I had to take my son to the hospital yesterday. He thought he was having a heart attack. I knew it was the DTs. His blood pressure was high and his heart rate was up but he wasn’t in SVT. He was shaking uncontrollably and sweating profusely.
The doctor came in and told him it was time for him to go to detox. Of course, #4 agreed. You tend to agree to anything when you think you’re dying. He promised the doctor and me that he would go.
He didn’t tell me that he was supposed to call the detox place this morning at 8. I finally got him to get up at noon. That’s when he told me. I kept asking him to call and he kept procrastinating.
He finally called and they had a bed that would be available at 11:00 tonight. He asked them if he could smoke while here was there….are you fucking serious? They told him no but they would give him a patch.
He kept hemming and hawing and I could hear the lady tell him that she didn’t think he wanted to go but for him to talk to me and then call her back.
I reminded him that he told me he would go but he said he had an appointment tomorrow morning with “those people” who would let him see a counselor. I reminded him that the first thing “those people” said to him was “you need to go to detox.”
I gave him a choice. Go to detox or pack his duds and leave. He came in and started washing the dishes and then told me he wanted to shower and wash his clothes. I told him he didn’t need a clean body or clean clothes to be homeless.
It almost crushed me when I saw the look on his face. I could still see that little boy from so many years ago when mean mama told him he couldn’t jump off the roof into the swimming pool.
He packed as many clothes as would fit into a backpack that he got somewhere…I don’t know where. Maybe he traded some of my jewelry for it. He asked me for some money. I told him he had already stolen all the money I had but I still had a bottle of Vodka that I took off of him when he came home so drunk the other night.
He asked me why I didn’t pour it out and I told him that he was being so volatile and belligerent, I was afraid that if I poured it out in front of him, he might have really hurt me.
He said he wanted it. I gave it to him and I will say, I was amazed when he opened it and poured it out.
I asked him if he realized what he was doing. “You are giving up a place to stay, food to eat and a warm bed to sleep in, all because you refuse to do something for yourself. You want me to do everything for you but you won’t do anything for me…like go to detox so you can maybe have one more shot at sobriety.” He just said “yeah.”
He said he would probably call Loser, although he never answered when he did. Yep. I’m sure Loser will come through for him…like always.
I gave him twenty dollars and he walked down the street.
Will I be able to do anything for the rest of the day? Probably not. Will I be able to sleep tonight? Probably not. If something happens to him, will I feel like it’s my fault for putting him out? Goddamn right I will.