The Mind Fuck

By Dr. Lance A. Maddox and M. Maeve Eagan

When single dad, Dr. Lance Maddox, goes looking for love online, he finds a web of lies and deceit that will leave you shell-shocked at the lengths some people will go to maintain an illusion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: PoliteAF
• Release date: Feb 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9798989724215

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Monday, Nov 16, 2020

8:30 pm

Prez: Kingston is tube free!! He should be moved to Cincinnati Friday!!!!

I stared down at my phone in disbelief, barely awake from a pre-shift nap. I knew that our newborn son, Kingston (King for short), was fighting for his life in the hospital, but this was the first I’d heard anything about tubes. My medical experience told me this was way worse than I thought. We’d already lost one of the twins during their sudden, premature birth, which I missed because of Covid restrictions, and ever since, Ramona had discouraged me from flying to Kentucky to be with her while she recovered and grieved. After months of being benched to the sidelines with vague and inconsistent information about our surviving child, I was finally questioning everything I’d been told. Now, she was ignoring my calls and slow to respond to text messages.

10:01 pm

Lance: Tube free? WTF ... Cinny? Why there?

10:05 pm

Lance: ???

10:08 pm

Lance: I NEED MORE INFO THAN THAT!

10:09pm

Lance: WAIT ... WHAT TUBE? TOOOO GENERAL!

10:10 pm

Lance: Yooooooooooo

Your updates NEEDS WORK ... I NEED MORE INFO!

Prez: Oxygen! Breathing tubes. My lawyer requested a transfer for him to be closer.

Lance: WAIT WHAT BREATHING TUBES? I KNOW ONLY THE NASAL CANNULA AND THAT’S NOT A TUBE!

Prez: Yes, he had been back on oxygen.

Lance: WAIT

Prez: That’s what I’m talking about.

Lance: You’re confusing me. Tubes = ventilator.

Prez: No. He had been on oxygen/cpap.

Lance: You said tubes and THAT’S what that means.

Prez: He’s not on anything now. Sorry.

Lance: What about his heart?

I began to hyperventilate because King’s twin brother, Kross, died shortly after delivery. I was damned if I was gonna lose King, too. Ramona seemed too nonchalant for the severity of the situation.

Prez: It was a case manager I talked to. She didn’t mention anything else.

Lance: So no mention of the VERY important organ at the center of this? Well THAT makes sense. Sooooo ... what’s the visitation policy for this other hospital?

Prez: I’m going to call tomorrow.

Lance: What type of facility? A rehab?

Prez: Cincinnati children’s.

Lance: SOOOOOOOO FUCKING MAD.

Prez: At who?

Lance: You and your HORRIBLE updates. EVERY update leaves me with MORE AND MORE AND MORE AND MORE AND MORE AND MORE AND MORE AND MORE AND MORE QUESTIONS. You give me CRUMBS and I GOTTA PULL OUT INFO EVERY SINGLE TIME. WHY? THE CONTROL THING?!?

Prez: Omg! Seriously Lance?!

Lance: LOOK at the original text and tell me if you’ll be satisfied with THAT. This is not our first convo about this ... SO YEAH SERIOUSLY.

Prez: I tell you what I know. I don’t give a fuck about the control bullshit you talk about.

Lance: That’s obvious you don’t.

Lance: It’s not a hospital for regular sick kids ... SOMETHING is wrong.

Prez: When they call me back I’m going to have them call you from now on and not me.

Lance: What’s the area code they will be calling from? Do you wanna be called on 3way, when/if they do?

Prez: No, it’s fine.

Eventually, I managed to get a phone number from Ramona, which turned out to be Cleveland Hospital, but the operator had no record of a Kingston Maddox or Kingston Givens or any combination of those names. I needed to know his floor number and a password to receive patient information, and I had neither.

I called her mother but got no answer, then tried Ramona and it went straight to voicemail. I called again and again.

Nov 18

8:00 am

Lance: I will be flying out Monday.

3:22 pm

Lance: I’ll be there Monday - Wednesday. I got a room near the hospital if you wanted to come.

With neither Ramona nor her mom responding, the events of the past fourteen months boiled down to one thing, my surviving son, and I became laser-focused on rescuing him from this nightmare.

Nov 20

8:01 am

Lance: Two things I NEED...1) I need to the EXACT name he is registered as? 2) once he is transferred, I need an authorized person (you) to make sure I’m added to his visitation list. Can you PLEASE make this happen?

11:00 am

Lance: Hey act like an adult and at least respond to texts about our son.

HELLLLOOOOOOOO????????

