my movements. I was pretty sure he had something to do with my sudden illness. When I got home, I searched my apartment thoroughly. I found signs that someone had been there. A chair slightly out of place. My laptop moved from where I’d left it. In the kitchen, I found something that made my blood run cold.

A small puncture in my milk carton, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. Someone had been in my apartment, and I was pretty sure it was Dr. Matthews or someone working for him. I immediately threw out all my food and drinks. Not sure what had been tampered with. I called Richard in a panic.

He’s poisoning me, I said. I need to do something now.

Richard tried to calm me down. That’s a serious accusation. We need proof before we can act.

I’m not waiting around to be poisoned again. I snapped. I’m going to confront him.

That’s a terrible idea, Richard warned. He’s dangerous. Let me handle this legally.

I knew he was right, but I was scared and angry. I decided on a compromise. I’d set up a meeting with Dr. Matthews, but in a public place where he couldn’t try anything, and I’d record everything.

I texted Alicia that I needed to speak with her dad about some follow-up medical questions. She seemed surprised, but gave me his direct number. I called and asked to meet at a coffee shop near campus.

“Medical questions are best discussed in my office,” he said smoothly.

“I’d prefer somewhere more casual,” I insisted. just a quick chat.

He paused, then agreed. We set a time for the next day. I arrived early, chose a table with a good view of the door, and set up my recording device.

When Dr. Matthews walked in, he looked perfectly at ease, like we were old friends meeting for coffee.

“What can I help you with?” he asked after ordering an Americano.

I got straight to the point. “I know what you did during my surgery, and I think you’ve been tampering with my food.”

His expression didn’t change. “Those are serious accusations.”

I have evidence. I bluffed. Recordings, medical records, witnesses.

He took a sip of his coffee. “What exactly do you want?”

I want you to admit what you did and I want you to stay away from me.

He smiled, but it was cold. You know, anesthesia can have long-term psychological effects. Paranoia, delusions. Perhaps you should consider that before making wild accusations.

I’m not delusional, I said, my voice rising. A few people glanced our way. Dr. Matthews leaned forward.

Let me be clear. You have no evidence because nothing happened. If you continue spreading these stories, I’ll be forced to take action. Legal action. Defamation is a serious offense.

So is medical malpractice. I shut back.

He stood up. Still calm. I think we’re done here. I suggest you get help for these delusions and stay away from my daughter.

As he walked out, I realized my plan had backfired. I’d hope to rattle him, get him to slip up. Instead, he turned it around on me, making me look like the crazy one. When I played back the recording, it was even worse than I remembered. My voice sounded shaky and aggressive while he remained perfectly composed. If anyone heard this, they’d think I was the unstable one.

I called Richard, who was predictably not happy about my improvised confrontation.

“You’ve just shown your hand,” he said. “Now he knows you’re gathering evidence.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. I wasn’t thinking clearly.

“It’s okay, but from now on, follow my lead. No more solo missions.”

The next day, Alicia called, upset.

“Dad told me what happened,” she said. “He’s worried about you. He thinks the anesthesia might have caused some psychological issues.”

“And you believe him?” I asked, trying to keep the h hurt out of my voice.

“I don’t know what to believe,” she said. “You’ve been acting strange for weeks. Secretive, paranoid, and now you’re accusing my dad of what exactly?”

Deliberately hurting you. Why would he do that?

“Because he doesn’t want me dating you,” I said. “He’s made that pretty clear.”

“That’s not true,” she insisted. He’s been making an effort lately. The golf, the dinner. He’s trying.

I wanted to tell her about the text, the poisoned milk. But I knew how it would sound. Without proof, I was just a guy making crazy accusations about her beloved father.

I need some time, she finally said. This is all too much.

After we hung up, I sat in my apartment feeling more alone than ever. Dr. Matthews had successfully driven a wedge between Alicia and me. Now I had no one in my corner except Richard, who was starting to sound doubtful about our chances of building a case.

But I wasn’t giving up. I was more determined than ever to expose Dr. Matthews for what he was, a sadistic, controlling monster who absed his medical power. If anything, I decided to try a different approach. If I couldn’t prove what happened during my surgery, maybe I could find other victims.

