beautiful, funny, sad & true

Thursday night I talked on the phone to my friend, and she said that she’s feeling good enough for a visit. Thursday night I had a dream that I can’t recall the details of, but it involved her, and we were consciously making an effort to be as close to each other as possible. We would walk in various places, slowly, with one of our hands on the other’s back or shoulder. We would sit somewhere, either to rest or to admire a particular view, and our legs touched because we sat so close and turned toward each other. It was a very beautiful dream, and much more based in reality, in a way that the vast majority of my dreams are not.

I went to visit her last night. After a long hug, we sat and held hands for two hours. We talked about big things and small things, sad things and funny things. We talked a lot about this experience. She had some questions, and so did I. I tried to limit the discussion about my own shock and pain, because I didn’t want to distress her further. There will be plenty of time for that discussion in the future. She seems to be making good progress, but she’ll be there for a while. I’m going to visit her again tonight.

Monday was a day of huge leaps of recovery for my friend. The drugs she took seem to have pretty much cleared out of her system on that day, and since then she’s been talking, and crying, and walking a little, and slowly but surely getting her strength back. She was able to use the phone yesterday, and we had the chance to talk for about half an hour. She sounds and seems like her usual self, but she’s still got a very long road ahead of her. Some of the things we talked about were heart-wrenching.

I found myself feeling guilty that I hadn’t found her earlier. She had been lying there not for an hour or two like I had guessed, but for more than a day. That broke my heart. Someone told me this morning that “you never know what good is going to come out of all this,” and while it may feel like a hollow platitude, at least it’s better than some of the strange or even hurtful things people have already said to me.

I finally got the chance to talk with CincinnatiFriend, whose opinions I value more than anyone’s, especially in matters like these. She put it into perfect perspective by saying that the only people we can help are the people who want to be helped. If they’re intent on harming themselves, they’ll find ways to do it, and they can be very crafty about hiding the warning signs. She also said, essentially, that the only way we can deal with difficult things is to do what we can with the information that we have available to us. Hindsight is always 20/20, and we shouldn’t use our newer knowledge to beat ourselves up later.

The biggest truth of all, though, is that I’m just incredibly thankful that my friend is alive, and that she’s in the right place, both geographically and emotionally, to get the help that she needs.

My friend is alive and slowly but surely recovering, but her condition was worse than we originally thought. She spent the first night and most of the second day on a respirator because she couldn’t breathe on her own, but she’s off it now. She mumbles incoherently, still unable to talk or follow commands. She has to be kept on sedatives, and under pretty much constant supervision, because otherwise she tries to pull out her IV tubes. She won’t be able to speak or have any visitors for a few more days. The doctors won’t know the full extent of her condition until after the drugs have run their course, and she comes back to full consciousness.

I’ve mostly been staying home, except when it’s absolutely necessary to leave, for food or something. I’ve found that everyone has their own way of dealing (or not dealing) with this subject, and communicating about it. Advice, especially from people who don’t know my friend and what our relationship has been like, is not welcome at this point. It also makes me cringe, I’m not sure why, when people tell me, “Wow, you’re a really good friend.” It’s okay, you know? People don’t know what to say. They’re trying to help, but it’s just not helping.

The problem, I think, has something to do with language. Language is, at best, a poor substitute for actions and feelings, especially concerning subjects like spirituality, or death, or delicate emotions. As Joseph Campbell once said, “There are the things we think about, and there are the things we do, and then there are the things we talk about.” Language is the only tool we have, though, so that’s what we have to use, despite its shortcomings and flaws.

When it comes to difficult or confusing emotional matters, everyone has their own way of coping, and of sharing. It also seems that people tend to do and say what they think they need to do and say, instead of just asking the suffering person what he or she needs. The best thing people have said is, “I’m here, just say the word if you need anything.” My mom had plenty of things to say, but she’s a bit clueless (“Wow, you and your creative friends; such highs and lows. . .”). No, mom, this is a person who is a true survivor, and who has lived ten lives in her thirty-five years, and experienced things that most people, thankfully, will never have to experience. She and I have been there for each other when no one else was. I never imagined that I’d have to be there for her in this way.

When I go out, I see places and things that remind me of her, and that brings a lump to my throat or tears to my eyes. I’m easily distractable, and I’m not a very good driver when I’m in such an emotional state. So I stay home, and I listen to the bird songs in the air, or the wind blowing through the trees, or the rain falling. I check my e-mail a million times a day, in the hopes for another update. I haven’t really been listening to much music, and I haven’t been able to play any instruments either. Today I made a real breakfast of scrambled eggs with pesto and a tiny bit of spicy brown mustard mixed in. I’ve run out of a few things, like fruit juice, so I need to walk to the store again today.

Yesterday I tried to hang a big mirror to open up my dark living room, but it was so heavy that it pulled the nail out of the wall and crashed to the ground, destroying the frame in the process. With any luck I’ll be able to find another one that I like soon.

I’m still trying to decide whether or not I can handle going to work tomorrow. If I feel the way I do today, I’ll probably stay home again.

My closest friend tried to kill herself last night. I was the one who found her and called for help.

She told me two days ago that she’d be going into the hospital, and asked if I could come pick up her cat. When my calls and text messages and e-mails got no response, I thought she was at a doctor visit, or more likely in the hospital already.

