In September of this year, the hospital I work for decided to implement a new "Drug-Free Workplace" policy. This new policy involved random drug testing. 
Well, on Tuesday, December 14, I was selected as one of the random employees to be tested. I had absolutely no worries. I don't do drugs, never have and never will. I've never even smoked a cigarette. So I picked up the form from my boss and headed to Occupational Health. I signed in, filled out a form listing all medications I was currently taking, and sat and waited on my turn. An employee called me back to a room. The first test was for alcohol. I blew into a breathalyzer. Of course, it came back negative. Then the lady began prepping for the next test: the urine drug screen. The entire time she was prepping, we talked about being pregnant. Her daughter was also pregnant and it gave us something in common to talk about. I joked about how funny it was that I was selected for drug testing given the fact that I was pregnant.
I gave my urine sample and stood by while she waited on the results. As she stood there marking negative after negative, I tapped my foot, eager to get back to work. I had patients coming that afternoon. But then she got a funny look on her face. She stared at the cup, turning it this way and that. Before I could ask, she said "I'm going to go get another staff member to look at this. I can't seem to find a line. But sometimes they're so faint you can't see them. I need another pair of eyes to confirm or deny. Hang on a sec." I was thinking, "no line? Is that bad?" She came back with another staff member who looked at it briefly, said "nope" and gave me a very condescending, seething look. She then left the room. Meanwhile, my heartbeat has increased and my breathing was increasing also. The first employee told me that they had failed to see a line, a line indicating that the result was negative. I calmly replied, "ok", while my head was screaming "WHAT?!" She told me that the sample would have to be sent to an outside lab to declare a positive or negative. She packaged the sample, including with it a form indicating the drug to be tested. I leaned over as far as I could without being obvious. The drug she wrote was "methamphetamine". WHAT?! She asked me to inital and date the package. I initialed and dated it and was led to another room. The employee left to "send off the sample." 
When I arrived at my office a few minutes later, I was in tears and barely able to breathe. One of my co-workers, Jill, asked me "What's the matter?" I replied "I'm being sent home." She said, "What for?" I choked out "I failed the drug test." Jill's mouth dropped open and she stared at me incredulously. Then she started laughing. As I stared back at her, she said, "YOU?! You've got to be kidding. I would expect that of other people, but YOU? There's got to be something wrong. That's ridiculous."
By that point I was hysterical. Another co-worker, Jan, held my face in between her hands and said, "Heidi, it's not good for the baby for you to be this stressed out. You have to calm down!" That got my attention. I took a few deep breaths and managed to calm myself down a little. (At least I wasn't hyperventilating.)
I called my boss to let him know. I could barely speak on the phone. Apparently, Occupational Health had already called him. He told me my supervisor was on the way up to my office. My next call was to my OBGYN's nurse, Jennifer. I told her what was going on and she told me she'd get me a print out of all my prescribed medications. (Not much, let me tell you. I have inhalers - which I don't use - and two medications prescribed by the urgent care center doc - Zofran for nausea and Zantac for my acid reflux.) I sent a text message to Brad: "They're sending me home." Then my friend and fellow dietitian, Sara, called to see if I had 15 minutes to wait so she get up there to cover me. I said yes. She asked me if everything was OK and I said, "Not really." She said, "What's wrong?" I told her I'd tell her when she got here.
Shortly after that, my supervisor arrived in my office. She closed my door and gave me a hug. She told me everything would be OK. She told me Sara would be covering for me. My cell phone rang - it was Brad. I ignored it. It wasn't long before Sara arrived. She was sheet white and looked panicked. I told her what was going on. She gave a deep sigh of relief and started laughing as the color returned to her face. "Drugs? That's all? I thought it was something serious; like something was wrong with the baby." (Let me give you a background on Sara: she works in the OB clinic at the hospital - which serves the poorest of the poor of Indianapolis - and often sees mothers who are on drugs for real. And having just had a baby herself in August, I could understand her concern.) For the first time since the incident, I actually smiled. I briefed Sara on the next few days and started shutting stuff down on my computer. Brad called me on my work phone. I answered and explained what was going on. I told him I'd call him later.
I was still pretty upset and was still crying in intervals. Jan came back and handed me a $20 bill with a post-it note. I looked at her quizzically. She smiled. "Go shopping for Shannon." I smiled. Retail therapy is always great and giving to someone else is even better. (Our office had decided to sponsor a family we knew who was going through a hard time at Christmas. The mom was trying to save enough money for a down payment on a house in a better neighborhood so she could move her 4 adopted children to a safer environment.) I took the $20 bill and the post-it note with Shannon's list and put it in my wallet.
After collecting all my stuff and hugging everyone good bye, I left. I called Brad again and he told me that he'd done some research and it showed that Zantac could cause a false positive. I headed to my doctor's office. I met Jennifer and she handed me a copy of my prescriptions which I promptly delivered to Occupational Health. I was still in shock as I headed to my car. I had no idea how long the process would take or when I would be allowed to return to work. I still hadn't figured out what could have caused a false-positive.
I placed my next call to my father-in-law, chemist and patent attorney. Not being able to reach him, I hung up and called my mom. My mom was upset at first because she could tell how upset I was and said, "Heidi, sometimes God does things for a reason. Who knows; maybe you were going to be in an accident or maybe God knew you needed a vacation." But by the end of the conversation, she was laughing. She said, "Heidi, this wouldn't be funny, except it's YOU!" I had to chuckle with her at that point. My father-in-law called back toward the end of the conversation. When I told him the situation, he immediately began researching. He was furious. He found an article from the Mayo clinic regarding drug testing. Apparently, ranitidine (Zantac) can cause a false-positive. I felt better and drove to my mother-in-law's house.
I went in through the garage and when I got inside, I hollered "Mimi, are you here?" From the back bedroom, I heard "Who is it?" I answered back, "It's Heidibeth. They sent me home from work." She said, "Why? What's wrong?" I replied, "I failed my drug test." A few minutes of silence and then, "WHAT?!" I smiled and repeated "I failed my drug test." She called me to the bedroom and I explained the situation. She was excited because she was getting ready to go shopping and asked if I wanted to go with her. But of course!
While we were out shopping, my husband sent me a text message with a phone number that said "Call this number: tell me what they say." When I called, it was the rehab program that Brad had gone to in 2003. It was one of the guys that Brad had established a good relationship with while he was there. I'd met him once so we caught up on things and chatted a bit before I hung up. Given the amount of stress I was under that day and having a condition I've dubbed "Pregnancy Brain", I failed to get the joke. When I called Brad back to tell him Bro. Richard said hi, he started laughing. He then explained to me the joke. I called him a brat, but I was smiling the whole time. It would have been funnier had I gotten the joke...
Later that day I received a call from the director of Occupational Health. Apparently my boss was very concerned about how upset I was and felt that I deserved a call from her. She explained the process to me (it was a non-negative result versus a positive) and apologized for her second employee's behavior. I felt much better. On Friday, I received a call from my supervisor. I had been cleared (imagine that!) to go back to work. I would be paid for my time off and would not be required to use PTO. (God is good!)
I returned to work Monday, December 20.
Despite how upset I was at the beginning, I have to include this story. Later, when Lincoln is old enough to understand, I can tell him how his mom was sent home from work for "using drugs". It could only happen to me...