Dr. Matthews had mentioned his wife had a similar experience. What if there were others? I started researching online, looking for any complaints or reviews mentioning Dr. Matthews and anesthesia problems. Most of what I found was positive. He was well respected with glowing testimonials from patients and colleagues.

But then I found something interesting on a medical forum. A post from 3 years ago by someone using the username awake but paralyzed. They described waking up during surgery at Waterstone Hospital. Feeling everything but unable to move or signal the doctors. The details matched my experience exactly.

I created an account and sent a private message explaining that I’d had a similar experience and was looking to connect with others. To my surprise, they responded the same day. Their real name was Jordan and they agreed to meet me at a diner near campus.

When I arrived, I found a woman in her early 30s with short hair and nervous eyes. She kept looking around like she expected someone to be watching her.

Thanks for meeting me, I said as I slid into the booth across from her.

Jordan nodded. I almost didn’t come. I don’t talk about this with anyone.

I understand, I said. It’s hard to explain to people who haven’t experienced it.

She relaxed a little. Exactly. Everyone thinks you’re exaggerating or confused, but I know what happened to me.

I asked her to tell me her story. Three years ago, she’d gone in for an appendecttomy. Dr. Matthews was the anesthesiologist. During the surgery, she woke up, not fully conscious, but aware enough to feel the pressure and hear the doctors talking. She tried to signal them but couldn’t move.

The worst part, she said, lowering her voice, was that I heard him acknowledge it. A nurse asked if my heart rate spike meant I was waking up, and he said yes, but that I wouldn’t remember anyway.

My blood ran cold. Did you report him?

She laughed bitterly. I tried, filed a complaint with the hospital. They did an investigation that went nowhere. Dr. Matthews said my vital showed no signs of awareness and everyone believed him. The hospital administrator even suggested I see a psychiatrist.

That’s awful, I said. I’m going through something similar now.

Jordan leaned forward. It’s not just the surgery. After I filed the complaint, weird things started happening. My prescriptions would get mixed up. Medical records would go missing. I started feeling suck for no reason, just like me.

“Do you think he was retaliating?”

“I know he was,” she said firmly, but I could never prove it. Eventually, I gave up and moved on. Changed hospitals, doctors, everything.

I told her about my situation, the recording, the lawyer, the evidence we were trying to gather. “Would you be willing to go on record about your experience?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know. Last time I spoke up, my life became a nightmare.”

“I understand,” I said. But together, we might have a better chance of being believed.

Jordan promised to think about it. We exchanged numbers and she left, still glancing nervously over her shoulder. Meeting Jordan gave me new hope. I wasn’t crazy, and I wasn’t alone. Dr. Matthews had done this before and probably to others as well. If we could find more victims, we might finally have enough evidence to take him down.

I told Richard about Jordan, and he was cautiously optimistic.

If she’s willing to testify, that could be significant. He said it establishes a pattern of behavior.

Over the next week, I focused on finding more potential victims. I posted anonymously on medical forums, reached out to former patients mentioned in news articles about Waterstone Hospital, and even considered putting up flyers around town. Richard vetoed that idea as too risky.

Meanwhile, things with Alicia were strained. We were still technically together, but she was distant, clearly torn between me and her father. I hated putting her in that position, but I couldn’t back down. Not when I knew what her dad was capable of.

One evening, I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize. It was Mrs. Matthews, Alicia’s mom.

I need to speak with you, she said, her voice hushed. Not on the phone. Can you meet me tomorrow at the library on campus? Second floor near the biography section. Come alone.

Before I could ask any questions, she hung up. I immediately called Richard to tell him about the strange call.

Be careful, he warned. This could be a trap or she could have information.

I countered. She’s the one he mentioned having a similar experience during her C-section.

If you go, wear your recording device and let me know exactly when and where you’ll be.

The next day, I arrived at the library 15 minutes early. The biography section was quiet with only a few students browsing nearby. I pretended to look at books while waiting. My recording device was active in my pocket. Mrs. Matthews arrived right on time. She looked nervous, constantly glancing around just like Jordan had.

