“Is he going to be alright?” Adam’s voice brought me back to the here and now.
I turned my head away and wiped at my eyes before turning back to answer.
“Well, he’s still alive but he’s not out of the woods.” Adam seemed to be in a little
more control and I decided to press him a little. “What were you guys doing?” I was
sure it was heroin but it was good to get confirmation for the medics and the
hospital.
“I don’t know. I wasn’t here. He was like this when I found him” Adam’s
pinpointed eyes told me otherwise.
“Hey man,” I said. “I don’t give a fuck what you guys were doing. You’re not in
trouble with me and the cops ain’t going to follow up on this little bullshit. I’m just
trying to help your buddy. Was it heroin?”
“Yeah,” he dropped his head and mumbled.
“Didn’t you guys hear about the bad stuff going around?”
“No, it wasn’t like that. He went crazy. He just kept shooting up. His supposed to
go to detox tomorrow and wanted to get really wasted one last time.”
Brian continued to work the bag. Heroin takes you so deep you just stop
breathing and soon after go into cardiac arrest. As long as Brian assisted his
breathing, the boy should come out of this okay. When the medics arrived they
would shoot him up with Narcan. It’s a drug that gets into the cells and blocks the
opiate. Narcan can be amazing. It usually brings the patient back from being next to
dead in a minute or two. I’ve seen them sit right up and become furious because
you ruined their high.
But this kid had us a little worried. We didn’t say it. We could read it on each
other. He wasn’t responding like he should and it seemed like it was taking the
medics forever. Stan was shaking him and calling to him as Brian worked the bag.
“Hey buddy, wake up.” Stan rubbed his knuckle hard across the guy’s sternum
trying to bring him around.
“What’s your buddy’s name?” Stan called to Adam.
“David,” Adam answered.
“David, wake up! David, wake up, David, David!” Stan kept hollering into the
boy’s face. I shuddered each time he called David’s name.
Everything about this run had been strange including my own behavior. I found
myself standing directly over David scrutinizing him for the third time. My guys gave
me concerned sidelong glances. I didn't care what they thought. I needed to
convince myself anew.
This boy had the same short cropped hair cut my David wore. He had the same
thick eyebrows and he had that damned blue vein straining with each squeeze of
the bag. I stood and stared at the boy long after I knew he wasn’t my son.
My concentration waned and my mind drifted back again, this time to before
David’s birth. For a long time I had been sick with the booze. I went through
countless car accidents, fights and overnights at the local precinct. These were
small inconveniences but the depression ate me up. After a suicide attempt, I
stopped. I just detoxed and stopped - no rehab.
The A.A. meetings helped. I stayed out of trouble but I stayed wounded for a
long time. In some ways I was sicker without a drink than I had been with one. The
depression wouldn’t lift and the mania for a drink drove me mad. I laid awake at
night and it seemed as if I had four or five thoughts running through my head at the
same time. On the rare occasions I did sleep, I awoke from nightmares in a cold
sweat and an overwhelming compulsion to drink.
It was only a matter of time before I drank and suicide would follow. I chose to do
it on my terms. I bought a gun. The feel of it in my hand gave me butterflies. I’d get
a motel room so Maggie wouldn’t find the body and of course I’d get a bottle.
I’m not sure why I went to a meeting that night maybe a part of me didn’t want to
die. I hadn’t told anyone about the gun or my plan but a friend at the meeting
recognized my depression. He told me about how he had been depressed early on
and how meditation helped him. He told me to read the Psalms and reflect on the
words.
I didn’t have much faith in God and didn’t think anything could save me from
myself but I had nothing to lose. I decided to give meditation a week because like I
said I had nothing to lose. When the craving came that night I began to read the
Psalms. I read them without hope or belief. I read them aloud because it seemed to
be the right thing to do. The sound of my own voice consoled me. It soothed like a
parent rocking a sick child.
The first week passed and I put my appointment with the gun off and tried it for
another week and then another. The obsession lifted a little at a time. I sold the gun
and never drank again. We named the baby David, after the killer of the giant and
the author of the Psalms.
“Yo Lieutenant,” Brian’s voice brought me back. “Shouldn’t the squad be here
by now?”
“They were coming all the way from across town. I’ll radio them and get an
ETA.” But before I keyed up my mike, I heard the distant wail of a siren.
“I hear them now.” Stan confirmed.
Two female medics came in, Erin and Grace. We had worked with them many
times before. It didn’t take long before Erin started a line and was giving him
Narcan. “Keep working the bag,” she told Brian. “He’ll be up in a minute cursing us.”
I took over for Brian bagging the patient. It isn’t a hard task but Brian had been
at it a long time and you get uncomfortable. Besides I wanted to do something to try
to keep myself focused. I repositioned David’s head to be sure that his airway was
open and squeezed the bag at regular intervals.
The bag was connected to our oxygen tank. With each squeeze pure oxygen
pushed into his lungs. The cylinder then refilled the bag making it ready to be
pushed into his lungs again.
