A Mother’s Story

“His chances of living are remote”, the doctors told her. “The infection that is on his heart valve has also spread to his brain.”

Sarah reeled at the thought of her beloved son lying on his deathbed at the age of 18. His head swollen nearly twice its normal size, angry red skin squeezed much further than was intended. The smell of disinfectant strong in the air. The “Whap…hiss” of the respiratory machine running to his lungs, forcing his body to cling to life.

‘This is my fault’, was the recurring thought that played through her mind. She spent her whole life staring into the abyss of addiction, and today that abyss was calling for a sacrifice. A lifetime of substance abuse disorder, seemed to have caught up to her. ‘He learned his destructive habits from the poor example I set all these years. Why not just take me and spare my son.’

Ronald was admitted to the hospital after being found by his aunt Alice, whom he was living with at the time. Alice claimed that he’d been nursing a cold and that he’d been in bed for a few days when she checked on him and found him in dire need of medical attention. The paramedics that arrived on scene found Ronald on the basement floor, barely breathing and crusted in his own waste. It is safe to assume that Alice had been out on one of her famous prescription pill binges for a few days and stumbled upon her dying nephew only by the purest of luck after realizing she had not seen or heard from him in a few days.

The official diagnosis was Bacterial Endocarditis, which are clusters of bacteria that collect and grow and vegetate on heart valves causing damage to the valve itself and also introducing constant bacteria into the bloodstream. There is no definitive cause to this occurrence but being an intravenous drug user could not have helped matters. The attending physician allowed the use of the respirator but would not admit to ICU due to his grim prognosis. Besides, it is easier to let someone die if you feel like they just might be better off.

Sarah came from a semi-strict religious background. Neither parent was a closet drunk/abuser/bad person. It is impossible to tell what exactly starts us off on the road to nowhere because most times we only realize we were on it after we leave it behind. In this case let’s cite boredom and leave it at that.

For 25 years she waded through that murky, stagnant swampland called addiction. She met a man in the interval and bore him a son and a daughter. None of them was enough to quell the demons. When running with demons, even after becoming aware of the horrendous behavior that has become the off shoot of the one main concern in life which is, to wit, keeping pace with the pain, one eventually tires out. Some survive, most do not. Some who live slow down a little, but stay in the race. Their end not yet in sight. Others never get over their core reasons or struggle mightily with their actions during addiction. A few survivors pull themselves back up, turn to survey the damage in their wake, thank their higher power for what remains and promptly set forth to make something worthwhile from all the mess. Sarah was one of the latter.

Sobriety dawned on her only 5 months before this unfortunate incident. She had tried it before but never got it together. Not like this time. She busied herself with self-help programs and intensive outpatient at a local sobriety clinic.

Her relationship with her 12 year old daughter, Samantha, was strained and distant at first but after no time at all Samantha was in full bloom and happier than ever to have this new and improved mother willing to give her the time and attention she craved and coveted for so long. Even during the dark days, Samantha knew deep down that Ronald was the fair haired child, so to speak, and she actively adored him as well. It was, after all, Ronald that had helped her through her childhood because Mom was not available. How could he not be everyone’s favorite?

Ronald, on the other hand, was just beginning on his road to nowhere. After spending his childhood watching the one person that he loved, and was loved by, the most attempt a seemingly lifelong campaign to destroy herself, he felt he had little recourse but to kill the pain as well. As he was beginning his addiction and Sarah was nearing the end of hers, their addictions coincided for a short time but long enough to inflict lasting damage to both parties. Ronald’s so-called graduation to hard drugs was attended by his closest family member. In her misguided way of protecting him, when she found out he was using the same substance that she was, she began to share with him so he would not have to brave the hard streets himself and risk physical danger. His first attempts at main lining was accompanied by her reluctant assistance, again, while knowing that it was wrong but feeling the need to show him the right way to keep him or a stranger from bungling it and causing greater damage.

‘How can anyone ever forgive me for that when I know I can never forgive myself?’ Her foundation for her new lease on life was rocked to its core. Karma was just beginning after a lifetime of self-imposed debauchery. Relapse seemed like only a short trip away. It was closer than that. The only visitors that came to see Ronald, besides herself and her daughter, was her sister-in-law, Alice, the aunt who he had been living with, and her ex-husband Ron Sr. and the both of them were in their own little private addiction. Alice with her subtle prescription, my-medicine’s-prescribed-by-a-doctor, pain-killer addiction and her ex with the less than subtle, do-you-mind-if-I-shoot-up-in-the-bathroom-of-the-hospital-room-my-son’s-dying-in, hard core addiction. Both more than willing to give her a little something to ease the pain should the need arise.

Ronald was a major source of stress during her short road to recovery. He had been clean for a while after Sarah took the initiative of sobering up herself. It had only been within the last 30 days or so she had found out that he was relapsing and could possibly be using the needle again. Sarah begged him to forgive her for what she had put them all through and not to make the same mistakes but Ronald was oblivious. The young often believe themselves semi-immortal and nothing could touch him because, well, it just wouldn’t.

So while he was lying under those crisp white sheets, open sores on his arms bandaged up but still oozing through resting on top and his poor, swollen, misshapen head laid back on his pillow, the tube going into his mouth forcing his chest to heave, Sarah made up her mind not to give up. To give in now would be to bury them all along with Ronald. She began to believe that there may be some grand design after all and instead of begrudging it she should not only accept but embrace it. She realized how strong she could be and she thought she could handle whatever comes next. Ronald needed mercy and it was this thought that made her realize that it would be a mercy either way. She remembered someone from her small personal support group at the time telling her that sometimes our bad luck keeps us from an even worse fate.

And that was how she was reborn. She took a stand to her son’s father and aunt and informed them that if they felt the need to be under the influence during this trying time they could do it elsewhere. If she even suspected the slightest inebriation from either one, somebody was going to be removed forcibly, by the police if need be, and if she was the one being dragged out, at least she’d have the pride of knowing that she was standing up for her son.

The doctors performed open heart surgery to remove as much bacteria as they could despite the fact that they gave him a 40% chance to live through the surgery and even lower odds of his survival overall due to the inability to treat the bacteria that had started at his brain stem and was steadily growing with anything else but antibiotics. Sarah steadied herself for the inevitable news that she was assured would eventually come. Everyone expected the worst. Some viewed it as a damn shame while others whispered it was a blessing. Very few held out hope.

Ronald has since made a full and miraculous recovery. His surgery was a success and the antibiotics killed off the rest of the infection, slowly but surely. Over the next six months he had to relearn how to walk and talk but made almost impossible strides. That happened over nine months ago from the writing of this essay and to look at him now it seems improbable that it ever happened. He looks nothing like he did laying in that hospital bed, holding onto the thread of his life with the most tentative of grips.

But Sarah remembers. She still has the photos of what he looked like when the ambulance medics found him, pictures of the feces dried to his back after laying in it for God only knows how long. She doesn’t keep these photos for their shock value or to shame her son. She keeps them as a reminder to herself of the darkest time in her newly leased life, how close she came to throwing it all away, and the strength she found within herself when her faith was questioned and doubted the most.

“The world breaks everyone, and afterwards many are strong at the broken places.” - Earnest Hemmingway A Farewell To Arms