Why I have PTSD - 2

This is the second of a series of posts about my son, Parrish, his addictions and his mental illness.  These posts chronicle his latest crisis, how it affect both of us.  The series starts here.

At the end of my previous post, it was Monday, and we  had been back to River Edge. The nurse there had created a plan for us.  We just had to wait until Wednesday to get Parrish admitted. 

In addition to his alcoholism, Parrish is addicted to Ativan.  When we left the hospital, his MD handed him a fistful of prescriptions, including 90 Ativan tablets at 2 mg each.  

I had the prescriptions filled, planning to keep them and dole them out.

Parrish demanded that I give him the drugs, asserting that they were legally his property. I turned them over.  Parrish has never been violent with me, but he has with others, and in his condition I didn't want to take a chance.

When we got to my house, he seemed to be doing well.  I found an AA meeting not far from here, and I insisted that we go together.  We had small plates for supper, and at 7:00 PM we got in the car and left for the meeting.  

As we approached the meeting place, I realized that Parrish was impaired.  It would be more accurate to say  he was gassed.  His head was rolling around on his shoulders.  His eyes were hooded because he couldn't keep them open.

I tried to get him into the meeting, but it became clear to me that he was getting worse, his drugs of choice - beer and Ativan - hadn't fully kicked in.  I said nothing, pretending everything was okay.

Once we were back at my house, I had him eat something else and he went to bed, saying he was tired.  I hung back on the deck, drinking decaf and smoking.  I wondered if this crisis would be the one to send me over the edge.

I wept into my hands and tried to disappear.  Not only could I not disappear, I was suffering all the symptoms of my "syndrome" that no one can name.

This event exacerbated my memory loss, my compromised fine motor skills, and my tenuous balance.  It affected my judgement.  

I felt exposed and in danger.  I felt as though I were bolted to the chair, trapped and waiting for the next crisis.  When I did get to my feet, it was a struggle to make my way to my room.

It was 11:00 PM, and I looked in on Parrish.  I was rolling restlessly around the bed, and he was awake.  I reminded him that the security system was armed and not to go outside.  I had been in bed 30 minutes when the alarm sounded. I found him coming back through the deck door.  Scolding him was not an option.  He was too impaired to reason with.  

I put him back to bed, encouraging him to stay there.

At midnight, Parrish banged on my door, exclaiming that he needed me to help get "all those people" out of our house.  He was clearly having hallucinations, and he was reeling around, his trousers were wet with urine.
Again, slurred speech and hooded eyes  

I called 911. 

I tried to get him to go back to bed, but he wouldn't stay.  Instead, while I was getting dressed, he staggered around the house crashing into the shower door in his bath, knocking items off tables, falling into my bathroom where I was getting ready to leave.  It's a miracle he didn't hit his head.

The ambulance arrived, and after some discussion, the EMTs strapped him onto a stretcher.  I searched his room and found he had taken approximately 60 mg. of Ativan. (Which he stole from me).  I also found several empty beer bottles. 

Yes, he had found the key to open the utility room in the garage.  I had it hidden in my underwear drawer.  I suppose he did all that while I was on the deck.

The ambulance left for the hospital, and I followed a few minutes later.  I had to take time to reassure my frightened dogs.

There's more.......



© 2012 cj Schlottman

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