Rehab Visit

I went to the rehab place yesterday, a bit sad that I was missing out on the church potluck. But the guy who had presided over the drug house I used to visit had said that there was some kind of orientation I had to go through first in order to visit him.

I was wondering as I drove over, "Why are they making a visitor go to such trouble?" When I got there, I learned why.

It was an orientation for the family members of the addicts in there. I was with a bunch of mothers - and one pregnant girlfriend - of all the addicts in there. Moms - and I suppose a pregnant girlfriend - being the only ones not to give up on these addicts.

Then me. With my fifty something free lance pharmacist who'd finally got help years later than me!

There's a lot of mixed feelings to that. Honored. Cautious about what this will now begin to entail. But also saddened. I suppose I'm a nice enough guy, I just feel a bit damp eyed at the idea that I might be all a person has. Because I'm not really much in the big scheme of things.

Certainly a mom would have been better.

It reminded me of an odd evening in Fairbanks, Alaska, a bit over 20 years ago. Looking back on it, it was almost a sign of who I would eventually grow to be. I was a liquor store clerk and not even an active addict yet, being a 20 something young man. A young man who still knew everything.

I worked for Loomis/Fargo, an armed guard driving the big armored trucks, hauling money and gold. But I moonlighted, as did a fellow security buddy, at Thrifty Liquor, the seediest dive of a liquor store in Fairbanks.

Which is saying a lot.

We'd get a lot of street riff-raff in. Druggies, alkies, dealers, pimps, and the working girls themselves. You know, to warm up, it being Fairbanks, Alaska. Street girls in Alaska have a hard time dressing sexy with all the layers and parkas, but somehow they manage to convey what they are.

Some clerks and people in general enjoy giving such types a lot of grief. Me, I'm always the same politeness level whether it's a King or Commoner, President or Pauper. I blame my British upbringing!

But what I didn't realize - not at that age - was that some of them had never been treated politely by a clean cut young guy in their life. Not one who didn't want anything, anyway.

I enjoyed that job, though, and would swap banter with each customer, making a game of being able to chat whether it was a Professor from UAF - yeah, he came each week - or the least overaged working gal.

Then I got a call on the phone one day.

Me: Thrifty Liquor, may I help you please?

*you are receiving a call from an inmate from the Fairbanks Northstar Borough Corrections hit 1 etc.*

I thought, great, wrong number, well, I'll accept and let them know.

*pushes 1*

Woman's voice: Oh, thank you, is this Dean?

Me: Yes? May I help you?

Sheila: (not her real name) This is Sheila, you know who I am?

Me: Yes, yes, I do. You okay?

Understand I'm still ringing up customers with the phone between my ear and shoulder - remember when holding a landline phone between ear and shoulder was still a thing?

Sheila: I'm in trouble. They arrested me for killing my friend.

Me: (Somewhat puzzled) Who are you trying to reach?

Sheila: I only get one call. I don't know anyone else to call.

I was pretty young then, hadn't had a lot of what happened to me later happen, and was stunned.

The whole world, and the only "friend" this poor woman had was her friendly neighborhood liquor store clerk. This is the worst moment of her life, when she is in the gravest of danger and in the most need of help, and...me?

Me: I'm at work right now. I'll come by tomorrow. Have you answered any questions or told them anything?

Sheila: No! Thank you! You can come in the afternoon!

Me: You must not answer any questions or say anything at all to the police. You must not tell anyone in the jail, even another inmate your story or what you think happened.

Sheila: Okay! But they haven't read me my rights! Will they give me a lawyer?

Me: No lawyer for awhile. And they don't have to read you your rights unless they want to question you. But you must say nothing till you get that lawyer. Just sit tight, we'll talk more tomorrow.

Goodbyes exchanged.

I'm still ringing up customers. My buddy Hugh looks over at me to see if all is okay. He and I haul money during the day and whichever of us is working, the other usually comes in to aid whether we're on the clock or not.

I just say, "Crazy - I'll tell you later."

Why had I gave her all that sterile legal advice? Well, for one, that's actually great advice, I was a veteran law enforcement officer from my Air Force days which were a lot nearer then than now. And I know that if you talk or answer questions, you're in big trouble if you did it, and worse if you did not!

But honestly, I gave her that advice because I could not think of anything else to say.

I didn't have the words of comfort to share with her. Words she probably needed. Words I failed to give, as I did not have them the next day either. I just had not had enough go wrong in my life to know what it might have helped her to hear.

I had that one visit, re-affirmed what I had said, reviewed with her the things that were coming up so she would not be surprised. Better than nothing, I suppose. But I'd have said the right words if I knew them.

I felt inexpressibly sad over it back then, though as I was very young, I tried to cover my feelings with humor. As I told my roommate, "If I'm the only one you have to call on a murder charge, mistakes have been made!"

He laughed, and I laughed. It was true, though. True then, and while I'm not too down on myself, I'd say true now. If your liquor store clerk or your program supervisor is the only guy you can call, then yeah, sure, that's a great indicator that some bad lifestyle choices have been made.

I didn't go back for a second visit. She knew I had been uncomfortable. I will be going back for a second visit - and more - with the guy I'm seeing in rehab now. What were the words of comfort that I know now, but had not known then?

What did the alcoholism and addiction inflicted upon a young cocky know-it-all who was all about status and materiality teach?

The words that she needed to hear 20 years ago, and that the guy I visited today also needed to hear were, "Don't worry, it's going to be okay. We'll get through this."

That's it. The key word is "we". Nothing more than that. But one additional thing is needed.

You must then really be there. That's the harder part. But if you can be there, and you can show them that you really want to be there and really mean it, then it will help. It's no magic cure-all, but if there is then hope, it will maximize the chances of success. And in the world of addiction - or the world of lousy luck in general - maximizing chances of success is as good as it ever gets.

I wish I had known that for that woman back then. Oh, yeah, sure, she did it. But I'm a firm believer that everyone deserves an advocate. There's never any shortage of those to say that someone sucks. Always nice to have at least one person to say, "Well, gee, he/she isn't all bad, maybe if we heard their side..." I didn't know it back then. In another article, I said once that maybe in some ways me being hit by alcoholism was a beneficial thing, for it turned me off of a very pride-filled course and got me less me-centered. I had always had empathy, I had empathy for that woman back then.

But I hadn't made it my chief concern. And I hadn't learned what needed to be done.