r.kv.r.y. quarterly spring 2009 shorts on substances
david by joseph f. lynch
david by joseph f. lynch
When the afflicted man
called out, the Lord
heard/And from his distress
he saved him.
Psalm 34 Verse 7
A psalm of David
called out, the Lord
heard/And from his distress
he saved him.
Psalm 34 Verse 7
A psalm of David
It was a hot August day and this was our fourth call in a week for an
overdose. Bad heroin had descended on the neighborhood and the junkies
had no choice but to take the chance. I shut off the siren as Tommy parked
the truck in front of a small brick apartment building. Brian, Stan and I
hurried to the second floor. Tommy stayed with the truck.
A shirtless kid in about his mid-twenties met us at an open door. He kept
blubbering about his friend. The shirtless kid was tall and thin. He carried
himself hunched-over. I don’t know if that was his natural stature if he
hunched to keep the large silver chain and cross he wore from flailing about.
“He’s dead.” He choked out between sobs. “I told him not to do that shit
no more and now he’s dead.” The kid couldn’t stay still. He started into the
apartment and then came back to us.
“Oh God, Oh God,” he kept repeating, brushing at the tears on his face.
We’re just firefighters. It used to be we only ran into burning buildings.
Now we do medical emergencies too. The medics are overworked. We get to
the emergency quicker and hopefully keep the patient alive long enough for
the medics to arrive.
“Calm down,” I commanded the boy. “Where’s your buddy?”
“He’s in the bathroom. I threw him in the shower to try to bring him
back but he ain’t breathing.”
Brian had our medical bag and brushed past me and the kid and looked
around. “Where’s the bathroom?” He asked.
“It’s straight back.” The boy sobbed. The apartment was one large room
with the kitchen area to the rear. Brian and Stan headed in that direction.
The skinny kid tried to follow them. I grabbed his arm. I wanted him with me
in case things went south. “You stay with me.” I said. “You’re not going to
do anything but get in the way. My guys will do whatever they can for your
buddy.” I kept my voice soft, trying to calm him.
Brian and Stan disappear into a door on the left. The kid threw himself
to the floor with a wail and sat with his back against the wall with his elbows
on his knees, and his face in his large hands.
The apartment was cheap, but not dirty, at least not yet. They must have
just moved in. It appeared to have just been refurbished and our footsteps
gave a little echo as we moved around. A new off-white paint covered the
ceilings and bare walls. The only furniture was a medium sized light brown
wood table sitting in the middle of the floor.
The empty apartment was a pleasant change for us. The usual when
dealing with junkies was squalor. No doubt over time, this apartment would
become an odorous roach infested hole. The big silver cross and chain would
be gone too, sold or hocked. I’m not casting judgment. My son’s an addict.
It’s just what drugs do to people.
The kid staggered to his feet and was crying again. He started to make a
rush towards the back. “Let me see him.” he cried trying to bull past me. I
got in front of the boy and put my hand on his chest. “Calm down son. You
can’t help.”
I felt sorry for him but I’ve learned to stay unaffected. My guys claim
nothing ever bothers me. They say ice water runs through my veins. It’s not
true. I feel things as much as anybody but I’ve learned to keep it on the
surface. After twenty-eight years of dealing with trauma, I don’t let it go to
my core.
“What’s your name?” I kept my voice calm and comforting. I try to treat
everyone with kindness. Its good business and I guess it’s my nature.
“Adam”
“What’s your buddy’s name, Adam?” Just then Stan’s blonde head
popped out of the bathroom.
“He’s alive, Lieutenant,” Stan yelled, “but he’s in deep. We need help
getting him out of the tub to work him.”
I joined them in the tiny bathroom. Stan and Brian were in front of me
but I got a glimpse of a short muscular kid stretched on his back in a pool of
water. The small bathroom made the move difficult. Brian hoisted the boy’s
shoulders and head from the tub and then handed him to me. I cradled his
upper body in my arms. Stan grabbed under his knees and I backed out of
the bathroom. We stretched him out on the kitchen floor and I got my first
good look at him.
