DOCTOR SAYS HE'S RECOVERING FROM ADDICTION WITH SUPPORT, HUMILITY AND HOPE

On a spring day in 2002, federal drug agents and Shreveport narcotics
officers swarmed Dr. Christopher Greer's Ford F-250 pickup in a drug store
parking lot, their guns drawn, pointing at his head.

Greer at once felt heart-stopping fear -- "Please don't let that trigger go
off," he pleaded silently -- and, oddly, relief. For most people, being
arrested would rank as one of the worst days of their lives. For Christopher
Greer, in retrospect, it would be one of the best.

Later, in federal court as the ear, nose and throat specialist waited to be
sentenced on prescription drug fraud and firearms possession charges, Greer
addressed the officers who arrested him on April 20, 2002, and thanked them
for saving his life.

"If I had proceeded as I was," he told the court on Feb. 12, 2003, "there's
absolutely no doubt in my mind that I may not be here today."

Chris Greer, 40, sits behind his desk at Bossier Ear, Nose and Throat Clinic
in a north Bossier City medical office building in which he leases space. He
shufflesAbout this report This is the second installment in The Times'
ongoing series looking at the lives of newsmakers in northwest Louisiana.
These features, about people in the community, from civic affairs to
business, arts and entertainment, and sports, will appear
periodically.Voices: Pro and con "First of all, he's going to be monitored
so closely. Second, he was a wonderful doctor. He had a very good bedside
manner. ... You just have to give people the benefit of the doubt. That he
came back to practice in the same town has to say something for your
willpower. He could have packed up and gone to another state." Tara Russell,
local registered nurse whose son was a patient before Greer's arrest and
after

"I am very disturbed that his license has been reinstated. What happened to
'do no harm?' Would you trust that this person is actually cured to the
extent that you would go under the knife?" Mary B. Wakeman of
Shreveportscraps of paper on which he has scribbled notes. It is a hazy,
humid August morning. By contrast, Greer wants to be perfectly clear about
why he's doing this interview, and so he often refers to the notes.

"It's not what I've done but how much everybody else has helped me," he
said. "Maybe (the newspaper story) will help other people. Not necessarily
to make me look good. That's the main objective -- how other people who feel
hopeless can get through it too."

Greer knows how bad choices can devastate a life and career, sending one
into an abyss of despair over the consequences, not to mention public
humiliation. And Greer's fall from grace was a high-profile plummet.

This was a man who was valedictorian at Woodlawn High School, who graduated
from LSUS with a 3.5 grade-point average in chemistry, and as a senior
medical student at LSU School of Medicine in Shreveport received the
prestigious Dr. and Mrs. Adrian Reed Memorial Award.

He was a self-described over-achiever ever since the fifth grade, when he
was placed in a slow-learner's class and vowed, "I'll never be put in this
position to feel like 'less than' again."

Yet all his accomplishments mattered little on that April day two years ago.
He was charged with obtaining OxyContin prescriptions "by misrepresentation
and subterfuge" after an acquaintance had gone into the drugstore to fill a
60-pill OxyContin prescription that Greer had written for him but intended
for his own use.

Greer says he had been addicted for seven years before his arrest; after a
back injury, he was prescribed Lortab by a physician, but an acquaintance
later introduced him to OxyContin, a popular and powerful painkiller.

And he got hooked.

On the day of his arrest, Greer did not know that he had been set up, that
his companion was cooperating with authorities. Law officers also found a
gun in Greer's truck and he was charged with possession of a firearm while
using a controlled substance.

Greer's arrest made headlines. These kinds of cases -- a popular doctor
facing drug charges -- are unusual here, said Assistant U.S. Attorney Donald
Hathaway, who prosecuted Greer.

"I would say they are infrequent," Hathaway said recently, explaining that
in most cases white-collar professionals with drug problems go into
rehabilitation before reaching the point of entering the criminal justice
system.

Not so for Christopher Greer.

His legal troubles weren't going away, even though six days after his arrest
he voluntarily entered Palmetto Addiction Recovery Center in Rayville,
recommended by the state Board of Medical Examiners, and surrendered his
medical license.

At Palmetto, Greer quit OxyContin cold turkey, refusing even medications
that can make withdrawal more tolerable. He endured difficulty sleeping,
night sweats and cold chills, likening withdrawal to "the flu 10 times
over."

It took nearly six weeks to break the physical addiction, but therapy and
counseling also were needed for Greer to come to terms with his addiction,
he said.

After four months at Palmetto, Greer returned to Shreveport to face his
legal situation. He was indicted by a federal grand jury May 15, 2002, and
eventually decided to plead guilty in a plea bargain.