She was a small woman with Alicia’s same blonde hair, though hers was stre with gray. She’d always seemed fragile to me, but today she looked particularly worn down.

Thank you for coming, she said quietly, pulling a book from the shelf and pretending to examine it. “I don’t have much time.”

“What’s this about?” I asked.

She took a deep breath. I overheard Benjamin talking on the phone. “He mentioned your name and something about taking care of the problem permanently. I’m worried about what he might do.”

My heart raced. Did he specifically threaten me?

Not in those words, but I know my husband. When he feels threatened, he becomes dangerous. She put the book back and pulled out another. Has Alicia told you about her previous boyfriend?

I shook my head. Alicia had mentioned dating someone in elevated school, but never went into details.

Thomas was his name. Nice boy. Benjamin hated him, too. Mrs. Matthews lowered her voice even further. There was an accident. Thomas was hit by a car while jogging. Driver never found.

I felt suck. Are you saying doctor? Matthews was involved.

She didn’t answer directly. I’m saying be careful. Very careful. Benjamin has connections at the hospital, in the community. If he wants to hurt you, he has ways.

Why are you telling me this? I asked. Why? Help me.

Her eyes filled with tears. Because I’ve been where you are. During my C-section with Alicia, I woke up. I felt everything. Benjamin knew. I saw it in his eyes when I told him later. He convinced everyone I was confused, traumatized from the birth. Eventually, I started to believe it myself.

This was exactly what I needed. Confirmation from someone close to Dr. Matthews that he’d done this before.

Would you be willing to make a statement? Officially.

Fear flashed across her face. I can’t. he would know it was me.

But she reached into her purse and pulled out a USB drive. These are copies of some of Benjamin’s personal files, patient records, emails. I don’t know if there’s anything useful, but maybe it will help. I took the drive, stunned by this unexpected ally.

Thank you.

She nodded. Be careful how you use this. And please don’t tell Alicia I gave it to you. She wouldn’t understand.

With that, she walked away, leaving me standing there with what might be the key to bringing down Dr. Matthews. I immediately went home and plugged in the USB drive. It contained hundreds of files, patient records, email exchanges with hospital administrators, personal notes.

Most of it was mundane medical stuff I didn’t understand. But there were some interesting emails about complaint procedures and how to handle patient accusations of malpractice. One folder caught my attention, labeled simply problems. Inside were files on several patients, including Jordan. Dr. Matthews had kept detailed notes on her complaint, the investigation, and how he’d managed the situation.

There were also notes about her subsequent health issues, the same ones she told me about. He’d been tracking her, maybe even causing those problems. Another file was labeled Thomas incident. It contained newspaper clippings about a hit and run that had called a local teenager 3 years ago.

Thomas Walker, 18th, Alicia’s ex-boyfriend. There were also notes about police interviews and how to establish an alibi. It wasn’t a confession, but it was suspicious as Hol. I copied everything and sent it to Richard, who called me an hour later sounding excited.

This is huge, he said. Especially the notes about Jordan. They prove he was aware of her complaint and took steps to discredit her. And there are other patients mentioned, too. potential witnesses.

“What about the Thomas stuff?” I asked. “It looks like he might have been involved in a hit and run.”

Richard hesitated. “That’s concerning, but outside the scope of our case. Let’s focus on the medical malpractice for now.”

I agreed, but the information about Thomas haunted me. Had Dr. Matthews actually called Alicia’s ex-boyfriend, and was he planning something similar for me?

The next day, I got a text from Alicia asking to meet. We hadn’t spoken much since our fight, and I was nervous about seeing her. We agreed to meet at a coffee shop on campus. When I arrived, she was already there, looking tired and sad.

I’ve been thinking a lot, she said as I sat down. About you, about Dad, about everything.

and I prompted when she didn’t continue.

I talked to mom, she said. She told me some things about dad that disturbed me. Nothing specific, just that he can be controlling, manipulative, that sometimes he crosses lines.

