Today I feel very grateful.
I am grateful that I have had such a BIG reminder that people are inherently good and kind and altruistic. It is so easy to get lost in the negative, the bad, the "people suck" mind-set that sometimes it takes a big, giant bitch-slap in the face to remind me/us that, you know what? There are a lot of good people out there. (Insert "Up With People" video clip here.)
People were rooting for us that have never even met us. People offered money to us that have never met us. People put their jobs on the line to support us. People listened to this seemingly never-ending story that frankly, even I am bored of. People never wavered in their support of us. And for that, I am eternally grateful.
As you can tell I am in a great mood today. I feel alive, relaxed, comforted.
My son is now safe and out of harms way for the time being.
After months and months of working with the school district and the Department of Mental Health -- I was able to secure out of state residential treatment / boarding school for my son for the next 12 months. Fully paid. A $150,000 gift. He will be safe for now, this much I know. If he choses to accept this great opporunity that he's been given he may even come out of this sober, strong, healthy, self-confident and with a new purpose in life and, drum-roll, a high school diploma.
Whew. What a journey it has been getting to this point. The approval came at the IEP/AB3632 hearing on Tuesday, May 31 and on Saturday, June 4 at 4:30 a.m. he was "escorted" to a Delta flight to Utah to his new school Heritage, in Provo. (Never thought I would say this but "thank you Mormons!" But I do love Donny Osmond, even though he never came to my 9th birthday party even after I sent him an invitation. I forgive you Donny.)
The days between Tuesday and Saturday morning were spent trying to be "normal." (I now realize what an amazing actress I am (maybe that will be my newest career goal), another "glass half-full" way of trying to find any good of loving and living with an addict).
But behind the "normal" days (we even saw two movies--comedies of course!) I spent many hours jetting out to many non-existent errands so I could sit in my hot car and make all the phone calls without him knowing. He's like a shape shifter: he can sneak up behind me like a silent Ninja--and it's quite scary how he does this. Anyhow, making calls from my "mobile office" seemed safer.
After being on pins-and-needles for days, trying to pack up his belongings without him knowing ("mom, where are all my pants?") the transport company came at 4:30 am on Saturday to get him. After waking him up "what, what? what's happening?" and trying to explain the situation, the two big burly guys -- great and very calming despite their size -- got him out of the house and into the car and on the plane and into a rental car and then into the new school, safely.
Reports from yesterday is that he was mellow, quiet and was "making friends." I am sure they say that to all the parents but you know what? I'm glad they did. I like to believe that story for now.
After they left I read all his text messages. Days after his OD on heroin last week he was looking for needles and "h". The kid he normally got this poison from now sits in jail on charges he made pipe bombs. That kid is the bane of my existence and I've written about him in earlier posts.
But I digress: since Max couldn't get his "h" and needles from bomb-making drug addict (who had a 19 year old friend die on his bedroom floor just a few weeks ago from chocking on his own vomit due to heroin) my son actually wrote to this kid he knows who is a diabetic and asked him for needles "even used ones." So fucking sad.
His other text messages: one where he asked someone how to "smoke crack" because "it's not working." Another one: "trying to make tweek". Another one where he's trying to get out of getting beaten up because he owes someone either $95 or "bars" (xanax) "i got jacked". Right. I hope that person doesn't come looking for his money.
Reading these texts just made me realize that even though he's been actually really great these past few days, I got him to safety just in time.
He is clearly on a suicide mission.
I can rest knowing that, for now at least, that mission has been aborted.
I know this is not the end of this journey but it is a nice break for now.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
I Gave Him Life. Twice. And then he yelled at me.
I gave life to my only child, my beautiful and much loved son, twice.
Once on August 8, 1994, and again on May 24, 2011.
I was washing dishes in the kitchen when I heard the sound.
The sound of a body falling hard to the floor in the bathroom. I knew. I instantly knew it was him.
Without missing a beat I ran to the bathroom, yanked the bright green plastic key "bracelet" (so very, very fashionable) that I have become accustomed to wearing and tried to find the right key to the bathroom door. (Tips for parents or spouses or lovers of drug addicts: change all the locks on your doors so you can lock UP your possessions as well as get INTO the room -- especially bathrooms -- from the outside. Privacy is no longer an option.)