I looked at his face and my legs started to go on me. I can’t ever
remember that happening to me before. I willed myself not to fall. It was
David.
At least I thought it was David. I took a longer look. The boy had the
same short muscular body, the same sandy brown hair and even the same
not quite round face. I scrutinized his face and breathed deeper. This boy’s
face was just ever so slightly dissimilar. I hadn’t seen David in weeks but I
was certain that this wasn’t him. I took a deep breath and tried to calm
myself.
This boy was in bad shape, though. His breathing was down to about
three or four respirations a minute. Brian hooked the bag valve mask to the
oxygen cylinder and placed it over the kid’s mouth. Brian started working the
bag. Using his hand to squeeze the air in the bag and push it into the boy’s
lungs. I watched his chest rise and with it a blue vein protruded on his
forehead.
The blue vein caused me to look again. My son has a vein in his forehead
that bulges much the same way. I had watched it rise in anger the day I
threw him out. He had been to rehab four times. Each time he stayed clean
for awhile but ended up worse than the time before. Finally, I made him
leave. He was angry, Maggie, my wife and his mother, was hysterical but I
managed to keep it all on the surface. I knew was being overly scrupulous
but I had to convince myself once more that this wasn't my son. I studied
his body and face until I convinced myself again.
I remembered the first time I saw I saw that blue vein. David came out of
the womb screaming and when he cried a blue vein protruded angrily from
his forehead. He was the fourth child for Maggie and me and the only time I
had been in the delivery room. I had been at the bar for the others.
The nurse handed me the baby. I cradled him in my arms and my eyes
filled with tears, back then everything went to my core. I handed the baby
back to the nurse and went to Maggie. Her face flush from the delivery
smiled at me. She looked as content as an infant herself.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” She sighed.
“I’m so sorry for everything.” I said. Our hands were entwined and I had
my cheek against hers drawing strength from her.
“I know,” is all she said.
“I can’t tell you I’ll never drink again but I can tell you I never want to
drink again. They say you can only do it one day at a time.” Fresh tears filled
my eyes.
“I know what they say but I really think everything is going to be okay
now.” The baby let out a wail and we looked over at his red face and the vein
straining like it would burst and we both laughed.
“I think he has your temperament.” She joked.
next page
overdose. Bad heroin had descended on the neighborhood and the junkies
had no choice but to take the chance. I shut off the siren as Tommy parked
the truck in front of a small brick apartment building. Brian, Stan and I
hurried to the second floor. Tommy stayed with the truck.
A shirtless kid in about his mid-twenties met us at an open door. He kept
blubbering about his friend. The shirtless kid was tall and thin. He carried
himself hunched-over. I don’t know if that was his natural stature if he
hunched to keep the large silver chain and cross he wore from flailing about.
“He’s dead.” He choked out between sobs. “I told him not to do that shit
no more and now he’s dead.” The kid couldn’t stay still. He started into the
apartment and then came back to us.
“Oh God, Oh God,” he kept repeating, brushing at the tears on his face.
We’re just firefighters. It used to be we only ran into burning buildings.
Now we do medical emergencies too. The medics are overworked. We get to
the emergency quicker and hopefully keep the patient alive long enough for
the medics to arrive.
“Calm down,” I commanded the boy. “Where’s your buddy?”
“He’s in the bathroom. I threw him in the shower to try to bring him
back but he ain’t breathing.”
Brian had our medical bag and brushed past me and the kid and looked
around. “Where’s the bathroom?” He asked.
“It’s straight back.” The boy sobbed. The apartment was one large room
with the kitchen area to the rear. Brian and Stan headed in that direction.
The skinny kid tried to follow them. I grabbed his arm. I wanted him with me
in case things went south. “You stay with me.” I said. “You’re not going to
do anything but get in the way. My guys will do whatever they can for your
buddy.” I kept my voice soft, trying to calm him.
Brian and Stan disappear into a door on the left. The kid threw himself
to the floor with a wail and sat with his back against the wall with his elbows
on his knees, and his face in his large hands.
