"I just want to stop funding terrorism. I just want to pay taxes. Why can't I find some help?"
My husband's plan to go to a medical detox facility today fell through, as I'd suspected it might. He'd been very attached to his plan, attached to the idea that going away for awhile would be a magical cure for the things that aren't working out for him, would help him break his bad mental habits. The medical detox is a precursor to handling more difficult problems and going away for an extended period of time, and he'd been excited to take this first step.
I'd been encouraging him to call the facility. I'd called it months ago, during his last big relapse, and they'd told me in a brief conversation that they would take people in withdrawal who didn't have health insurance and help them through detox. I didn't get into any details. I came home, and I told him that there might be an option for a medical detox facility if he wanted to go to one, and he held that in his mind until today. He never called, never followed up...just assumed that he was going, today, to the facility, that they'd take him in, ease his withdrawal from methadone, gentle as a lamb, and that he'd be all better afterwards and ready to face his next challenge. It was sad and hard to watch, but I am proud of myself for staying out of his business. I have a really hard time staying out of his business.
He was devastated to find out that his methadone dose is too high and that the facility can only treat someone for three days, which won't even touch what he's going to go through if he cuts off his dose cold turkey. He's devastated that he was so cocksure that he was doing it right. He was devastated that he is finally trying to make some good decisions, and even when he's trying, he still doesn't quite get them straight. It's hard, hard, hard to watch.
But he is trying, and I am proud of him. I have readers who are damn close to angels, and one of you wrote to me not long ago letting me know that he and his wife had been reading, that he related to my husband, and mentioned that he worked as a liaison between addicts and treatment facilities. He offered me his number, and I passed it along to my husband. He used that number today, and hopefully, they'll find a good option together. I am proud of myself for staying out of it, proud of him for making a call and reaching out for help, and so, so grateful to have folks reading, listening, and wanting to help. It was one of the most lovely, serendipitous experiences I've had...Thank you.
And honestly, I am glad to have the rehab-searching work off my job description as resident codependent in my husband's life. It is frustrating. I've spent too much time calling and calling and calling and being passed along and passed along and passed along. I am sorry that he has to do it now, but it's his. It's not mine. It's my job to be supportive and to understand, but it's not my work to do it for him. It is fascinating to me how long it has taken me to comprehend that these things aren't my job.