I went to her apartment office after work yesterday, to get the keys and explain the situation. I’m her emergency contact person, so that was a simple enough process. I took the elevator upstairs to the fourth floor. When I put the key in and turned it, I found that the door was already unlocked. That was odd. She’s always very concerned about her home and her car being locked. I walked in and immediately noticed that her apartment was in complete disarray. There was a huge pile of clothes on the floor of the bathroom, including a bunch of shirts and a belt hanging from the bent shower rod. The kitchen was full of dirty dishes and fresh fruit. It looked like she’d just come back from the grocery store.

I walked into the living room and saw a person lying on the floor. It couldn’t be her, I thought. She’s at the hospital. After a dumbfounded second I realized that it was her, and feared the worst. She was lying on her side, with her legs on the blanket and her shoulder on the floor. The arm that was trapped underneath her was blue. Her hair was covering her face, and when I pushed it back, her skin looked waxy, and her eyes and lips were extremely dry. Tears came to my eyes as I said her name, told her it was me, told her she was safe. I touched her back and hip to gently shake her. There was no movement or sound. I shook her a little bit harder. Nothing. I felt her neck for a pulse. It was there, and very fast. THANK GOD. I tried to roll her over, and she moaned quietly. THANK GOD. Her eyes opened slightly, then closed again. I called 9-1-1.

They asked if there was any evidence of pills or drugs. I looked around and found some on the counter in the kitchen; two empty bottles, one Ambien and the other Seraquil. She’d mixed them together in a wine glass with some water and drunk some of the cloudy white mixture. The glass was on the counter, still half full.

After hanging up the phone, I went over to kneel beside her. I stroked her back and hair, and said things I hoped would be reassuring, while I waited for the paramedics to arrive. Her cat saw us both on the floor and thought it was cuddle time. She walked over to me, brushed her body against me, and laid on her side by my knee, purring and exposing her belly so that I could pet her. That made me cry even harder.

A few minutes later, the three paramedics arrived. They instantly knew what to do, and were absolute professionals. They asked for her name, and asked what happened. I showed them the empty pill containers and the half-full wine glass. They asked if I knew how long she had been there. I did not, but I guessed maybe an hour or so. They took charge, telling her in loud voices what they were going to do. “[Friend’s name]? I need you to keep your arm relaxed, okay? You might feel a little pin prick, okay? You’re gonna be fine. Just relax, okay [friend’s name]? You’re doing great.” The two firefighters and two policemen arrived soon after. They put on blue latex gloves and inspected the small apartment. I sat against the wall and stayed out of the way. The cat was terrified, and curled up underneath a chair. The policeman picked up the wine glass, held it aloft for a second, and then said to everyone and no one, “Heh. Looks like she made herself a little cocktail.” The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Then the person with the stretcher arrived, and she moaned loudly as the paramedics easily lifted her limp, frail body onto the stretcher and wheeled her out. I stayed behind for about half an hour after that, not knowing what to do or think, crying and trying to comfort the cat at the same time.

I got in my car and drove home with a lump in my throat to e-mail her family. Her sister wrote back right away, asking for more information, and then she wrote back later in the evening to tell me more and more harrowing details. I called a handful friends of mine who know her to tell them what had happened.

She’s alive, and slowly but surely stabilizing, as I’m writing this. She can’t talk yet. She can’t breathe on her own yet, but apparently that’s normal after someone takes that much Ambien. She may have to be on the ventilator for a few days until the drugs run their course. No friend visits for a while. Her vital signs are good. I think she’s going to pull through.

I cried myself to sleep last night, and stayed home from work today, crying and lying in my bed in a state of shock. I backed out of my gig last night, and backed out of the one tonight too. I have to go to her place today to take care of the cat and get her to a pet sitter. It’s going to be very hard to go into that apartment again.

I hope this is something that you never have to deal with.

This week has been very strange and emotional. Been to visit MostRecentExGirlfriend in the hospital a couple of times, and I’m planning to go again today. Suffice it to say that I feel very churned up by all of this. She’ll be out in another day or two, and we’ll see how she fares. I have all my fingers crossed, my legs crossed, even my eyes are crossed hoping that she’ll be okay once she’s out and on her own again.

In other and better news, TossedIn and I did more geocaching yesterday afternoon. There are lots of good pictures to come. Mine are ready, but T also took a bunch, and I want to be able to include them too. Well, okay, here’s one:

Portland has a whole bunch of water storage reservoirs scattered throughout the parks in the city. There are two or three in Mount Tabor Park, and then there are others in Washington Park too. This one is in Washington Park, and it’s empty. I’ve lived here for twelve years, and this was the first time I’ve ever seen one empty. I don’t know if that means we’re having some sort of water shortage, or if the tank is just being cleaned or something. The angles and shading caught my eye, so I took a bunch of similar shots.

Came home, ate dinner and laid low for a while, then T and I met up again to go see the movie The King of Kong. Totally brilliant and hilarious; I recommend it whole-heartedly. You don’t even have to be a video-game geek to enjoy it, but it will certainly help if you are one. It’s more about the nature of competition, and the sacrifices people make, and the lengths to which they will go to be on top. Classic line, that won’t ruin it for you: “Some people waste their whole life trying to get in [to the Guinness Book of World Records].” Yup, great movie. Loved it.

Gotta clean up and make another hospital visit now.