Dealing with a serious illness is challenging for anyone. So is addiction. So is being stuck in a toxic relationship. Dealing with all three—and not having a secure place to live—is virtually impossible.
For the last few months I’ve been helping my friend “S” make a fresh start.
I helped pay for a ride to a womens’ shelter on the other side of the state. And then, when her Medicaid ride didn’t show up, for a ride to a hospital in New York State to continue her chemotherapy. And for her prescriptions because the Medicaid rules were different there. And for methadone on the street because her paperwork got screwed up and she couldn’t get her daily dose over there. And for a cheap room for a week. And to see one of her kids who lived relatively nearby. Here’s a small sample of our seemingly endless text stream:
S: I need a little extra. Life seems to keep playing games with me.
DB: Did you receive what I just sent?
S: I just did.
DB: Good. Like I said, it's not just the money. It's the fact that you need more help than just money. I'm sure you're aware of that. I’m a friend not a social worker.
S: I know. There’s this girl who wants money for gas to take me to the pharmacy and home and I need money to get all the meds too. Last night was f—ked up. Her friend didn't know me so they would not let me stay with them. I can't believe I had to stay in the ATM building till this morning because of that. I can't keep stopping my meds because I'm getting sicker and sicker. I hate asking you for help I truly do I'm so sorry. I just want to get out of here please I'm so sick. I’m bleeding all over the place.
DB: Go to the ER! They have to see you.
(She went but they discharged her very early the next morning.)
S: I ran out of methadone yesterday so I'm on day 2 without it. I NEED TO BEG FOR HELP WITH THAT, IT'S THE BIGGEST THING IN MY LIFE BECAUSE I AM ALREADY SICK FROM THE CANCER TREATMENT AND MY BODY CAN'T TAKE WITHDRAWAL FROM THE METHADONE ALSO. I want to be stable in my life. I'm tired of crying myself to sleep every night and feeling like actually killing myself when I have to bother you for money…
Like I said, that’s just a small sample. You might not be very sympathetic if I told you how many children she’s had who are in foster care; or how many years she spent addicted to opiates; or if you ever saw her with her cardboard sign and backpack looking forlorn as she walks down the street; or slumped over in the back of a coffee shop with her estranged husband under the influence of something or other.
You might not be very sympathetic—and, think I’m a total idiot—if I told you how many times she didn’t do what she said she’d do if I would only give her the money to do it; or if I told you how many times she texted me urgently asking me to please please please respond right away even though I could wait in vain for days for a response from her about something important: like whether she was alive; or had found enough methadone to get through another day; or how she was feeling after her chemotherapy.
But you would be sympathetic if you saw her smile—missing teeth and all—laughing at her own situation; or if she ever said to you, “Dude, I mean this was serious, I was bleeding so hard…shaking so hard…hurting every which way so hard,” but still ending with a wry smile. Actually, you might be sympathetic if she just smiled at you and said, “Dude.”
Regardless, the constant demands on my bandwidth and cash flow became increasingly challenging. Methadone, gas money, pharmacy, food. Methadone, gas money, pharmacy, food. Methadone, gas money, pharmacy, food. Not to mention the room she could get for a week if she left the shelter. Or the cost of the photography class that she said would change her life. With a few minor exceptions, I didn’t feel I was trapped in a web of lies. But there was no question that I was trapped in a web of need. Almost all those needs could be met by various agencies and programs. But they can take weeks to find or set up. “S” didn’t have weeks.
So, I was very relieved when, a week ago, a relative 1000 miles away bought her a bus ticket and started setting up resources for continued treatment—both cancer and drug rehabilitation. The next evening, I helped her get a cheap hotel room right near the bus station so she could just walk over early the next morning.
If I ever see her again, I hope she will have found some comfort and joy down there. She deserves it.
Two days after I drafted this piece, she reappeared back in town, desperately needing money for…
I had to tell her, as kindly as I could, that I was done.