The apartment was cheap, but not dirty, at least not yet. They must have
just moved in. It appeared to have just been refurbished and our footsteps
gave a little echo as we moved around. A new off-white paint covered the
ceilings and bare walls. The only furniture was a medium sized light brown
wood table sitting in the middle of the floor.
The empty apartment was a pleasant change for us. The usual when
dealing with junkies was squalor. No doubt over time, this apartment would
become an odorous roach infested hole. The big silver cross and chain would
be gone too, sold or hocked. I’m not casting judgment. My son’s an addict.
It’s just what drugs do to people.
The kid staggered to his feet and was crying again. He started to make a
rush towards the back. “Let me see him.” he cried trying to bull past me. I
got in front of the boy and put my hand on his chest. “Calm down son. You
can’t help.”
I felt sorry for him but I’ve learned to stay unaffected. My guys claim
nothing ever bothers me. They say ice water runs through my veins. It’s not
true. I feel things as much as anybody but I’ve learned to keep it on the
surface. After twenty-eight years of dealing with trauma, I don’t let it go to
my core.
“What’s your name?” I kept my voice calm and comforting. I try to treat
everyone with kindness. Its good business and I guess it’s my nature.
“Adam”
“What’s your buddy’s name, Adam?” Just then Stan’s blonde head
popped out of the bathroom.
“He’s alive, Lieutenant,” Stan yelled, “but he’s in deep. We need help
getting him out of the tub to work him.”
I joined them in the tiny bathroom. Stan and Brian were in front of me
but I got a glimpse of a short muscular kid stretched on his back in a pool of
water. The small bathroom made the move difficult. Brian hoisted the boy’s
shoulders and head from the tub and then handed him to me. I cradled his
upper body in my arms. Stan grabbed under his knees and I backed out of
the bathroom. We stretched him out on the kitchen floor and I got my first
good look at him.
I looked at his face and my legs started to go on me. I can’t ever
remember that happening to me before. I willed myself not to fall. It was
David.
At least I thought it was David. I took a longer look. The boy had the
same short muscular body, the same sandy brown hair and even the same
not quite round face. I scrutinized his face and breathed deeper. This boy’s
face was just ever so slightly dissimilar. I hadn’t seen David in weeks but I
was certain that this wasn’t him. I took a deep breath and tried to calm
myself.
This boy was in bad shape, though. His breathing was down to about
three or four respirations a minute. Brian hooked the bag valve mask to the
oxygen cylinder and placed it over the kid’s mouth. Brian started working the
bag. Using his hand to squeeze the air in the bag and push it into the boy’s
lungs. I watched his chest rise and with it a blue vein protruded on his
forehead.
The blue vein caused me to look again. My son has a vein in his forehead
that bulges much the same way. I had watched it rise in anger the day I
threw him out. He had been to rehab four times. Each time he stayed clean
for awhile but ended up worse than the time before. Finally, I made him
leave. He was angry, Maggie, my wife and his mother, was hysterical but I
managed to keep it all on the surface. I knew was being overly scrupulous
but I had to convince myself once more that this wasn't my son. I studied
his body and face until I convinced myself again.
I remembered the first time I saw I saw that blue vein. David came out of
the womb screaming and when he cried a blue vein protruded angrily from
his forehead. He was the fourth child for Maggie and me and the only time I
had been in the delivery room. I had been at the bar for the others.
The nurse handed me the baby. I cradled him in my arms and my eyes
filled with tears, back then everything went to my core. I handed the baby
back to the nurse and went to Maggie. Her face flush from the delivery
smiled at me. She looked as content as an infant herself.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” She sighed.
“I’m so sorry for everything.” I said. Our hands were entwined and I had
my cheek against hers drawing strength from her.
“I know,” is all she said.
“I can’t tell you I’ll never drink again but I can tell you I never want to
drink again. They say you can only do it one day at a time.” Fresh tears filled
my eyes.
“I know what they say but I really think everything is going to be okay
now.” The baby let out a wail and we looked over at his red face and the vein
straining like it would burst and we both laughed.
“I think he has your temperament.” She joked.
next page