My heart raced. Had Mrs. Matthews told her more than she’d let onto me. What do you think?

Alicia looked down at her coffee. I think I’ve been blind to a lot of things. The way he treated Thomas before the accident? The way he treats mom? The way he treated you at dinner?

I reached across the table and took her hand. I never wanted to come between you and your dad, but there are things you need to know.

I told her everything. The surgery, the recordings, Jordan, the USB drive her mom had given me. I showed her the files about Thomas, watching her face crumple as she read them.

I can’t believe this, she whispered. All this time, I thought dad was just overprotective. But this is this is suck.

I’m building a case against him, I said. With my lawyer, we’re going to report him to the medical board. Maybe even press criminal charges.

She looked up, her eyes red, but determined. I want to help.

That was the last thing I expected to hear. Are you sure he’s your dad and he’s H art people?

She said firmly. He hurt you. He might have hurt Thomas. Who knows how many others? It has to stop.

With Alicia on our side, things moved quickly. She had access to her parents’ house, to Dr. Matthews’s home office and files. She found more evidence, notes about other patients who had complained about waking during surgery. All of whom later retracted their statements after experiencing mysterious health problems or other setbacks. Richard was building a solid case.

We had Jordan’s testimony, the medical records showing my elevated vitals during surgery, the files from Mrs. Matthews and now additional evidence from Alicia. It was looking more and more like doctor Matthews had a pattern of deliberately allowing certain patients to wake during surgery. These were patients he had personal issues with like his wife’s C-section or patients who had complained about him in the past.

But just as we were preparing to file formal complaints with the hospital and medical board disaster struck. I woke up one morning to find my apartment had been broken into. My laptop was gone along with all my physical notes and recordings. The USB drive was missing too. I called Richard in a panic.

Someone took everything. I said.

Not everything,” he assured me. I have copies of most of it and the testimonies from Jordan and the others are safe with me.

Still, it was a major setback and a clear message from Dr. Matthews. He knew what we were doing and he was fighting back. That same day, Alicia called me sobbing.

“Dad knows,” she said. “He found out I’ve been helping you. He’s furious. He’s threatening to cut me off to stop paying for college. Mom’s terrified.”

“Where are you?” I asked immediately concerned for her safety.

“At a friend’s house. I can’t go home. Not now.”

Stay there. I said. We’ll figure this out.

I called Richard again, explaining the new development. “We need to move fast,” I said, “before destroys more evidence or hurts someone else,”.

Richard agreed. “I’ll file the complaints today, and maybe we should consider a restraining order for you and Alicia.”

The next few days were a blur of legal paperwork, meetings with hospital administrators, and constant anxiety. Dr. Matthews was placed on administrative leave pending investigation, which was a small victory, but I knew he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Sure enough, he started a counteroffensive. Suddenly, there were rumors around campus that I was mentally unstable, that I’d been stalking Alicia, that I had a history of making false accusations. Some of my professors started treating me differently, and I noticed people whispering when I walked by.

Then came the legal threats. Dr. Matthews’ lawyer sent a cease and desist letter claiming I was defaming a respected physician with baseless accusations. They threatened to sue me for everything I had, which wasn’t much, but still terrifying.

Richard assured me these were just intimidation tactics. He’s scared, he said. The medical board is taking this seriously. They’ve interviewed Jordan and two other former patients who had similar experiences, but the pressure was getting to me. I was barely sleeping, jumping at every noise, constantly looking over my shoulder.

Alicia was staying with friends, afraid to go home. Mrs. Matthews had gone to stay with her sister, leaving Dr. Matthews alone in that big house, probably plotting his next move.

Then came the final straw. I was walking back to my apartment late one night when a car swerved toward me on the sidewalk. I jumped out of the way just in time, falling hard on the grass as the car sped off. I couldn’t see the driver, but I caught a glimpse of the license plate. It was Dr. Matthew’s Cadillac Escalade.

I called the police, but without proof it was him driving. There wasn’t much they could do. I told Richard, who was alarmed enough to suggest I stay somewhere else for a while.

This has gone beyond malpractice, he said. He’s actively trying to harm you.