One Final Fix

      It’s been two months since I lied in that hospital bed. It seems much longer. It was my second day in the hospital; my second day of withdrawal from heroin.
     I checked into the hospital on a Monday morning because my doctor didn’t have any appointments available and my arms, hands, and feet were all infected from shooting dope. They had been for a few days. My doctor’s wife told me to go to the local emergency room so I did. I wasn’t too sure what I wanted that day. Part of me hoped that they would check me in and detox me but another part of me hoped that they’d give me an antibiotic and send me on my way. I hadn’t used since the night before and the cravings were kicking in.
     It turned out that the infections were far worse than I suspected, especially in my right hand. I sat in the ER for a few hours. I met with a host of professionals; nurses, doctors, even a hand surgeon. They began a combination of IV antibiotics; Clindamycin and Cipro. It took them about a half an hour to find a vein. They checked me into a private room on the fourth floor. It was more like a luxury hotel room than a hospital room but I felt so shitty that I couldn’t enjoy it.
     After a couple of days in there, my body was screaming for more heroin and my mind was in sync with my body. I called up my friend, Colleen, who I’d been getting high with. I told her that I needed a fix and fast. She told me she’d bring me some as soon as she could. While I was waiting, a social worker came up to visit me. She informed me that my IV antibiotic treatment had come to an end and I would continue on oral antibiotics. I was to be discharged from the hospital. I had two options. I could finish detoxing at another hospital or at the rehab center across the street that I’d been in a few months prior. I asked her for a few hours to contact and consult with my family. She gave me an hour. I immediately called up Coleen and told her to hurry. She was on her way and arrived within a few minutes. She handed me the bag of dope and I told her that I was headed back across the street to the rehab center that I had met her at a few months back. She asked me if I needed anything else and I sent her out to get me some smokes.
     I was still hooked up to the IV with the pole on wheels and I was wearing my hospital gown. I unplugged the IV machine and wheeled it with my left hand while I cuffed the dope in my right. I pulled my wallet out of my drawer and removed my library card and my two dollar bill. I’d have rather shot the dope, of course, but I didn’t have my works with me or any veins. I walked to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I emptied the dope onto the bathroom counter and created one big line with my library card. I rolled up the two dollar bill tightly, bent over, pressed my index finger against my left nostril to plug it and snorted up the smack in my right nostril. It burned a little but not enough to gag. I could tell that it was average quality from the taste dripping into my throat. I flushed the empty baggie, unrolled the bill, and licked the residue off of the library card and the two dollar bill. I went back to the drawer and put my card and bill back in my wallet. Then I plugged the IV machine back in and laid in bed. I didn’t catch a great buzz but I was satisfied. I hope that that day in the hospital will forever be the last time that I use narcotics.