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Wake Up Call


Eleven hours later. . .


A high pitch ringing noise screams in my head. I jump up from the couch. My eyes are wide open, but I can't see. Everything is blurred. My equilibrium is way off. What did I do? What time is it? I loose balance and stumble into the wall, knocking a print of a Salvador Dali painting to the ground. I taste chalky Tylenol gurgling in my throat, and collapse to the ground. The taste makes me instantly and uncontrollably puke for several minutes. White foam forces itself up and out of my body. The ringing won't stop. My inside are on fire. I did not want to wake up! It hurts! Is this what dying feels like? Frantically my head swivels left right up down, trying to comprehend what is going on. The fucking ringing. My head falls to the ground. My body lays there on the verge of lifelessness.


Like lava from a volcano, white foam erupts from my mouth. The convulsion brings me back to consciousness. My head is still screaming, I still can not see. Where am I?Did I just try and kill myself? Though I am alive, the massive amounts of Tylenol and Aspirin in my system are destroying my liver and who knows what else. I am alive but I am quite sure the feelings I am feeling are of my body shutting down, turning off. I am dying. The screaming in my head disrupts any real coherent thoughts. I jump up with a burst of adrenaline and rush to my phone. I fall to the couch a go into the fetal position. By touch I find the call button and press it twice, calling the last person I spoke with.
I can barely hear the ringing of the phone over the death scream in my ears. My mom answers the phone, and I puke white chalk and yellow bile into the speaker.


"Brad? Is that you? Hello? Are you okay . . . Brad?!"


"Mom . . ."


"Brad! What is going on?"


"Mom, I tried to kill myself?"


"What?! What are you talking about?"


She has no idea I have relapsed. She has no idea of where I am at mentally. I have spoke to her on the phone everyday, but made up excuses to avoid seeing her.


"I relapsed mom." I mumble to her.


My responses are short, and I am struggling to make out what she is saying. My mother, still unaware of the seriousness of the situation, thinks I have only relapsed. Even in the state I am in I can the disappointment in her voice.


Another burst of life rushes over my body and I shout over the piercing noise "Mom?! I tried to kill myself, I took to many pills, I think I'm dying!!!!"


"Oh my God Brad! Go to the hospital!" she shouts.


"I can't mom. What Hospital? How? Mom . . . Are you there?"


I am fading, my eyes slowly open then close. I come in and out of the conversation.


"Brad? Can you hear me?"


"Uhuh . . . I can hear you mom." I calmly reply, as my eyes close again.


"Brad, go to Botsford Hospital! It is right behind your apartment. Go there now Brad!"


I drop the phone to the ground and puke again. I still did not care to live. I did this to avoid the pain. This fucking hurts. I can't take it! I get on all fours and crawl to the door, down the stairs and outside. Just outside the apartment is a six foot stone wall that separated the hospital from the apartments. With every ounce of strength I had left in my body, I pushed myself up and over the wall. Taking a puke break every few minutes I crawl through the entire parking lot on my hands in knees. The tears flow down my face and I am sweating profusely. I still cant see straight but recognize the ER sign.


I get to the doors, stand up and walk in. Raising my hand I quietly say, "Help." then collapse to the tile floor.


Beep beep . . . Beep. Beep beep . . .Beep. I awake to sounds of my heart beating. The terrible noise that was piercing my ears has dissipated. My eyes are heavy and my vision is still blurred. A bright light shines over my body from above. As I attempt to adjust to a more comfortable position, something scrapes my throat deep down inside me. I gag and as I reach for my mouth I find a tube protruding from it.


I can hardly speak without dry heaving but manage to to say, "How long will this be inside me? Only partially able to annunciate each word.


A males voice in the corner of the room says, "Um, well about twelve more hours."


No way in hell that is going to happen I thought to myself. I proceed to grab the tube with both hands and pull. The tube seems to never end, and I feel it the whole way out of my body. The end of the tube flies out of my mouth and a deep black charcoal goo whips around the room and onto the walls. I hear the nurses around me frantically rushing around. My heart rate quickens, I can hear it on the heart monitor and in my chest. A dark figure rushes to my side and puts something into my IV. Moments later, my heart rate is back to normal and everything fades to black.


