Addictions

I started my new job this week and it has given me lots to think about. I'd like to tell stories about my patients but in the interests of keeping their confidence I've changed their names, in case you wonder.
The place I work at is a medical detox facility that helps people withdraw from drug and alcohol addictions. Most 'clients' stay for a week or less and although they are free to leave at any time, the place is locked up and under pretty tight regulations. In the morning I key in a password and I monitor the security cameras and try to keep pretty strict boundaries. There are times when it is alright to let people into your life and trust them completely, and there are other times when you have to keep a bit of distance. For example, one of my clients this week has court charges pending for sexual assault against children.
I struggle to look in his eyes and say, this is a human being, created in God's image, who I am called to love and respect and offer him dignity as he suffers. We are all working through addictions in some way or another. Some are just more on the surface than others.
One of my clients came into the nursing station yesterday and I brought him into the examining room. Ben is only 22 and was brought to the hospital by police last week. On our checklist of illegal drugs he's taking just about every one. His family is all messed up and he was trying to committ suicide so he was put on a suicide watch.
"I'm feeling terrible." Ben told me.
He sat on the examining table with his head hung over, his face pale and sweating and his hands shaking.
"I need something... Can you give me some more Valium?"
I took his pulse and blood pressure and temperature and all that, and assessed several parameters that help us determine his reaction to the withdrawl. I had already given him a sedative a couple of hours before and felt that he wasn't as badly off as he felt- the big issue was his psychological dependance.
"Ben, you're used to popping a pill or having a drink everytime you feel crummy." I said to him.
He nodded. "Yeah, I just know that drugs would settle me down right now. I don't even want them, but I don't know what else to do."
"And you've gotten into that habit of using them to cope." I continued. "But you can't do that anymore, right? You need to find other ways to cope with that feeling. What do you think are other things you could do to help when you feel that way, instead of taking a pill?"
He shrugged. "I dunno... listen to music. But I get sick of that. There's nothing on TV. I've read all the magazines I can."
"What about exercise?" I asked. "Sometimes a run can help... or watching a movie, or eating, or praying..."
"What do you do to help cope?" He asked me.
I reached over and closed the examining room door quietly.
"It's my belief, and that of the other staff here, that the reason people do drugs and alcohol is because they have a hole deep inside of them that they're trying to fill."
"That's exactly how I feel." Ben interjected. "It's like there's this hole in my heart that I keep trying to satisfy."
"I'm techinically not supposed to talk to you about my personal beliefs," I told him, "But we've all got that hole inside of us. I do too. And the only way it was filled in me was by experiencing the love of God and having a relationship with him. People try to fill that hole with all sorts of things, but the only real way is to know God's love for you, and that no matter what you've done, he loves you unconditionally."
"My mom is a christian." He told me, "and sometimes I listen to worship music on my walkman and it really calms me down. But I don't want to believe in it just because she does. I guess I haven't yet found that for myself."
"Have you ever prayed and talked to God?" I asked him. "Why don't you try?"
"I'd like to." He told me.
We talked for some time longer and then he got up to go out, his eyes bright.
"I feel like I hit my rock bottom." He told me. "And I feel like things are getting better. I have reasons to live and I don't want to die anymore."
As Ben left I looked tentatively at the other nurses to see if they had overheard our conversation. I don't want to get fired from my job, you know? But 7 days of medicating someone so they come off of alcohol is not the answer to the hole in their heart. I feel like if I just did that I would be putting a bandaid on a big, gaping wound. I want to give them hope. I want to really love them.
I heard a funny noise in the hallway and I rushed out in time to see Christie, a high-strung skinny street lady, projectile vomit all over the floor. Her roomate was a middle-aged mother that has had her life destroyed by alcohol and is trying to put it back together, and she was very distressed.
"Oh, you poor thing! You're really not feeling well, are you?"
I rushed to help her. Sometimes showing love is a more practical thing, and I settled her in bed with gravol and water and told her everything was going to be okay. I don't know if it will be, but I know that it could be, so that's what I say. I know that 97% of the people who come through here end up back on drugs or alcohol. My hope is that I can be part of helping that 3%, yes, but also for the 97% I want to love them as much as I can while they are here and if they don't choose to grab ahold of the hope I offer them, I'll still love them.