CHAPTER ONE

Growing up in the projects of Daytona Beach, Florida, I’d seen my share of deceit and despair. By walking out on our family, my father taught me about abandonment. Through the stories she told about him, my mother shared the pain of betrayal. My brother, Tony, showed me how it felt to love unconditionally and to grieve the loss of that love. I came to understand that these experiences were natural consequences of human weakness, but it wasn’t until I met Ramona Givens that I learned how far some human beings will go to weaponize our pain in order to fill their own dark holes of despair.

I first met Ramona on a dating site in 2017. She looked my type: sassy, curvy, and bold, with flirtatious pops of leopard print peeking out from her profile pictures. She seemed highly educated and accomplished. I was attracted to that. During a handful of playful messages, she made her desire for a serious relationship clear, but I wasn’t quite ready to settle down. My focus remained on work, advancing my education, and taking care of my mom and kids. I was honest about my limitations and Ramona stopped messaging, but I’d learned that this was typical on dating sites. I quit scrolling profiles and tried my best to get through grad school. I’d completed the doctoral program at Palmer College of Chiropractic the previous year and started a master’s degree in nursing from South University.

By then, I was forty years old, father to four kids with three different mothers, and juggling these complex dynamics felt like a full-time job in itself. Supporting my kids financially meant I had to work all the time, which infuriated my exes and damaged my relationships with two of my grown children. If I’m being honest though, I’ve always been addicted to school and work, which are easier to navigate. There were manuals for these things, unlike fatherhood and relationships for which I had no playbook or role models.

After my last serious relationship ended in 2010, I tried online dating and navigated a handful of long-distance encounters with women from Missouri, Maryland, Kentucky, Texas, and Idaho. I flew to Boise once and met up with the Texas gal in Vegas, but none of these sparks caught fire. I continued to flirt online but stayed focused on my professional goals, the one aspect of my life I had control over. I pursued the material things I thought would make me a more attractive partner, and in the process, it helped me avoid the fear that I’d never be good enough, never accomplish enough, that I’d forever be that guy from the projects who’d made too many mistakes to earn redemption. I pursued degrees and promotions as if collecting badges of honor: reasons to find me loveable.

By 2019, close to finishing grad school, all my hard work was paying off. I bought a three-bedroom ranch house far from the projects and turned the attached garage into a man cave. I worked nights as a nurse in the ICU while studying for finals during the day.

The career goals, the house, and my financial stability fell into place, but the main element they’d been constructed for was missing. The house felt too big for me, and the time in between work and school tugged at the thread of loneliness I tried so hard to avoid. Those moments waking up and going to sleep alone began to feel longer than the time I spent working and studying. After nine years of being single and improving myself, I was over the superficial and ready for something deeper. I finally felt ready to carve out a piece of my soul for what it secretly craved most, a true partner in life, a soft place to land, someone with whom I could be vulnerable and trust with my inner dialogue, my inappropriate jokes, and my big personality. I wanted someone to share the outrageous and mundane moments of life with. More than anything, I wanted a partner who shared the same values that stood in the way of my previous relationships, an intellectual equal who could match my drive. I dreamed of meeting a woman who lived and loved as passionately as I do. Now that I’d earned the badges of honor, maybe I’d attract someone who could see past the man I used to be and appreciate the man I’d worked so hard to become.

I kept this longing to myself, pretending to be satisfied with the role the world chose for me. It’s hard for me to admit how deep that longing went. It stayed with me, even while I remained laser-focused on avoiding it. At work, I could put on a smile and do my job. I’d been trained for that. With my family, I played the stoic head-of-household. My mom, now in her seventies, juggled health concerns and so her job as caretaker was over. The roles were reversed and it was my turn to be the strong one, as she’d done for me and my brother.

With no serious relationship on the horizon, I lived in an empty nest that had never been full, so I decided to offer it to the family still flocking around me. That summer, my mom moved into the master bedroom and my oldest daughter, Ti-Nya, and my baby granddaughter, Giselle, occupied the man cave. The second bedroom was reserved for my youngest son, Elijah, when he stayed with us, and I slept in the guest room. Typically, I got home around eight o’clock in the morning and slept for a few hours, then helped run errands or do things around the house for my mom and Ti-Nya. Mom spent most of the time in her room, watching TV or listening to scripture. I made sure she kept her doctor’s appointments as her glaucoma worsened, but otherwise, she remained in good health. She liked her alone time but welcomed interruptions by the three generations of family she’d created, enjoying the safety of having all of us under one roof.

