4 fireme-en, 3 paramedics, 2 police officers and a guy that they call fire chief.......
I guess that title is our family anthem right now. It's our version of the 12 days of Christmas aka the days of life with Scott.
I came out to ask Scott to be quiet because he was (as usual) manic and still up at 3 in the morning. To my surprise, he wasn't drilling on anything...he had been sneezing. lol So, I said "God bless you" and went back to bed. An hour later the bedroom door flies open and he comes flying in, startling me awake. I say "What are you doing?"
"I found their power supply..." *very slurred, almost incoherent speech* Then he starts litterally trying to pull the closet door apart....pulling and wrenching at all the wood trying to bust the door apart.
"What the hell are you doing???" *more angry now and jumping out of bed*
"I'm getting at their power supply" *he stops and shines a flashlight into the closet and moves his head trying to peer around God-only-know-what he's seeing in his mind.
"What medication have you taken?"
"What are you talking about???" *incoherent*
I go into the office and look for his pill boxes (that we just filled and set out). They're empty, having been dumped out on his desk and only a few various pills are left scattered on the desk....and several pills that I can't identify. I ask him several times what pills those are and he stumbles around pretending to look in imaginary places that only he can see. I finally give up on him and grap all of his pill bottles and the containers and head to the bedroom. I lock the door behind me just in case.
Needless to say he was way too stoned on what overdose he took to think about bothering me...he could barely handle himself and whatever imaginary world he was in. I sat on the bed and the pill containers that had been full for the week were now totally empty. I had a couple of pills that were laying on the desk (like I said...several of them that I don't recognize). I start filling back up the slots to see what we have and almost everything's gone. EVERYTHING. Even brand new scripts that we just got were 3/4 gone.
I go back out to check on him and he's leaning on the counter with his head hung...I'm wondering if he's sleeping but I can hear him still talking to himself. I then hear water running and look in the bathroom and he had left the sink running and it was overflowing. So I clean that up and go call the Nord Center's crisis line. They take all of the information and tell me to ask him if it would be ok to go get checked out medically (yeah right). So I do and he mumbles "I guess so." So I have to hang up and call 911....something I'm really freakin tired of having to do....this is ridiculous! But I digress...I tell them what happened and what the Nord Center said and after asking me basic questions they ask me things like "is he breathing?" I respond "well, for now anyways...he's pretty far gone and I don't know what he took or how much."
By this time they have me on a 3-way call between the ambulance and the police station. The officer asks me name, I tell her and she says......"ooooooh. *cricket cricket* this is Scott." *DUM-DUM-DUMMMMMMM* (Cue the scary music). Yeah, I guess they know him now. So they decide to send their officers out here too....and the fire department. It was a big party....me in my robe with bed-head, 4 firemen, their fire chief, 3 (or more) paramedics, and a few cops...all in my dining room at 4:30 am. I'm trying to "shoosh" this crowd with not much luck because I can only imagine how scared my kids would be walking out into this mess. I can only imagine what my neighbors think seeing (all with flashing lights on mind you!) a few cop cruisers, firetruck, police chiefs truck and an ambulance surrounding my house. *rolling eyes*
I'm trying to get Scott dressed like a baby because he can't even do that he's so looped. So about four of them held him up while he pretty much drug his feet out of the house trying to walk but unable to.
The hospital is supposed to call me when they know something. The one thing he was able to get out coherently was "you aren't coming with me?" I simply responded "No. I have a family to take care of Scott." And they took him away.
He looked so hurt by that, but I feel "too bad!" My life is going to QUIT stopping whenever he does something STUPID like this. He's sick, yes. But he has every capability and resource to manage it well and fankly, he should be EMBARRASSED to let people know that he's not managing himself well. I told him yesterday, "you don't want to make a name for yourself in these hospitals Scott....IT'S NOT NORMAL TO HAVE TO GO IN FOR PSYCH EVALUATION OVER AND OVER AND OVER. MANAGE YOURSELF!!! GET IT RIGHT!!! BE STABLE!!!!" He thinks I'm unsympathetic, and maybe he's right. I'm willing to stand with you and assist you as you take care of yourself, but I'm not going to coddle a co-dependent, lazy, won't-manage-himself grown-ass man! Handle your shit!!!! Unfortunately that's become one of my mantras lately.....HANDLE YOUR SHIT!!!
God might make the way, but faith is an action that requires MOTION. He heals someone and tells them to TAKE UP YOUR MAT AND WALK (action!), heals the blind and tells them to GO WASH THEIR EYES (action!). He never said to keep on laying there in the same sick position you've always been in and let other people cater to your lazy butt....no!!! HANDLE YOUR SHIT!!! (my words, not Jesus' obviously. lol)
So I sit here exhausted after the few hours of sleep that I got wondering once again what to do now. I'm praying that they keep him for a while. I really don't even care if he misses Christmas...that's really ok with me. I need the peace here and the angst gone. COME WELL OR DON'T COME AT ALL. (my other mantra).
