Shortly after the paramedics injected a drug in my son's neck, he became conscious again. At that point, alarmed and confused, he started asking questions trying to figure out what had happened and where he was being taken. I honestly don't even remember what they told him, but their answers evidently didn't satisfy him because he became more alarmed and reactive to what was going on, resisting their attempts to keep him still and on the stretcher. All my husband and I could do was stand by and watch with concern; at the same time, feel more calm and confident than a few minutes earlier when I was kneeling next to my unconscious son. At least now, he was in the hands of professionals with experience and equipment for these kinds of situations. I suggested to my husband that he ride in the ambulance with my son and that I would join him at the hospital shortly afterwards.
When I sheepishly looked out the door, with a nervous curiosity, I noticed that my son was still resisting the ride to the hospital even though he was restrained on the stretcher. Within a few more seconds, I observed what looked like a serious struggle among the paramedics and the firemen who were helping. The resistance my son displayed from the beginning had escalated into a full blown physical confrontation. My son was determined not to end up in the hospital. I'm not sure if it was anger or fear, but after witnessing the scene, I ran outside with no shoes screaming my son's name. To any bystander who happened to drive by, I must have looked like a wild and crazy woman running out of my house. I certainly gave them a show. I'm not sure if my anger/fear was more for my son or for his medical attendants who were trying to control him. I'm sure it occurred to me in the back of my mind that my son was in his last month of probation for a DWI. He had kept out of trouble for two years; been a responsible employee working full time; and was in a serious relationship with a good woman. The last two years had been some of his most responsible and peaceful years since he had left rehab about four years ago. I had hoped and prayed that maturity and restrain had finally made their home within David.
By the time I got to the ambulance, David was doing his best to get out, demanding that he be let go, and making it extremely challenging for the frazzled attendants. I grabbed his bulky arm tightly and half talked, half yelled at him to stop it. He looked at me wide eyed with fear. Even though I can't remember the exact words shared between us, they boiled down to me explaining to him that these guys were here to help him, not hurt him, and that if he didn't cooperate, the police would get involved and THAT he didn't want. One of the attendants informed David that he was bleeding in the neck since David had pulled the needle out when trying to get loose and the bleeding needed to be stopped. After a minute or so of calming David down with the straight facts, he decided to cooperate and got back on the stretcher. As soon as he did, I heard sirens. "Oh no," is all that came to me when I heard the police coming because I had practically promised David that they weren't going to be involved. I guess it was too late. Someone had called them.
To be continued.....
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Comments
R
Re font-size change: just one of those things for which there is no remedy.
The positive I can offer... this happened to me long ago,
the paramedics and ambulance scene. In my case I was
literally... dead; the PM's somehow revived me without
using the anti-narco injection... but I was hauled out,
down three flights of stairs on the stretcher through a
crowd of rubber-necking neighbors to the street, then
to Truman.
The positive I mentioned? I was "scared straight" and
quit using without even further temptation. Maybe the same
will happen for him. I do hope so. Hugs... sorry
Tried to put up my last post, composed in Georgian 12 point
(like Tom Cordle and others use)
on a word program. When I copied and pasted to OS new post,
it would switch back to standard os times new roman 10 point.
Finally tried c and p to yahoo mail, saved, then copied to OS
where it became my yahoo default verdana font... at which
point I was sick of fighting with it. Makes ya crazy doesn't it.
As for the print size question, I don't know for sure, but do you type on a word processors first and then copy and paste here; or do you write here directly?
You are in my best thoughts and prayers. ♥
You are not the only one..
"was in his last month of probation"
Oh how we lead the same lives..:(
I cried for our sons.
Lezlie
Rated.
As for addiction, I do understand and feel for you and your son. Not one addict thought they'd ever be in the mess they're in when they first tried whatever substance it is they are weak for...and none of them need anyone else's righteous judgment at any point, whether they've fallen hard or not.
I am a son to two living parents, a father to two children, a husband to one wife, and a one day at a time recovering addict.
It is uncomfortable in a good way to read this. Maturity, restraint, and serenity have settled on me too as several clean and sober years have passed since I last was active, but I too in my my past have inexplicably relapsed when things were going well and others had begun to trust me again.
Thanks for writing this.