I squeezed the bag. Let it refill and squeezed again. My full concentration was
on working the bag and I found myself breathing in the same deep rhythm,
squeeze. I watched David’s face as I breathed with him, squeeze, the blue vein on
his forehead bulging and straining with each inhalation, squeeze. My eyes became
wet with tears, squeeze.
Many minutes passed and David’s complexion went from gray to pale but there
was little other improvement. The deep breathing had me in a kind of trance and I
was only vaguely aware of Erin shooting David up with more medicine. I heard a
voice screaming behind me. It seemed to come from another land.
“He’s not waking up! You guys said it would wake him up!” It was Adam.
“You have to calm the fuck down. You’re not helping,” Stan yelled back.
It was really my job to keep order but I just kept breathing with young David while
the madness went on around me. I kept my gaze on his forehead watching the vein
pop each time I squeezed the bag. At some level I knew I should give the task to
someone else and take command of the scene but I felt safe in the rhythm of breath
like being in a rocker with an infant.
I heard Grace’s voice coming from that other land, sounding worried.
“We’ve done all we can here. Let’s get him out.” She bent down next to me.
“I’ll get the bag, Lieutenant.” It was her job but I couldn’t let go.
“C’mon Lieutenant, I got it.” She insisted. Her voice was firm but gentle and she
looked at me with a compassionate gaze that I had seen her use on only the very ill.
I relented and Grace took the bag as they carried David down the stairs.
I stayed in the apartment to pull myself together while they took David down the
stairs and placed him in the ambulance.
I had forgotten about Adam. He was back against the wall with his hands in his
face. “Oh, my God, Oh my God.” I put my hand on the back of his head.
“C’mon Son, I’ll get you a ride with the medics to the hospital”
Adam got up but was little unsteady on his feet. I grabbed his arm as we made
our way down the steps. “You said. He was going to wake up.” His voice cracked
with emotion.
“Sometimes it just takes a little longer for some people. His color was coming
back. I think he’ll come around.” Then I added, “Besides, he’s beloved by God.” I
don’t’ know why I said it. It just came out.
Adam looked at me like I was the one on drugs, “What do you mean?” He put
his long fingers around his silver cross, clinging to it.
“David, the name means beloved by God. I think God will get him through this.”
I thought about the Psalms. I thought about my son. “Yeah, God’s going to get
him through this.” I spoke to comfort Adam but he had already climbed into the
ambulance. I spoke only to myself and it soothed me.
I turned my head away and wiped at my eyes before turning back to answer.
“Well, he’s still alive but he’s not out of the woods.” Adam seemed to be in a little
more control and I decided to press him a little. “What were you guys doing?” I was
sure it was heroin but it was good to get confirmation for the medics and the
hospital.
“I don’t know. I wasn’t here. He was like this when I found him” Adam’s
pinpointed eyes told me otherwise.
“Hey man,” I said. “I don’t give a fuck what you guys were doing. You’re not in
trouble with me and the cops ain’t going to follow up on this little bullshit. I’m just
trying to help your buddy. Was it heroin?”
“Yeah,” he dropped his head and mumbled.
“Didn’t you guys hear about the bad stuff going around?”
“No, it wasn’t like that. He went crazy. He just kept shooting up. His supposed to
go to detox tomorrow and wanted to get really wasted one last time.”
Brian continued to work the bag. Heroin takes you so deep you just stop
breathing and soon after go into cardiac arrest. As long as Brian assisted his
breathing, the boy should come out of this okay. When the medics arrived they
would shoot him up with Narcan. It’s a drug that gets into the cells and blocks the
opiate. Narcan can be amazing. It usually brings the patient back from being next to
dead in a minute or two. I’ve seen them sit right up and become furious because
you ruined their high.
But this kid had us a little worried. We didn’t say it. We could read it on each
other. He wasn’t responding like he should and it seemed like it was taking the
medics forever. Stan was shaking him and calling to him as Brian worked the bag.
“Hey buddy, wake up.” Stan rubbed his knuckle hard across the guy’s sternum
trying to bring him around.
“What’s your buddy’s name?” Stan called to Adam.
“David,” Adam answered.
“David, wake up! David, wake up, David, David!” Stan kept hollering into the
boy’s face. I shuddered each time he called David’s name.
Everything about this run had been strange including my own behavior. I found
myself standing directly over David scrutinizing him for the third time. My guys gave
me concerned sidelong glances. I didn't care what they thought. I needed to
convince myself anew.
This boy had the same short cropped hair cut my David wore. He had the same
thick eyebrows and he had that damned blue vein straining with each squeeze of
the bag. I stood and stared at the boy long after I knew he wasn’t my son.
My concentration waned and my mind drifted back again, this time to before
David’s birth. For a long time I had been sick with the booze. I went through
countless car accidents, fights and overnights at the local precinct. These were
small inconveniences but the depression ate me up. After a suicide attempt, I
stopped. I just detoxed and stopped - no rehab.