I again wake from the beeping of the heart monitor. I open my eyes slowly. I can see things clearly again, but my thoughts are still groggy and blurred. It's dark, quiet here. I take a few minute to observe my surroundings.


The room is dark, crisp and clean. The smell of sick people and medicine flows like incense across my nose. I am in a basic hospital bed, wearing one of those stupid robes where my butt hangs out of the back. An IV is in my left arm and six sticky circles are spread out across my chest. A male nurse is sitting next to me.


"Hey, where am I?"


"Critical Care, Botsford Hospital."


The next few minutes, I piece together the events that led me here.


Mid thought another nurse comes in and says, "I'm gonna take your blood Brad. Also, because you pulled that tube out, you have to drink these two cups of medicine every couple hours."


I nod my head in agreement, and look away as she sticks the needle in my arm. I know no high will come from it, so my needle phobia comes rushing back to me. The needle goes into my skin and makes me feel nauseous.


She finishes drawing my blood, looks over to the nurse sitting next to me and says, "Make sure he drinks that." pointing to the two cups on the rolling tray next to me.


"Will do." He says.


The nurse and I sit quietly watching Jerry Springer. The aches slowly creep in to my bones. Every position is uncomfortable. Minutes later the sweats start, but I am cold. Withdrawals are starting!


I see my pajama pants on the floor beside my bed. They are bright orange, and unmistakeable. Leaning over, I reach into the pockets. My cell phone, I must have thrown it in my pocket before venturing over to the hospital. I wipe the white coating of vomit off the screen, and check my messages. Only two text messages and two missed calls. I clear the phone to check what day it is. I bet my guy would front me some dope. Without questioning my great idea, as if out of instinct, I text my dealer with some big extravagant story ending with, "Can you front me for a few days."


A few minutes later I feel my phone vibrate under my leg. My guy is on the way. I only need to make it across the parking lot. Ha this is awesome, but how do I get out of here? My ritual or routine to find something to stop the withdrawals takes control. The monster is still here. I can only watch. My hand reaches for the sticky circles on my chest, removing the connected chords from each. All the while my peripheral vision is on the nurse sitting next to me. My adrenaline kicks in from the excitement of the dope waiting for me at my apartment door. I grab the IV and in one fell swoop pull it out of my arm and sprint for the door. I run so fast my little flower print robe turns into a cape flowing in the wind. I am totally exposed, but completely focused on my mission.


I round the corner. As I turn I see three nurses chasing from behind, but I am pulling away. My head turns back toward the stairway doors a couple hundred feet ahead. I imagine I am on the football field in high school. The crowd is cheering, "Score Brad, score!" The stairs are my end zone. My competitiveness kicks in. I stiff arm a heavy set nurse who steps in front of me from the nurses desk. Another grabs me from out of nowhere and I spin out of the tackle. I am in the red zone. No turn overs Brad. In my mind I am high stepping to the end zone. Then right as I am about to cross the goal line three nurses and two security officers jump in front of the exit, like a goal line defense. Fuck!!
I get into an athletic defensive position, with my hands up. I am fully ready to dodge duck or dive. Whatever it takes to score. The group of nurses surounds me.


In a defensive tone I yell, "I checked myself into this mother fucker, I am checking myself out NOW!"


"We can't let you do that sir."


"What does that mean? Why not?"


"Sir you are under suicide watch, we are obligated by state law to keep you here for at least seventy two hours."


Still in an offensive attack mode, I give a couple fake lunges in the direction of the end zone. I read their reactions, and give myself a few seconds to determine the next step. The defense has surrounded me. I have no where to go. Maybe a quarterback sneak? Then in one motion I aggressively fake toward the door, turn the opposite direction and calmly walk back to my room. The employees of the hospital exhale in a collective sigh of relief.