here's a scary story. one told by my patient.
last night, i tried to breeze through my admission assessment with this patient, a crack fiend as he unabashedly described himself, when he wafted into what must be another drug induced episode of dementia.
he couldn't be withdrawing yet. it was too close for that from his last crack use. but suddenly he, sounding convincingly lucid, told me that despite being a crack fiend he never forgets to pay the rent of his mother's place back in georgia. that's great, i said. the shamness of my voice stunned me.
he looked at me reproachfully. i couldn't stare right back at him. let me tell you something, he began, his voice not as reproving as i thought it would be after my bullshitting him.
once, i sold drugs in a little town in georgia. i knew everybody and i mean everybody. i began fidgeting at the foot of his bed. i was thinking of my other medications to administer, the blood transfusion i was to start in the next room. but i stayed on, guiltily looking forward to his story.
then one day, the pastor of the pentecostal church from the other town came to score some fix. he thought i didn't recognize him but i did. when he realized he didn't have enough money in his billfold, he groped for an envelope stuffed with crinkly bills in his coat. church offerings, pastor? i tried to make light of it all. and the nigga just froze.
then what? i asked the patient. this time i sounded really sincere and very impatient. the patient smiled like i just gave him demerol.
well, after i told him everything was cool, the pastor chilled out and even snorted a line of that shit in my place. i asked him if he really needed to do this. the pastor replied he just needed a little boost. shit, a little boost, my ass.
as i walked out of the patient's room, i saw the sallow overhead lights filming like pee in the hallway. a patient, another drug seeker, in cane -- nothing wrong with his gait -- walking steadily towards the nurses' station to ask for an extra dose of morphine. an obese nursing attendant was half dozing in a chair in front of a patient's room.
a chill ran through me as i tried to ignore in my mind my patient's question. this he asked me as he finished off his story.
i am not spooking you, he said, but tell me how are you different from the pastor?