The A.A. meetings helped. I stayed out of trouble but I stayed wounded for a
long time. In some ways I was sicker without a drink than I had been with one. The
depression wouldn’t lift and the mania for a drink drove me mad. I laid awake at
night and it seemed as if I had four or five thoughts running through my head at the
same time. On the rare occasions I did sleep, I awoke from nightmares in a cold
sweat and an overwhelming compulsion to drink.
It was only a matter of time before I drank and suicide would follow. I chose to do
it on my terms. I bought a gun. The feel of it in my hand gave me butterflies. I’d get
a motel room so Maggie wouldn’t find the body and of course I’d get a bottle.
I’m not sure why I went to a meeting that night maybe a part of me didn’t want to
die. I hadn’t told anyone about the gun or my plan but a friend at the meeting
recognized my depression. He told me about how he had been depressed early on
and how meditation helped him. He told me to read the Psalms and reflect on the
words.
I didn’t have much faith in God and didn’t think anything could save me from
myself but I had nothing to lose. I decided to give meditation a week because like I
said I had nothing to lose. When the craving came that night I began to read the
Psalms. I read them without hope or belief. I read them aloud because it seemed to
be the right thing to do. The sound of my own voice consoled me. It soothed like a
parent rocking a sick child.
The first week passed and I put my appointment with the gun off and tried it for
another week and then another. The obsession lifted a little at a time. I sold the gun
and never drank again. We named the baby David, after the killer of the giant and
the author of the Psalms.
“Yo Lieutenant,” Brian’s voice brought me back. “Shouldn’t the squad be here
by now?”
“They were coming all the way from across town. I’ll radio them and get an
ETA.” But before I keyed up my mike, I heard the distant wail of a siren.
“I hear them now.” Stan confirmed.
Two female medics came in, Erin and Grace. We had worked with them many
times before. It didn’t take long before Erin started a line and was giving him
Narcan. “Keep working the bag,” she told Brian. “He’ll be up in a minute cursing us.”
I took over for Brian bagging the patient. It isn’t a hard task but Brian had been
at it a long time and you get uncomfortable. Besides I wanted to do something to try
to keep myself focused. I repositioned David’s head to be sure that his airway was
open and squeezed the bag at regular intervals.
The bag was connected to our oxygen tank. With each squeeze pure oxygen
pushed into his lungs. The cylinder then refilled the bag making it ready to be
pushed into his lungs again.
I squeezed the bag. Let it refill and squeezed again. My full concentration was
on working the bag and I found myself breathing in the same deep rhythm,
squeeze. I watched David’s face as I breathed with him, squeeze, the blue vein on
his forehead bulging and straining with each inhalation, squeeze. My eyes became
wet with tears, squeeze.
Many minutes passed and David’s complexion went from gray to pale but there
was little other improvement. The deep breathing had me in a kind of trance and I
was only vaguely aware of Erin shooting David up with more medicine. I heard a
voice screaming behind me. It seemed to come from another land.
“He’s not waking up! You guys said it would wake him up!” It was Adam.
“You have to calm the fuck down. You’re not helping,” Stan yelled back.
It was really my job to keep order but I just kept breathing with young David while
the madness went on around me. I kept my gaze on his forehead watching the vein
pop each time I squeezed the bag. At some level I knew I should give the task to
someone else and take command of the scene but I felt safe in the rhythm of breath
like being in a rocker with an infant.
I heard Grace’s voice coming from that other land, sounding worried.
“We’ve done all we can here. Let’s get him out.” She bent down next to me.
“I’ll get the bag, Lieutenant.” It was her job but I couldn’t let go.
“C’mon Lieutenant, I got it.” She insisted. Her voice was firm but gentle and she
looked at me with a compassionate gaze that I had seen her use on only the very ill.
I relented and Grace took the bag as they carried David down the stairs.
I stayed in the apartment to pull myself together while they took David down the
stairs and placed him in the ambulance.
I had forgotten about Adam. He was back against the wall with his hands in his
face. “Oh, my God, Oh my God.” I put my hand on the back of his head.
“C’mon Son, I’ll get you a ride with the medics to the hospital”
Adam got up but was little unsteady on his feet. I grabbed his arm as we made
our way down the steps. “You said. He was going to wake up.” His voice cracked
with emotion.
“Sometimes it just takes a little longer for some people. His color was coming
back. I think he’ll come around.” Then I added, “Besides, he’s beloved by God.” I
don’t’ know why I said it. It just came out.
Adam looked at me like I was the one on drugs, “What do you mean?” He put
his long fingers around his silver cross, clinging to it.
“David, the name means beloved by God. I think God will get him through this.”
I thought about the Psalms. I thought about my son. “Yeah, God’s going to get
him through this.” I spoke to comfort Adam but he had already climbed into the
ambulance. I spoke only to myself and it soothed me.
r.kv.r.y. quarterly spring 2009 shorts on substances
david page two
by joseph f. lynch
david page two
by joseph f. lynch