Mom always worried about our safety growing up in the projects. We weren’t allowed at the playground because of all the bullies and fights. She wanted to keep us safe and innocent against the odds and the only way she could do that was by keeping us inside the apartment. We wanted to go outside and play with the other boys, but not the way they liked to play. Walking to and from school left us with a daily decision: fight or run. We were guaranteed to find bullies, so we had to defend our right to be left alone or get chased home. And when you get chased once, you get chased every day. Home felt safe, but I couldn’t stay inside for the rest of my life. Eventually, I had to face the bullies.

On a sweltering day in late July 2019, I went back to the dating website with the intention of deleting my account and trying a new matching app when I saw Ramona was active again. Although my will power to message strangers had been challenged by years of failed attempts, I understood I needed to meet someone first if I wanted marriage with all the bells and whistles. I had to go through the maybe’s and the definitely not’s. But if I met someone who could provide me with a balance of peace and passion, I’d fight to give her whatever her heart desired.

Instead of deleting my account, I messaged Ramona and she responded right away. After some quick back and forth, she gave me her phone number. Gisele, now two-years old, ran into my office, as she did many times each day.

Pop pop! She held up an outfit for me to admire then pressed the dress and leggings into my arms. She giggled and wriggled, but finally left my office happy and fully dressed.

As I sat at my desk in the spare room, about to text this woman for the first time, I felt the thrill of starting something new. I was no stranger to flirtation. That part was easy. Many women slid into my phone from dating sites over the years, only to quickly fizzle out because of conflicting schedules and distance. A small voice of doubt challenged my readiness, yet the longing burned fierce inside me. It craved trust and companionship, the easy feeling of having someone’s back and them having mine in return, to be loved and not judged. All the in between was just noise. I knew I had to take risks to get what I ultimately wanted.

I punched in her number.

July 31, 2019 

2:44 pm

Lance: Hey MonaBby ... it’s FL1976 from the site.

Ramona: What’s your name? 

Lance: Lance. 

Ramona: Okay, I’m Ramona 

Lance: Gotcha. It’s been a while since we first chatted ... so you found someone?

Ramona: Yes, I dated a guy from Louisiana after my divorce for a year-and-a-half! 

Lance: I’m a 42 year old RN and Chiropractor in Daytona Beach. Father of 4 ... 3 are grown.

Ramona: Aw. I’m a 34 yo clinical psychologist. I have 2 girls 14 & 9. Nice to meet someone on here that has a career.

Lance: NICE. Lol, I know right? So what led you to psychology? 

Ramona: I get college isn’t for everyone but neither is living with your Mama.

Lance: TRUE. 

Ramona: I was actually a pre-med major turned nursing, turned psych lol.

Lance: OMG ... I was pre-med turned nursing.

Ramona: My bachelors is in social work & criminal justice, master’s in forensic psychology, and my PhD is clinical psych and community mental health.

Lance: Oh it’s ... Dr Ramona? 

Ramona: Yes, sir. 

Lance: My bachelors and associates are in nursing, My Doctorate in chiropractic and starting my master’s for nurse practitioner soon. With your beauty and brains, where do guys fall short with you?

Ramona: They have no substance. I want a man that can match my hustle.

Lance: Lol ... you sound like me.

Ramona’s first selfie looked similar to her profile picture on the dating site. She stared into the camera with her lips pursed. A friend would later point out that this is known as duck face and is often used to slim the facial features or accentuate the lips. I found it cute and flirtatious. She had pretty blue eyes that seemed to sparkle just for me. Each picture felt intimate.

Standing in the kitchen in my blue scrubs, I carefully posed for a selfie. I flashed my widest smile, the one that made me look friendly and approachable. My straight white teeth are one of my best features, contrasting my midnight skin. At six feet tall with a well-fed athlete’s build, I could be intimidating. A quick grin put everyone around me at ease.

Ti-Nya chased Gisele around the house, getting ready for her four o’clock to midnight shift at Walgreens. Her mother, Mindy, was a huge Shania Twain fan, and Mindy’s sister came up with the rhyming name. They made it clear I had no say in the matter, but I fought to have some influence, coming up with the hyphenated spelling, and Mindy granted me that small contribution to my daughter’s name.

Ti-Nya’s laptop was propped open on the kitchen table waiting for me to take a look at the Accounting Degree requirements at the local state college. While we lived on opposite schedules, we managed to communicate and run a smooth daily operation.

Who you trying to impress? Ti-Nya asked suspiciously as I held my phone at different angles, trying to capture my best expression. I laughed because she’d caught me. Ti-Nya knew me too well, a consequence of living under the same roof.

