The Substance For You Saga Pt. 6
My First Attempt and Freedom
For Part 5 Go here- http://substanceforyou.com/substance-for-you-saga-pt-5/
We arrive at the Emergency room and as the staff checked me in. I was 19 and knew my rights, so I told my mom she couldn’t go back with me. She was in pure disbelief of why she couldn’t come back, as the staff urged her to go home, her baby boy had never told her that she was simply not needed.
The nurse took my temperature with my long sleeves on. There was a slight drop to only 103.5 degrees, but the redness and rashes were sign enough for them of a chronic illicit drug abuser. The nurse immediately took me back.
As soon as I took my shirt off my veins were jabbing the doctor in the eye. The doctor walked in and yelps, “We’ve got a shooter, clear the room!” It was like they meant I was there to shoot down the building. Shooter? Am I a crazed man with a gun now? Maybe…
The doc looks at me and says with some sympathy but no empathy, “I’ve got a kid your age, I just can’t imagine… Even though I see this more and more being here.” The doctor didn’t do much for me besides give me some intravenous Motrin/anti-inflammatory. He made me feel worse emotionally too, although it might have been what I needed at the time.
I sat in the bed hugging myself and screaming, “Help me! Help!” I sounded like an old woman who’d fallen and can’t get up, “Someone help me!” This was the first time that I'd detoxed for this long and I was unsure what the symptoms were because I was using for so long. I remember wearing a half ripped off bed gown because I could feel the bugs from underneath my skin, like I was wearing a hot fiery ant farm. I walked out into the hallway because no one was listening to my pleas for help. I was half bare ass naked and was pointed to the bathroom, so I went and was unsure why. By the time I made it there I felt that getting sick was the only thing to help me from feeling sicker. It was apparent that I had fucked up. I was alone as I sit on my knees, snot running from my nose and tears streaming from my eyes, hugging the toilet. “Why God? Why!”
I flushed the bile down the toilet after getting sick and hugging the only best friend I had, while my mother wait at home for an answer. She didn’t get one for another 12 hours. I had a long road ahead of me and I was still in the emergency room, until somehow, someway, God was answering my question. The hospital social worker was next to visit.
There was a social worker to come next and he came in and just sat in the chair next to my bed. He was a long hair free spirited looking young man, and didn’t deserve to be sitting next to someone like me, but he did. I continued to spit vulgarities at him, asking for drugs, but all they gave me was Motrin. “Doc, he needs more anti-inflammatories,” the social worker said. “No give me something worth my time!” I screamed back. The nurse pops her head in and gave me a look of disgust, you could tell the obvious labeling being classified here… but at least I lived up to their standards for the time being. I felt entitled being a paying customer of this hospital, but I was so wrong.
Apparently the social worker did something right though. He said, “I’m going to just sit here is that okay with you?” As I then screamed back, “FUCK NO!” So, he sat there for absolutely no reason, or so I thought, as his empathy shined through his silence. Finally someone giving me something worth my time, although it wasn’t what I wanted, it was exactly what I needed. A kind heart and gentle soul was something I was unaccustomed to being around for a very long time through either isolation or purposefully surrounding myself with the vulgarities of illicit street drugs. They didn’t teach this in school, and he was one of the catalysts in my recovery, although I never knew his name even to this day.
The best thing that happened to me that day was the social worker saying, “I’m here if you need me.” The kindness is something inside him, not his teachings; you could tell he was genuinely a good person. He didn’t leave that bedside chair for six hours until he said it, “You know they’re going to come in here and tell you two options right?” I looked at him confused like I thought I was still getting drugs. He said, “They’re going to tell you to pack your bags and go home, or go to rehab on the fifth floor. Those are your only options. Treatment or home.”
I looked at the social worker like he was out of his mind thinking me? Rehab? “No!” I couldn’t tell if I was giving an answer or asking a question, but I heard him loud and clear this time. I didn’t want to go home. He said, “I’ll be here until you make up your mind, I’m not going anywhere,” and he didn’t. Someone just sitting by my bedside may have saved my life to this day. He sat there for another three hours, completely silent, but valiant. Thank you whoever you were!
Three hours later I looked at him and said, “Where’s the best place I can find some relief? I’m in so much pain!” He smiled at me, and the next thing he did was remarkable. He said, “I’ll go get the paperwork ready, Brian. That’s the first step, great job.” He then walked out the doors coming back fifteen minutes later with admittance papers to the detoxification short-term rehab center at St. Mary’s hospital. I finally said it… “I really fucked up didn’t I?” He gave me the simplest reply I could hope for. “Not completely yet, but you could have. This gurney you're on may be two feet wide, but it’s not six feet deep. It’s a miracle you're held up higher than you think,” as I look underneath me to the ground. “What are you talking about?” I asked him. “You’re lucky kid. Good job getting help, I’m proud of you,” he said as we made our way to the fifth floor. I was on my way to rehab.
Part 6 continues in part 7 here- http://substanceforyou.com/the-substance-for-you-saga-pt-7/
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