Very few things make me angrier than seeing an alcoholic/addict being treated with disrespect.

When I am the recipient of that treatment myself as an addict, I try to turn the incident into a learning experience for the unfortunate offender—all the while just wanting to smack the person across the room.

“Stay calm, Joani,” is my mantra. Few things can be taught in the heat of out-of-control, intense emotion. You run the risk of being written off as a lunatic with a severe attitude problem. So I stay calm as my blood boils over.

Every morning I check into a computer program that tells me if I need to go to the local Lab Corp and give a urine sample for random drug testing. This is part of my requirement as a member of the Maryland State Board of Nursing Rehabilitative Committee.

For the public safety, I am monitored as a health-care provider with a history of alcoholism and drug addiction. It is a minor inconvenience, but I am happy to do it. I am privileged to hold a registered nurse license.

So on this morning, a BIG RED notice comes up on my computer screen, telling me I have been selected for random screening.

I am so thrilled I am sober and that my urine will reflect this miraculous state of being that I gleefully drive to the lab!

Weird, I know. Surviving severe addiction after numerous rehabs and overdoses has made sobriety so sweet. My parents were not so lucky.

I load up on coffee and water. I want to perform well.

On this morning, though, I have overshot the mark, and boy do I have to pee!

I enter the lab and sign in on the required form, indicating that I am there for a random drug screen. The waiting area is packed. I sit down, and my full bladder screams at me to find a bathroom, soon.

I cannot wait. I figure I can siphon off some urine and still have an ample amount for the test. Simple enough.

I approach the woman behind the desk. “Excuse me,” I say, “where is the bathroom?”

She is busy reading something. She looks up. Her face looks like she has just sucked a lemon.

Then in a loud voice she says: “You cannot urinate! You are here for a random drug screen. If you urinate now, your test will be null and void, and you will be in violation!”

Well, fuck me. Or, more accurately, fuck you! Stay calm Joani. The whole waiting room is looking my way. Both of my children are with me this day.

Now, I have been on TV and told millions of people I am a drug addict. My passion is that I am not embarrassed by this medical fact. No more so than if I had multiple sclerosis.

But I expect to be treated with respect. And this stupid, stupid woman has violated a basic rule, that little federal law called HIPAA—health information MUST stay private—a mandated, federal law!

I take my seat. My bladder is still painfully full. My daughter, Mary, is watching me closely. She knows me well. She senses I have just heard some fighting words, and she is right. Her Mom is nothing if not an advocate for addicts and alcoholics everywhere.

The man next to me apologies for the incident.

As quickly as I sit down, I stand back up.

Approaching the woman, still behind the desk, I say, “I need to speak to you.” She has that “eat shit and die” look on her face. “In private,” I add.

I will not publically humiliate her the way she has done to me. Two wrongs really do not make a right.

She opens the locked door to the back room, where no doubt there is a bathroom that I still need so badly. But I need something more. I need to inform this woman about my rights, about my expectation of being treated with dignity in the light of a diagnosis of drug addiction. The latter part she will not give a shit about; and I know it. But the violation of my HIPAA rights she will comprehend if she has any sense at all.

She listens as I calmly tell her she has breached this tenet of the law. She denies violating my privacy. “Do I need to call in twenty-five witnesses from the waiting room?” I ask her.

I reiterate calmly how she has broken the law. How Lab Corp and she could be sued for this breach. I inform her that I am a health-care provider myself.

She hedges as I ask her for a piece of paper to document the incident. I inform her that I want the original in my chart and that I will keep a copy for myself. I request her supervisor’s name and phone number. She denies there is a supervisor on the premises, which I find curious.
She also refuses to give me her full name. Silly, ignorant woman, I think to myself. Of course, I obtain it easily from the employee standing next to her.

Having worked neonatal intensive care for many years, I am skilled at writing out circumstances quickly and clearly, even when under stress, and with a full bladder. Hospital nurses rarely have time to pee!

I hand her the document to copy and file. She has become strangely quiet.

I leave the lab that day feeling satisfied. In a small but essential way, I have stood up for every drug addict made to feel ashamed by the insensitivity and ignorance of another.

I guarantee you that woman will never violate another’s rights. She might feel disdain for patients required to give urine samples for random drug screens, but she will keep her feelings to herself.

I walk back into the waiting room. My daughter looks up at me and smiles. “Yep, Mary, we scored one for the good guys today.”

She knows her Mom well, and I am proud.

—Joani