My hands were shaking so bad as I tried to find the right key while calling out his name over and over and over again. Silence. So weird because only 5 minutes before he had very clearly asked me to make him some of his favorite chicken nuggets. Yes, he still continues to eat like an innocent 5-year old. And do drugs like a hardened 35-year old. Now, minutes later, just silence.
I am also calling 911 on the cell and forgetting to call the Santa Monica Police Department directly which is always faster on a cell. (Another tip for loved ones of addicts: if you only use a cell phone don't call 911 but rather have your local Police Department number programmed in. But of course in a crisis situation the mind goes blank and 911 is automatic.)
Ok, I get the door open to find him slumped over in an odd almost yoga like position face to the floor, butt in the air sort of wedged between the tub and the toilet. It's a very small bathroom and now my sweet little puppy is in the room with us curious and scared but getting in the way. I try to get him out while trying to save my son's life.
The 911 operator is asking me all these questions and I'm trying to be calm but it's so hard when you see your only child blue and unresponsive, a black shoelace tied around his arm, a needle next to his lifeless body.
She tells me to turn him over. He's so small and light normally but now he seems so heavy and in the small room it's nearly impossible but I do it and his head hits the floor with a loud thud. If the heroin didn't kill him then I am now sure that I have just done him in with a major head trauma. She keeps telling me to put his chin up but all I hear in my mind is "put a towel under his head so he'll be comfortable." Of course that's not what she's telling me to do but I do it anyway. I am confused by the head and chin instructions she's giving me. I really wish I had taken that CPR class.
She instructs me on what to do: "Tilt his head, lift his chin, 2 deep breaths, flat palms on his chest between his nipples, push, count with me to thirty -- 1,2,3,4,...." and on it goes. I remember seeing on some talk show (Dr. Phil?) that you need to push down on the heart to the beat of the Bee Gees song "Stayin' Alive" which somehow seems very ironic. But I guess it's not ironic if it works. His chest puffs up with air and then nothing. He's still silent, not breathing, blue.
Finally, after what seems an eternity the paramedics arrive. They pull him out of the tiny bathroom and drag his thin, white and blue lifeless body, into the living room, re-arranging furniture as they go about the business of trying to bring my baby back to life.
I don't know what do but I pace and cry and dramatically scream and yell at him "not now, not now, not yet." I guess all those movies actually portray the character with a loved one dying in front of them, pretty accurately after all.
I thought I was prepared for his death because intellectually that is what I knew would happen very soon but when faced with it, literally as I held him in my arms and breathed air into his dead lungs, I wasn't ready. My heart, my soul, my being, was not ready for him to die at 16.
The cops arrive. They quickly escort me outside where I now see the entire neighborhood has lined up to watch the circus. Police cars, ambulance, fire trucks line the small street. The cops are nice but I have no idea what they are asking me or saying to me.
I realize later they pulled me outside so I wouldn't have to watch my beautiful boy die in front of me.
5 seconds, 5 minutes, or 5 hours later. The fire captain comes out. "We finally got a pulse. He's going to be fine."
(He's alive but not "fine.")
The fire captain hugs me. Such a nice gesture and one that I most needed at that moment. The human touch can be so very powerful.
They wheel my son out and put him in the ambulance. He looks at me, confused.
When I go to the ER 45 minutes later, he's screaming at me, angry that he "made ONE mistake" and now I want to send him to rehab again, which will only "make things worse."
I hope that one day he will actually thank me for saving his life. The doctors, nurses, paramedics told me that it was about a minute difference of him being dead or alive. I am very glad I decided to wash those dirty dishes aT that moment. I know that a guardian angel was looking over both of us that night. And continues to watch over us now.
Next steps are coming. Very soon. If he can survive just a few more days....things are looking up.
Guardian angel can you hear me? Just give us 2 more days please?
Once on August 8, 1994, and again on May 24, 2011.
I was washing dishes in the kitchen when I heard the sound.
The sound of a body falling hard to the floor in the bathroom. I knew. I instantly knew it was him.