On Feb. 12, 2003, he faced a stern U.S. District Judge Tom Stagg and said,
"I fully accept the responsibility of my wrongdoing. I in hindsight see that
I have not only hurt myself but my colleagues in medicine by losing their
trust in me, my patients and, more importantly, my family."

Said Stagg: "I've heard from both sides, folks that are mad at you because
you worked on them while you were addicted ... others have written about
having gone to medical school and gone through residency with you and what
kind of nice guy you are."

Stagg's decision: 12 months and one day in prison, a fine of $5,000 on each
of the two counts, and supervised release for three years.

"I have just tied a rope to the back of your belt," Stagg said, according to
court documents. "You put one thing in your mouth that doesn't belong there
and your ass is mud."

Greer's response was quick and respectful: "Yes, sir."

Incarceration in Texas

On March 12, 2003, Greer entered the Federal Correctional Institute at
Texarkana, Texas. He was issued the standard federal prison uniform, khaki
pants and shirt, and was assigned a metal bunk with a locker in a
dormitory-style section of the low-security prison.

Fellow inmates included former Texas Attorney General Dan Morales and former
Dallas Cowboys player Nate Newton. There were multimillionaires convicted of
white-collar crimes bunking next to men convicted of murder.

Greer's job among the 1,860 inmates at FCI-Texarkana was teaching pre-GED
inmates. He was paid 13 cents an hour. An ear, nose and throat specialist in
Shreveport on average makes $240,000 a year, according to one Web site.

In prison, Greer was not allowed to do anything related to medicine, but one
night his training was called into action when a diabetic inmate went into a
seizure and coma, Greer recalled.

"I recognized what was going on," he said. "I had some sugar cubes in my
locker and I crushed them up and put them in his mouth and it got him to
where he could get to the hospital.

"Everybody thought I walked on water," Greer said, smiling. "That I was
there for a reason."

Prison officials said they couldn't comment on an inmate's conduct or
activities because of privacy laws. Greer said he had no disciplinary
write-ups while incarcerated and used the time to better himself:
exercising, taking courses in parenting, relationships and stress
management, and graduating from the prison substance abuse program.

"Overall, no doubt, it was a positive thing for me," he said. "I came out of
there in the best mental, physical and spiritual shape in my life."

Yet there were sacrifices, penalties he paid for his crime.

"Being away from my family," Greer said. "I have a little girl. She was 3 at
the time. My wife, they visited every weekend. I missed Thanksgiving and
birthdays. That was hard."

His wife, Christie, said their daughter thought her dad was going to a
special school to become a better doctor.

Greer said he'll tell her the truth some day when she's old enough to
understand that it wasn't a school he was released from at 6 a.m. Dec. 20,
2003.

He had served 10 months; the extra day on his sentence of a year meant he
was eligible for "good time," so he got out early.

The family headed back to their Bossier City home to celebrate what Christie
Greer called "the best Christmas we ever had."

Practicing with restrictions

Greer immediately began the process to practice medicine again. In May this
year, the Louisiana State Board of Medical Examiners put his license on
probation for five years. That means he can practice but with restrictions
- -- no prescribing of narcotics.

The three-year supervised release on the federal charges means Greer must
see a probation officer once a month and submit to drug screens. He also
participates in Physicians Health Foundation of Louisiana, a recovery
program for medical professionals. That organization monitors him for signs
of relapse.

Greer reopened his practice July 1. Former patients have returned, he said.
And new patients are coming in too.

"It's picked up really well," said Greer. Added Christie, who has a medical
technology background and assists him in the office, "They say, 'We're so
glad you're back.'"

Yet some in the community question whether a doctor who has a felony
conviction should be practicing medicine.

"I don't understand," said Shreveporter Frances Campbell, who said she saw
the newspaper advertisements about Greer returning to practice and was
concerned. "You have to draw a line somewhere on what's acceptable and
what's unacceptable."

She said that while she believes in second chances, quality of health care
would override that. "There are some things you can never make right."

Shreveporter Mary B. Wakeman wrote a letter to The Times, also questioning
whether an impaired physician, even after rehabilitation treatment, should
be allowed to practice.

"I am very disturbed that his license has been reinstated," she wrote. "What
happened to 'do no harm?' Would you trust that this person is actually cured
to the extent that you would go under the knife?

"I feel there should be a national database accessible by anyone considering
a physician, where all actions against him/her, worldwide, are on view. We
should not have to trust the medical community to police its own."

But others, including current and former patients, are eager to give
testimonies in support of Greer.

Sylvia Busey of Shreveport, who had been treated by Greer before his arrest,
said in a letter, "As far as my faith in you, I never lost it. I have had
every hope that when the time was right, you would resume your practice."

Allison Halbert's son is a new patient. The Benton mom said nurses who had
previously worked with Greer recommended him.

"I don't have a problem" with Greer's past, Halbert said. "I think everybody
deserves a second chance."

