Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Home to die.

The guy who started bleeding internally never came back but he didn't die. He spent a few weeks in the hospital and then went into some kind of long term care facility.

Last week I got to drive some guy home to die. He came in too late. He was tall and movie star handsome. A charming fellow. He'd destroyed his guts, his liver and his heart. He came in and stayed for a couple of days but his vital signs got dangerous, so he was taken off to the hospital.

A week later, he came back with a manilla envelope of care instructions and a list of 10 or so medications he was supposed to take. We are not equipped to provide that level of care, so he was shipped back to his family. It was a four hour drive to a charming, isolated seaside town. He lived in a nice old house. His wife was beautiful. He just had enough strength to make it in the door on his own power. He's younger than me. That is, if he's still alive.
I was supposed to pick up this guy at a motel. His mom had put him up there on the condition that he went into treatment. He'd been living on the street. He didn't answer his phone. I went to the desk at the hotel. He didn't answer his room phone either. I went up to the room. He didn't answer when I knocked on the door.

We ended up calling his mom. She came down to the motel with a key to the room. She opened the door, but it was latched from the inside. She called her son's name but there was no response. Finally the motel manager cut the latch and let us in. Just before he came back, the mom looked at me and said, "I've been going to Alanon for three years now."

I told her, "You're going to need all of that today".

When we got into the room, there was a motionless body on the bed. The mom shook him and called his name. He sat up and began cursing her. "Bitch, let me fuckin' sleep. Why the fuck are you harassing me?", on and on. I opened the curtains and there were bits of burnt aluminum foil, beer cans pizza boxes and prescription bottles with someone else's name all over the room. The mom started cleaning the room while he son picked up the prescription bottles and stuffed them in his pocket. Then he pulled out a cigarette and walked out of the room.

The mom packed his stuff and said, "He's probably outside, smoking", because, see, he would be concerned about the no smoking rule in his room. Right?

We carried his stuff downstairs and discovered that he had left. He was nowhere to be seen. Then her phone rang. "Bring me my fuckin' shit at the Jack In The Box", was all he said.

Mom tried, she really did, "If you won't go into treatment I'm cutting you off. I won't give you any more money, or take calls from you or let you in the house anymore", but she agreed to take his stuff to the Jack In The Box.

She asked me to go with her. I told her I would follow her but only to remind her when it was time to leave. We got to the parking lot and she put his stuff on the ground and got back in her car. He blocked the car in and wouldn't let her leave. "How the fuck am I supposed to eat? You went through my shit and stole all my fuckin' money bitch." he yelled at her. She handed him fifteen dollars. I guess she couldn't help it. He told her he was going to kill her. She got in my car and asked me what she should do. I told her to call the cops. While she was on the phone to the cops he was kicking my car and promising to kill his mother. Then he walked over to my side and yelled, "You should be afraid, bitch. I'm gonna kill you too!". He was a big kid, but pale and sick. I did not look forward to having to defend myself but I figured he wouldn't last long.

Finally the cops came and the kid went and hid in the Jack In The Box. I left and drove home by myself. He ended up having his mom drive him in on Christmas eve. It was cold out and I guess he didn't like the idea of a cold Christmas on the street by himself.

Over the course of the next couple weeks he repeatedly demanded to leave. He backed off when he found out that he would only be getting a ride downtown to the bus station, 80 miles from home. He tried a little bit to get with the program. His mother came to visit often. She brought him extra food and cigarettes and left him with money every time. Finally he convinced someone to come pick him up and he left. I guess he figured living on the street, getting high and leaching off mom was a pretty good life.