Without missing a beat I ran to the bathroom, yanked the bright green plastic key "bracelet" (so very, very fashionable) that I have become accustomed to wearing and tried to find the right key to the bathroom door. (Tips for parents or spouses or lovers of drug addicts: change all the locks on your doors so you can lock UP your possessions as well as get INTO the room -- especially bathrooms -- from the outside. Privacy is no longer an option.)
My hands were shaking so bad as I tried to find the right key while calling out his name over and over and over again. Silence. So weird because only 5 minutes before he had very clearly asked me to make him some of his favorite chicken nuggets. Yes, he still continues to eat like an innocent 5-year old. And do drugs like a hardened 35-year old. Now, minutes later, just silence.
I am also calling 911 on the cell and forgetting to call the Santa Monica Police Department directly which is always faster on a cell. (Another tip for loved ones of addicts: if you only use a cell phone don't call 911 but rather have your local Police Department number programmed in. But of course in a crisis situation the mind goes blank and 911 is automatic.)
Ok, I get the door open to find him slumped over in an odd almost yoga like position face to the floor, butt in the air sort of wedged between the tub and the toilet. It's a very small bathroom and now my sweet little puppy is in the room with us curious and scared but getting in the way. I try to get him out while trying to save my son's life.
The 911 operator is asking me all these questions and I'm trying to be calm but it's so hard when you see your only child blue and unresponsive, a black shoelace tied around his arm, a needle next to his lifeless body.
She tells me to turn him over. He's so small and light normally but now he seems so heavy and in the small room it's nearly impossible but I do it and his head hits the floor with a loud thud. If the heroin didn't kill him then I am now sure that I have just done him in with a major head trauma. She keeps telling me to put his chin up but all I hear in my mind is "put a towel under his head so he'll be comfortable." Of course that's not what she's telling me to do but I do it anyway. I am confused by the head and chin instructions she's giving me. I really wish I had taken that CPR class.
She instructs me on what to do: "Tilt his head, lift his chin, 2 deep breaths, flat palms on his chest between his nipples, push, count with me to thirty -- 1,2,3,4,...." and on it goes. I remember seeing on some talk show (Dr. Phil?) that you need to push down on the heart to the beat of the Bee Gees song "Stayin' Alive" which somehow seems very ironic. But I guess it's not ironic if it works. His chest puffs up with air and then nothing. He's still silent, not breathing, blue.
Finally, after what seems an eternity the paramedics arrive. They pull him out of the tiny bathroom and drag his thin, white and blue lifeless body, into the living room, re-arranging furniture as they go about the business of trying to bring my baby back to life.
I don't know what do but I pace and cry and dramatically scream and yell at him "not now, not now, not yet." I guess all those movies actually portray the character with a loved one dying in front of them, pretty accurately after all.
I thought I was prepared for his death because intellectually that is what I knew would happen very soon but when faced with it, literally as I held him in my arms and breathed air into his dead lungs, I wasn't ready. My heart, my soul, my being, was not ready for him to die at 16.
The cops arrive. They quickly escort me outside where I now see the entire neighborhood has lined up to watch the circus. Police cars, ambulance, fire trucks line the small street. The cops are nice but I have no idea what they are asking me or saying to me.
I realize later they pulled me outside so I wouldn't have to watch my beautiful boy die in front of me.
5 seconds, 5 minutes, or 5 hours later. The fire captain comes out. "We finally got a pulse. He's going to be fine."
(He's alive but not "fine.")
The fire captain hugs me. Such a nice gesture and one that I most needed at that moment. The human touch can be so very powerful.
They wheel my son out and put him in the ambulance. He looks at me, confused.
When I go to the ER 45 minutes later, he's screaming at me, angry that he "made ONE mistake" and now I want to send him to rehab again, which will only "make things worse."
I hope that one day he will actually thank me for saving his life. The doctors, nurses, paramedics told me that it was about a minute difference of him being dead or alive. I am very glad I decided to wash those dirty dishes aT that moment. I know that a guardian angel was looking over both of us that night. And continues to watch over us now.
Next steps are coming. Very soon. If he can survive just a few more days....things are looking up.
Guardian angel can you hear me? Just give us 2 more days please?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)