Our relationship was a testament to redemption. Ti-Nya was a toddler when I entered the Navy. When I got out five years later, our relationship was rocky. She rightfully felt abandoned, and there were more bad days than good, but I stayed persistent.

For Ti-Nya’s eighth birthday, her mom and extended family planned a big party. I’d just been discharged from the Navy, but my ex, Mindy, made it clear that I wouldn’t feel welcome. We argued constantly.

Who do you think you are assuming you can walk back in here like you haven’t been away for the last six years of her life? Mindy liked to yell; I turned down the volume on my phone.

That doesn’t give you the right to make her think I have no interest in being her dad, I shot back.

Of course, Mindy always had a comeback. You lost any rights when you made the decision to leave. She deserves to have her day free of your drama.

I sighed heavily, trying to keep my cool. It’s not about me, Mindy. It’s about Ti-Nya knowing that her father loves her and wants to celebrate her existence.

Mindy rarely gave up. Then don’t make it about you. Let her have her day and you can see her when it’s your day.

I didn’t give up easily, either. You’re the one making it about you and your resentment towards me. I’m the one trying to make it about Ti-Nya, and the fact is that she has two parents who love her and they’re both going to be at her birthday party. If any drama plays out, it’s gonna be on you because I guarantee it’s not gonna come from me.

And so, on that Saturday in May, we enjoyed a temporary cease-fire. Her mom, sisters, aunts, uncles, and cousins surrounded Ti-Nya like a resting army, shooting icy stares from across the lawn. I didn’t have to look at them to know; I could feel tiny daggers of energy piercing my back. Brushing them off, I unlocked the trunk of my SUV and pulled out Ti-Nya’s present: a brand-new bike, exactly the one she wanted.

The sun glinted off the bright blue paint. Ti-Nya squealed when she saw me prop it up in the driveway, a huge red bow resting on the seat. I could feel Mindy’s eyes rolling behind me and hear the words she’d say to her sisters in my head - that the gift was a payoff and a lesson to Ti-Nya that money could replace all the raising she’d had to do while I found myself in the Navy. The look on Ti-Nya’s face was worth it. It took several more years for our relationship to smooth out, but having her love and trust as an adult made all the fighting worthwhile. Two of my adult children have paused their relationships with me out of loyalty to their mothers, neither of whom could forgive me for my actions as a younger man. As much as I tried to be nothing like my father, I’d made too many similar mistakes. Unlike my father, I never disappeared or stopped trying to be part of their lives. I respected their boundaries, but I’d never stop fighting for my family.

3:13 pm

Lance: So how long have you been single?

Ramona: Almost 3 months! 

Lance: It’s 9 years plus for me. 

Ramona: Single or divorced? 

Lance: Single ... never been married ... was engaged but not married. I’ve gotten two degrees and grew as a parent during that time.

Ramona: Can you talk? 

Lance: Sure.

Through the phone, Ramona’s voice sounded like a warm glass of Crown Royal. She had that southern drawl that felt like being wrapped in a hug: strong and soft at the same time. I’m not one for small talk and neither was Ramona.

Seems like you collect degrees like some people collect Pokemon cards, she said. Her voice exuded confidence with a hint of flirtatious teasing.

Education is my safety blanket.

I felt excited by her immediate interest in my pursuit of higher education, a passion that most women I’d dated felt they needed to compete with. I’d stopped apologizing for who I am a long time ago. I told her the good, the bad, and the ugly truth.

My years in grad school were much harder than I portray. Ramona murmured as if she understood. I was determined to succeed because I wasn’t happy with my position in life and knew I could be better. I wanted more than maintaining an existence and dying an unhappy and unfulfilled man. I knew I was intelligent with enough fight in me to improve, so I swallowed a boatload of pride along with my twenty-five-dollar weekly paychecks in order to finish nursing school. It came with major sacrifices. My nursing paycheck minus child support only went so far and I was forced to decide which utility to live without: lights, water, or cable. Taking care of critically ill people, then going home to a dark house, I found it difficult to see the finish line. I didn’t need sympathy, I needed to succeed. And I needed to figure out how to get the utilities turned back on before the kids came for the weekend.

Admitting that I once had trouble making ends meet felt uncomfortable, but I knew I needed to be open and vulnerable if I wanted to find true love. I did the best I could, got my degree and became a registered nurse. I give zero apologies or make any excuses, I added.

Ramona assured me that she not only understood, but that she felt the same way; happy to meet someone who would celebrate her ambition. But that wasn’t enough, was it? She asked as if she already knew the answer.

I nodded. "After four years of working as an overnight hospice