Hope

Yesterday was one of the longest and most anxiety filled days I have had in a long time. Phone calls back and forth to facilities trying to figure out who would take our new insurance. All of the questions, and sales pitches. Yes, rehabs totally pitch their center being so much better than any other out there. Dual diagnosis, etc. Blah, blah, blah.  I must have checked out 20 different sites. A few touted 'Luxury Facilities' or 'Executive Style' rehab. After much frustration and getting nowhere due to the holiday and all of the chaos created by the changes in insurance, I ended up talking at length with a friend who has been in the industry for years. I knew she would be honest with me, no BS.  I told her what had transpired over the past year. How many different rehabs my son had gone thru and had even used drugs in while the staff turned a blind eye. She wasn't in the least bit shocked. She reaffirmed my feelings about the 'recruiters' being paid by facilities to bring in patients with good insurance; she likened it to 'Human Trafficking'.  Another story for another time.

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Given my son's pleading the night before about wanting help and never ever wanting to use again, I would have thought that when news came thru that our insurance had been approved and he would be able to enter a program, he would have hit the ground running. Not. Even. Close.

When I went to get him up out of bed late yesterday evening after having been asleep for almost 20 hours, I thought he would be relieved at least that he could get into a safe detox. Every inch of the way was a fight. He told me he just wanted to sleep; he was too tired to get up. I was having none of it. None. Nothing. Zip. Zilch. None of it.  He was angry that he no longer had any clothes and that was my fault because I didn't try harder to get them back from the previous rehab when he was in jail. It was my fault we now had crappy insurance that didn't cover him walking into the facility of his choosing. He was mad because the only clothes he had were the ones on his back.  I told him he could be mad all he wants but I was NOT going to tolerate his disrespect toward me in my house. He was in my house and if he continued this tirade, then he could walk out the front door and not come back. I informed him that I was helping him. Oh, that started another verbal spew of crap from his mouth.  I gave him two choices. Walk out the front door right now or get in the car. Choose. One or the other. I had to stand my ground. I had to be tough. No backing down like in the past.  I know this is how addicts act when in the early stages of withdrawal.  I had to keep faith that this was the last time because doubt was seriously setting in again.

In the car after a few minutes he calmed somewhat. He wanted me to take him to pick up his backpack from the friend he was staying with before he ended up on the streets. Sorry, not an option. Not going there. I told him we were going straight to the facility, no detours. I fully expected another verbal assault. It didn't happen....he remained relatively calm and non combative. Weird. It gave me a slight glimmer of hope.   He asked if I could please (yes he said please) get him a pack of cigarettes before he went to detox.  I agreed.

We stopped at a Walgreen's on the way for 2 packs of cigarettes and 2 packs of sour gummy things. Back at the car he stood outside to smoke a cigarette while I texted updates to my husband and two best friends. Letting them know we were on the way; almost there. When I looked up from my phone, my son was gone. I didn't see him anywhere. Panic set in as I got out of the car and saw a bus letting people on and what looked like my son walking toward it just as I was making it around the car. Relief flooded my veins when I looked down and saw my son sitting on the curb in front of the car.  Oh hell, I thought he ran. Hope again.

He finished his cigarette and we headed to the facility. I walked him up to the front door with his grocery bag of belongings. The facility was warm and welcoming, almost homey. I gave my son a hug and told him I loved him more than words. With tears streaming down my face, I left.