It's Always Something

May 12, 2017, 3:08 PM

As the mom of a heroin addict, I find that I am very good at crisis occasions. When shit hits the fan, I know just what to say, who to call, how to act, and I have the energy to go with little sleep and food for days on end. This is what my physical and emotional make up is good with, high and immediate stress. What I can't handle is all the rest of it.

Six weeks following Sam's nearly successful attempt to die by overdosing on heroin, it is the mundane and the monotony that wrecks me. His complete physical absence from my life bugs me, even though I rarely saw him before anyway. The endless string of days on end that I want to believe are making a difference in his recovery but have no way of knowing for sure. The discomfort of getting comfortable again in life.

I know I shouldn't but I find myself settling in. But not quite. It's almost like living with that prankster roommate. They are really cool but you never know what's behind a closed door or in a drawer that you pull open. A constant threat and feeling of uneasiness. That is how I feel. Been here, done this. Hasn't turned out well yet. Hoping and praying for a better outcome this time.

Sam will move to St. Paul, Minnesota, to a sober living community next week. There, he will access intensive outpatient treatment which will continue to include Hazelden/Betty Ford's Core12 program. This controversial new approach, which includes medical maintenance (suboxone or vivitrol) in conjunction with 12-step programming, has been Hazelden's response to extremely poor outcomes in using traditional methods alone to treat opiate addiction.

Opioid/heroin relapse and overdose death rates are staggering. Although not everyone at Hazelden/Betty Ford was initially on board with this shift, the idea was simply that we are losing too many people to opioid addiction and the community as a whole stepped up and adopted new treatment plans for certain patients. Those they feel they will lose without additional forms of treatment, like Sam.

I applaud them. even a mere six weeks ago I was an adamant opponent of Suboxone. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this new step will help save my son. So many changes are about to take place for Sam now, my hope is that the extra support of the medication will help keep him on track.

After five weeks in a highly structured environment, Sam will suddenly have more freedom at the halfway house. He will also be eighteen in four days. Initially, the house he will be living in is a little farther away from the outpatient facility he will be attending daily. Even the days he doesn't have treatment, he still has to get there for his Suboxone because the house he is staying at doesn't allow meds to be kept there.

Getting to outpatient will involve a long walk or a bus ride every day. He will suddenly be faced with more opportunities and choices and he is back in a big city again. Eventually, when a room opens up in sober house closer to outpatient, he will be moved there. Anyone who knows Sam (or any addict) knows that these are merely logistics though. If he wants to use, he will find a way. And, if he does make that decision, he will likely just disappear. In the meantime, my job from 1000 miles away is to continue to go on as if part of my heart is not ripped out.

I think any mom who has a sick kid feels the way I do. You feel like you can't just keep going through life day after day in limbo but yet you have to. Even though your world stops, everyone else's seems to keep moving forward. It is understandable and yet it doesn't make sense. It feels like you should be able to stop ALL time while you figure out how to save your kid, not just your own time. It doesn't feel fair. It's weird how someone's worst day is always someone else's best day. I am sure there was much tragedy in the world on the day my son was born almost 18 years ago. I didn't see any of it though because it was my best day. Literally. Up to that point, the day he was born was the best day of my life. (Now I have to add the other kids' birthdays as well). That's why we all need to hang on to our best days. God knows we will experience our worst days with a vengeance. We need to work harder to hold on to our best days too.

I have five more days of peace until the transition. I am going to hold on to these days for all they are worth because I know that my son is safe. This is quite literally the last time I will ever know he is safe again unless he is standing before me. He will be considered an adult in four days and someone I can no longer legally track down. Someone I have no legal recourse over any longer.

I will embrace this time like it is going to last forever. I will breath, smile, relax, and hopefully even go for a run or two after a several month hiatus. I will hold onto hope that this is just the beginning of a fantastic new life for my son.

Today, I continue to walk in faith and hope that my son can hold onto sobriety and choose life. Where there is life, there is hope. Thank you for reading and continuing to support us on our journey. Love you. #nomoreshame