By Terrence McCoy
By Scott Fishman
By Deirdra Funcheon
By Allie Conti
By New Times Staff
By Ryan Pfeffer
By Deirdra Funcheon
By Kyle Swenson
Linda McCalister is a nurse at an elementary school in Coconut Creek. Most mornings, the 57-year-old throws on a school-issued navy polo shirt before leaving home to care for other people's children. She paints black lines around her big blue eyes, combs her blond bob into place, and tries to shake those unsettling dreams — the ones where her eldest son tells her he wants to come home. In those dreams, sometimes he's a boy and sometimes he's a teenager. But he's never there when she wakes.
That son, Scott Roth, got addicted to pain pills after hurting his neck in a 2001 car accident. The pills made him sloppy and irritable. He'd nod off in the middle of a conversation, and his accounting class at Broward Community College was a blur. McCalister tried to locate the doctor to say "Stop giving him those pills!" She flushed all the little tablets that she could find. But Scott always got more. After a year of fighting with her son, McCalister couldn't stand to watch him deteriorate any further. So she kicked him out. The last thing she said to him was Why don't you die already?
A few days later, he did. An autopsy showed the painkiller oxycodone, the sedative alprazolam, and the muscle relaxer carisoprodol in his 27-year-old body. It was an overdose. An osteopath named Arthur Henson wrote the prescriptions from a clinic in Hollywood.
From that moment, Linda McCalister made it her mission to destroy Dr. Henson. Maybe she could spare another family from this grief. Maybe it would make her feel better. McCalister got liftoff in 2003, when she was invited to testify at a drug-abuse summit in Tallahassee. The summit was hosted by Gov. Jeb Bush, whose daughter Noelle was then in rehab after an arrest for trying to buy Xanax (generic-name alprazolam) with a forged prescription. McCalister brought a large portrait of Scott, frame and all, that was snapped before he was old enough to buy a beer. He looks clean-cut and jovial in a Navy dress uniform. With Scott's portrait by her side, McCalister publicly accused Henson of "irresponsible" prescription-writing for doling out liberal amounts of pills to her son.
When state health officials investigated a few months later, they discovered that Henson gave Scott Roth more than 3,500 doses of opioids, downers, and other drugs in the year before the young man's death. In mid-2003, they barred Henson from writing prescriptions for controlled substances. Then, in November of last year, the Florida Board of Osteopathic Medicine revoked his license at its quarterly meeting. This February 18, after many delays, Henson is scheduled to stand trial before Broward Circuit Judge Ana Gardiner on six felony counts of unlawful prescription-writing.
Before Linda McCalister called the doctor out in Tallahassee, Henson had already raised the hackles of Medicaid-fraud investigator Carol Freburger. Working for the Florida Office of the Attorney General, Freburger first came across Henson while looking into a Miami clinic called Latin Quarter. The clinic purportedly lured HIV-positive patients eligible for Medicaid and offered them $600 a month in cash for their antiviral meds. The clinic would then resell the monthly doses, which had cost Medicaid $5,000 per patient. According to Freburger, Henson was the sole physician at the clinic, and he lost his Medicaid provider number because of the drug scam. The clinic was charged with fraud and shut down in 2001.
Freburger stumbled onto another Henson scheme while investigating a welfare mom caught forging prescriptions for OxyContin (generic-name oxycodone). The unidentified woman had visited Henson at the Southeastern Wellness Institute in Hollywood on 26 occasions. Each time, she paid the clinic $150 in cash and, combined, received more than $5,600 worth of Oxy, Xanax, Soma, and hydrocodone — all paid for by Medicaid.
Freburger decided that Henson deserved an investigation of his own. During the first three months of 2003, she got sworn statements from six Medicaid patients who made a visit to Henson sound like a trip to an ice cream shop. Customers would select their own flavors and quantities, according to the statements, but instead of ordering a scoop of chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry with sprinkles on top, they might request 90 tablets of Vicodin with a few dozen 80-mg Oxys and some Xanax on the side.
Some patients, like Debra Duggan, blamed Henson for their drug problems. "Dr. Henson is responsible for my addiction to OxyContin. I am lucky to be alive," Duggan wrote in her statement. "My body has shut down and doesn't know how to live without the OxyContins."
Joseph Torres, a below-the-knee amputee, said he was never warned that Oxy could be addictive. He was in pain. He wanted relief. He met Henson. Torres eventually checked into a six-day detox program at Jackson Memorial Hospital.
Robin Brown, who has an artificial bladder and lives in constant pain, told Freburger that Henson's office was smelly and full of drug addicts who dozed in the waiting room. Henson, she said, dressed like a slouch and didn't seem to care much about what went on in the clinic. "I got the impression he was like a puppet, that they were just working it," she said in her statement. But she also remembers Henson cutting off a patient named Rhonda who appeared to be abusing her meds. Brown alleges that the owner of Southeastern Wellness Institute, Mentora Eubanks, who isn't a doctor, hooked Rhonda up with pills behind Henson's back. Rhonda, she said, died of an overdose.