Moment of Impact, Part II

My case worker at MGH wanted to send me to Spaulding Rehab to continue my physical & occupational therapy. However, my mother fought on my behalf for me to go to one outside of Boston, closer to home and easier for me to have frequent visitors.  

They decided to send me to HealthSouth (currently New England Rehab) on the Woburn/Winchester line.  Having previously worked at the 99 Restaurant nearby, I knew exactly where I was headed.  The EMTs that were in charge of transferring me to the rehab facility were a great pair of people.  They made me as comfortable as possible, which was difficult considering all I could move without serious issue was my right arm and my head.  

We got to talking on the ride and I had mentioned, in passing, that I had worked at the 99 Restaurant down the road from the rehab facility for a few years and had just recently been transferred to another location due to a promotion.  

I didn’t think anything of it when the ambulance started to slow down.  One of the EMTs had gotten out and a few minutes passed by.  I had never been in this situation before, so I assumed that she was just prepping to get me into the rehab facility.  

When she opened the doors in the back of the ambulance, I could barely lift my head. Remembering what I saw is making my eyes water as I type this.  We were in the parking lot of the Four Corners 99 Restaurant, my old work.  There was a line of people waiting to see me. Line cooks, servers, bartenders, prep cooks, dishwashers, managers & even some regular guests that I knew, had one by one been allowed into the ambulance with me. Some laughed with me, some cried with me, some did both at the same time.  They all expressed their well wishes for a speedy recovery, gratefulness that I had made it thru & support on anything that I would need going forward.  I used to joke with my fellow restaurant workers that I’ve been involved in some long ticket times in a restaurant, but that one took the cake.

I wish I remembered the names of those EMTs, I would love to be able to thank them to this day for that.  

Don't miss out on Moment of Impact, Part I

Paul Dube

Host of The Sports Den & Chef at Smokey Bones.

Defiant by will.  A true life miracle by every other standard.  

Ladybug - Part IV "Lifer"

I have a confession to make: you aren't the only ones who have heard my story before. I have stood in front of medical students and veteran doctors alike and told [parts of] my story in hospitals across the Boston area. I do these talks not because I am paid, or because I get some sort of prize at the end like a sticker or lollipop. No, I do these talks for two reasons: the first is education. You would be surprised at how many doctors are not educated about addiction and medications to treat it. The second: to earn some positive karma points (in the hopes that it crosses out some of the shitty things I have done). In our society, judgement day is every day. I know that even after all these years I still get the eye when my criminal record pops up. Explaining why you were arrested for possession of hypodermic needles, possession, larceny, or any of the other fuckery that I was arrested for is never an easy task. And while society can be harsh, it is still nothing like the judgement of junkies.

See, what a lot of people don't realize is that no one is harder on addicts than other addicts. If you got high off of pills you probably thought you were better than a heroin addict. If you got high off of crack cocaine; you were looked down upon by those who only snorted the drug. This attitude that we had, myself included, even came to sobriety. 

See, if you were on the methadone clinic you beneath all of the above mentioned. From the beginning of my drug use, it was ingrained in me that methadone was “bad” and that it was the same as shooting dope. That people on the clinic were “lifers” doing life sentences handcuffed to another drug. Because methadone was “just replacing one drug with another drug and a person on the clinic isn't 'really' clean... I believed it all and judged every soul who made that choice. I think part of me thought I would be able to get clean once the time came… 

Unfortunately, that time came and went many times. I spent countless days in detoxes and halfway houses but sobriety just never stuck. The cravings were so, so strong. I always ended up in the same place: relapsing. I knew I had an addiction but didn't realize the mental aspect of it until I started to attempt sobriety. As a heroin addict, I was always concerned with the physical aspect of my addiction: muscle aches, anxiety, hot and cold flashes, nausea, cold sweats, and restlessness. 

After so many failed attempts at getting clean, it started to take a toll on me. I was overdosing left and right and was mentally fucked up so it made things worse. I was tired of the life and tired of spending day after day chasing my next fix. The drug that had been my friend, companion, and lover was no longer. As the days went by and the relapses added up; I didn't want to live anymore. It's quite simple when I look back: I was so desperate to stop the madness and I thought the only way to do it was to either stay sober or die: By the drug that I loved or by my own hand…

Anonymous

Please read the complete Ladybug series by clicking on the following:

Ladybugs - Part I  
Ladybugs Part II
Ladybugs - Part III