*sigh*
I came out to ask Scott to be quiet because he was (as usual) manic and still up at 3 in the morning. To my surprise, he wasn't drilling on anything...he had been sneezing. lol So, I said "God bless you" and went back to bed. An hour later the bedroom door flies open and he comes flying in, startling me awake. I say "What are you doing?"
"I found their power supply..." *very slurred, almost incoherent speech* Then he starts litterally trying to pull the closet door apart....pulling and wrenching at all the wood trying to bust the door apart.
"What the hell are you doing???" *more angry now and jumping out of bed*
"I'm getting at their power supply" *he stops and shines a flashlight into the closet and moves his head trying to peer around God-only-know-what he's seeing in his mind.
"What medication have you taken?"
"What are you talking about???" *incoherent*
I go into the office and look for his pill boxes (that we just filled and set out). They're empty, having been dumped out on his desk and only a few various pills are left scattered on the desk....and several pills that I can't identify. I ask him several times what pills those are and he stumbles around pretending to look in imaginary places that only he can see. I finally give up on him and grap all of his pill bottles and the containers and head to the bedroom. I lock the door behind me just in case.
Needless to say he was way too stoned on what overdose he took to think about bothering me...he could barely handle himself and whatever imaginary world he was in. I sat on the bed and the pill containers that had been full for the week were now totally empty. I had a couple of pills that were laying on the desk (like I said...several of them that I don't recognize). I start filling back up the slots to see what we have and almost everything's gone. EVERYTHING. Even brand new scripts that we just got were 3/4 gone.
I go back out to check on him and he's leaning on the counter with his head hung...I'm wondering if he's sleeping but I can hear him still talking to himself. I then hear water running and look in the bathroom and he had left the sink running and it was overflowing. So I clean that up and go call the Nord Center's crisis line. They take all of the information and tell me to ask him if it would be ok to go get checked out medically (yeah right). So I do and he mumbles "I guess so." So I have to hang up and call 911....something I'm really freakin tired of having to do....this is ridiculous! But I digress...I tell them what happened and what the Nord Center said and after asking me basic questions they ask me things like "is he breathing?" I respond "well, for now anyways...he's pretty far gone and I don't know what he took or how much."
By this time they have me on a 3-way call between the ambulance and the police station. The officer asks me name, I tell her and she says......"ooooooh. *cricket cricket* this is Scott." *DUM-DUM-DUMMMMMMM* (Cue the scary music). Yeah, I guess they know him now. So they decide to send their officers out here too....and the fire department. It was a big party....me in my robe with bed-head, 4 firemen, their fire chief, 3 (or more) paramedics, and a few cops...all in my dining room at 4:30 am. I'm trying to "shoosh" this crowd with not much luck because I can only imagine how scared my kids would be walking out into this mess. I can only imagine what my neighbors think seeing (all with flashing lights on mind you!) a few cop cruisers, firetruck, police chiefs truck and an ambulance surrounding my house. *rolling eyes*
I'm trying to get Scott dressed like a baby because he can't even do that he's so looped. So about four of them held him up while he pretty much drug his feet out of the house trying to walk but unable to.
The hospital is supposed to call me when they know something. The one thing he was able to get out coherently was "you aren't coming with me?" I simply responded "No. I have a family to take care of Scott." And they took him away.
He looked so hurt by that, but I feel "too bad!" My life is going to QUIT stopping whenever he does something STUPID like this. He's sick, yes. But he has every capability and resource to manage it well and fankly, he should be EMBARRASSED to let people know that he's not managing himself well. I told him yesterday, "you don't want to make a name for yourself in these hospitals Scott....IT'S NOT NORMAL TO HAVE TO GO IN FOR PSYCH EVALUATION OVER AND OVER AND OVER. MANAGE YOURSELF!!! GET IT RIGHT!!! BE STABLE!!!!" He thinks I'm unsympathetic, and maybe he's right. I'm willing to stand with you and assist you as you take care of yourself, but I'm not going to coddle a co-dependent, lazy, won't-manage-himself grown-ass man! Handle your shit!!!! Unfortunately that's become one of my mantras lately.....HANDLE YOUR SHIT!!!
God might make the way, but faith is an action that requires MOTION. He heals someone and tells them to TAKE UP YOUR MAT AND WALK (action!), heals the blind and tells them to GO WASH THEIR EYES (action!). He never said to keep on laying there in the same sick position you've always been in and let other people cater to your lazy butt....no!!! HANDLE YOUR SHIT!!! (my words, not Jesus' obviously. lol)
So I sit here exhausted after the few hours of sleep that I got wondering once again what to do now. I'm praying that they keep him for a while. I really don't even care if he misses Christmas...that's really ok with me. I need the peace here and the angst gone. COME WELL OR DON'T COME AT ALL. (my other mantra).
*sigh*
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