Registered nurse Tara Russell of Bossier City took her young son to Greer
before the doctor was arrested and now her son sees him again. She said she
isn't worried that Greer might relapse and put her son's care in jeopardy.

"First of all, he's going to be monitored so closely," she said. "Second, he
was a wonderful doctor. He had a very good bedside manner. . You just have
to give people the benefit of the doubt. That he came back to practice in
the same town has to say something for your willpower. He could have packed
up and gone to another state."

A new faith in God

Both Christopher and Christie Greer want to emphasize key components in the
doctor's recovery. One is a new faith in God, something Greer found in
prison.

"After I had gone to rehab, I always believed in God but never had a real
relationship with God," he said. "I had this peace about me (in prison). I
don't fear death anymore."

Greer also cited support from family, friends, patients and medical
colleagues for seeing him through. He said he's not aware of any doctors
distancing themselves from him -- refusing to send him referrals, for
example.

"This is not an uncommon kind of problem in medicine," he said. "It's gotten
lots of publicity."

Dr. Jake Majors, who specializes in obstetrics and gynecology in Shreveport,
said he's not heard any buzz in the medical community over Greer's return.

"Most people in the medical field look at addiction as not really a choice,
more as a disease," said Majors, who was a resident at LSUHSC when Greer was
there. "People are polarized. Some are very negative and never want to give
someone a chance. You look at a man's life, he's made mistakes; we all make
mistakes. If he worked through the disease, let's see how he does."

Dr. Jeff Scruggs, a Shreveport dentist who knew Greer briefly before his
incarceration and has resumed a friendship for the past eight months, said
Greer is as "honest and humble and as competent a person as you want to
meet. ... The biggest change is he has nothing to hide. He's living an
honest life."

Outside the medical community, many others rallied around the couple.
Christie Greer said members of their church, First Baptist-Bossier, "flooded
us with prayers," and on a practical level saw to it that the family's lawn
was mowed while Greer was in prison.

Cards from well-wishers arrived at their home and at FCI-Texarkana, she
said. And at just the moment when Christie would be at her lowest, a friend
named Susan, whom Christie dubs "my guardian angel," would somehow know to
call with words of support.

Even some patients actively supported Greer during his incarceration. Angie
Peters of Shreveport, whose young daughters were patients of Greer before
and are now, said she sent letters.

"He has been there for me with all of my daughters," she said, explaining
why she made the effort to maintain contact. "I thought it was my
responsibility to be there for him and his wife."

Cole Lollar of Bossier City met Greer through a Sunday school class just
before Greer went to prison. He said the class took Greer in and said,
"We're here for you."

He said Greer acknowledged his failings to the class.

"He straightened it out and is moving on," Lollar said.

And, perhaps most of all, Greer's biggest supporter has been his wife.
Christie Greer is a petite woman who might appear fragile but has a look of
rock-solid strength in her eyes. She said she was hurt and shocked by the
arrest but did not abandon the marriage.

"I believe things happen for a reason," she said. "Our lives were planned
before we were born. I'm not ashamed. I'm honored that God chose us."

She said she and Chris had always been "best friends," but the ordeal, both
say, made their relationship stronger. Greer said he now has his priorities
straight: no more 16-hour work days; more time with his family, his wife.

Said Greer, "We're a lot closer now."

With hope and humility

There are two "h" words in Christopher Greer's vocabulary these days: hope
and humility.

"I think a lot of times as physicians we have a lot of pride in what we do,"
he said. "I (now) understand things from a much bigger picture. I just
realized there's no way any one person can know the right thing all the
time. You have to listen to people and be willing to take their advice."

For most of his life, Greer had been self-reliant -- an admirable trait in
most people but not for an addict. At Palmetto, Greer said he learned,
finally, to ask for help.

Dr. Jay Weiss, a Palmetto psychiatrist who treated Greer, said the doctor
made changes.

"Chris is not the same guy I met," Weiss said. "When he came here he didn't
see the problem, he didn't want help."

Now, there is a "totally different attitude," Weiss said, and he believes
that though Greer will be a recovering addict the rest of his life, "his
chances of staying sober are good."

Greer said he has realized he can't overcome addiction alone.

"I was telling Christie one day that people tell me they are proud of me.
What are they proud of? Now I realize how severe and how serious this
disease is, and to be able to get to the point I am, it takes a lot of hard
work and a lot of help from others.

"There is no doubt in my mind I would not have been able to get here by
myself. If I had any advice to anyone dealing with this, ask for help. It's
not a sign of weakness."

Greer knows that by publicly talking about his imprisonment, rehabilitation
and return to practice he may draw criticism. But the message he wants to
send out, he said, is worth that risk.

"There is hope. There is a way out."