I'm writing in my blog again, because the story of my woes with the government go on.
Yes, to those who have hankered after the pleadings in this US Gov't v. Dr. Colasante case--all of the pleadings being part of the public record, if one knows how to access the court's records--I will publish them on this blog shortly. I'm not tech-savvy, so I have to figure out how to get them onto the blog. I have not been trying to hide them, or hide out from the world.
The pleadings include a qui tam set of allegations enumerated by Pat McCullough, the woman who bought my Hawthorne clinic in March 2009, and dissolved it about one year later, declaring bankruptcy, having cashed in on all its assets and having left a new set of creditors in the lurch. The pleadings also include the government's allegations, called a "Complaint," and loosely related to Ms. McCullough's allegations. The government's prosecutors decided to fashion their own set of allegations, which replace the qui tam case.
It's a good thing, because the qui tam is a histrionic fabrication, a long list of silly claims, such as the following: "Dr. Colasante instructed every nurse to put a Q-tip in every patient's ear so that she could bill for foreign body removal." Please, find me the written protocol or memo that instructs nurses to do this, or find me the nurses who will affirm such absurd methodology, or find me the patients who say now, or will say in a court of law, Yes, this happened to me. It's hard to know where to begin, in my self-defense, when I'm faced with statements like this.
No, Pat McCullough, your first allegation has no truth. Foreign-body removal and earwax irrigation are two separate services that a good family doctor's office provides, when necessary. That's the grain of truth in this weird allegation, the small fact that affords a possibility of truth--or does it? One would think the government's experts could look at an accusation like this, examine the clinic records, and dismiss it. That's not how they work.
A recent lawyer-recruit told me that government prosecutors start work on a case by fostering a fundamentalist certainty about a person's guilt. "In their eyes, you are the worst kind of criminal, a menace to society, and you're guilty of everything listed, and more." Following upon that, he said, they go about looking for any shred of evidence to support their belief. "They want to wipe you off the map."
"Why?" I asked.
"That's their game."
Silence.
"And let me tell you," he went on. "They play dirty. "Really dirty."
I thought of my brothers cheating at marbles. I thought of neighborhood kids pulling trump cards out of their sleeves during poker games, and taking all my nickels. I remembered the time my sister and I took cat food to an orphanage of starving kittens whom we hoped to rehabilitate, and came home on our bicycles to a blistering beating because we were late for dinner. My father didn't want to hear our story. He didn't care.
Many months ago I took a break from my blog because my lawyers were getting anxious about it. I wanted to protect myself.
But what does it mean to "protect oneself" when facing off with government agents--powerful public servants who are by nature or training absolutely certain, and driven by hound-like determination to destroy their targets?
My opponents live in that stark land of certainty, where they are right, and only they are right. It's the abode of fundamentalists everywhere, and it must be such a pleasant, sunny place.
All I can do, from my spot in the shadows, with my doctorly talent for doubting and questioning, for inspecting, thinking, testing and supposing, is release this S.O.S.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Prosecutors, but you're wrong. You're wrong, wrong, wrong."
It's like sending a mayfly into a roomful of buzzards.
Yes, to those who have hankered after the pleadings in this US Gov't v. Dr. Colasante case--all of the pleadings being part of the public record, if one knows how to access the court's records--I will publish them on this blog shortly. I'm not tech-savvy, so I have to figure out how to get them onto the blog. I have not been trying to hide them, or hide out from the world.
The pleadings include a qui tam set of allegations enumerated by Pat McCullough, the woman who bought my Hawthorne clinic in March 2009, and dissolved it about one year later, declaring bankruptcy, having cashed in on all its assets and having left a new set of creditors in the lurch. The pleadings also include the government's allegations, called a "Complaint," and loosely related to Ms. McCullough's allegations. The government's prosecutors decided to fashion their own set of allegations, which replace the qui tam case.
It's a good thing, because the qui tam is a histrionic fabrication, a long list of silly claims, such as the following: "Dr. Colasante instructed every nurse to put a Q-tip in every patient's ear so that she could bill for foreign body removal." Please, find me the written protocol or memo that instructs nurses to do this, or find me the nurses who will affirm such absurd methodology, or find me the patients who say now, or will say in a court of law, Yes, this happened to me. It's hard to know where to begin, in my self-defense, when I'm faced with statements like this.
No, Pat McCullough, your first allegation has no truth. Foreign-body removal and earwax irrigation are two separate services that a good family doctor's office provides, when necessary. That's the grain of truth in this weird allegation, the small fact that affords a possibility of truth--or does it? One would think the government's experts could look at an accusation like this, examine the clinic records, and dismiss it. That's not how they work.
A recent lawyer-recruit told me that government prosecutors start work on a case by fostering a fundamentalist certainty about a person's guilt. "In their eyes, you are the worst kind of criminal, a menace to society, and you're guilty of everything listed, and more." Following upon that, he said, they go about looking for any shred of evidence to support their belief. "They want to wipe you off the map."
"Why?" I asked.
"That's their game."
Silence.
"And let me tell you," he went on. "They play dirty. "Really dirty."
I thought of my brothers cheating at marbles. I thought of neighborhood kids pulling trump cards out of their sleeves during poker games, and taking all my nickels. I remembered the time my sister and I took cat food to an orphanage of starving kittens whom we hoped to rehabilitate, and came home on our bicycles to a blistering beating because we were late for dinner. My father didn't want to hear our story. He didn't care.
Many months ago I took a break from my blog because my lawyers were getting anxious about it. I wanted to protect myself.
But what does it mean to "protect oneself" when facing off with government agents--powerful public servants who are by nature or training absolutely certain, and driven by hound-like determination to destroy their targets?
My opponents live in that stark land of certainty, where they are right, and only they are right. It's the abode of fundamentalists everywhere, and it must be such a pleasant, sunny place.
All I can do, from my spot in the shadows, with my doctorly talent for doubting and questioning, for inspecting, thinking, testing and supposing, is release this S.O.S.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Prosecutors, but you're wrong. You're wrong, wrong, wrong."
It's like sending a mayfly into a roomful of buzzards.
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