Imagine My Surprise! (33)

In which Kurt kicks heroin

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33. Welcome Back to Sober January

I knew what I had to do the moment I woke up the next day. It was a little past noon and I sat up in my own bed, already putting my plan together. The bed was empty, the house was empty. I had made it home from the party in one piece, somehow. And I had a plan.

I was going to kick.

I was going to detox, and I’d do it right at home with a little help from my friends.

I made a plan to return to Sober January.

Sober January, you ask? For over 20 years (way before the Month of Darkness) every January, I would go cold turkey, no drugs, booze, or cigarettes. I’d start on January 2nd and take January 26 (birthday) off for good behavior. Sober January was a way to hit reset and let my body and liver recover from the year’s worth of damage. I had quit the Sober January tradition when I quit everything else positive in my life. Now I would dust off SoJan, as we called it, and I would get off the smack.

While this sounded like the talk of a desperate addict, I committed my mind to it.

I took a chance and called Dolly.

“I have the feeling I’m going to regret answering this call,” she said.

“I’m kicking and I need your help.”

There was a pause. “You can’t just call me and say this shit.” I could hear odd background noises.

“Where are you?”

“Bi-Rite.” There was the metal clang of cans in a shopping cart. “Kurt, call someone else.”

“Please, Dolly. You’re a nurse. And I’m totally serious. I’m kicking and I don’t want to go to a hospital to do it.” There was a longer pause. “Hello?”

“I’m here. Look, I’m sure you’re serious. And I actually don’t doubt you can go through with it because when you set your mind to something, you’ll do it. But you’re probably going to relapse again in a couple months.”

“Wow. That’s fucking encouraging. Look, I’ll never know unless I try. I’m going to do it and I’ll be a lot more successful if you help me. You helped your cousin — and that guy in Western Addition with the pink top-knot.”

“Kurt, I’m not coming back to you.”

“I’m not asking you to come back to me. I’m asking for your assistance. Please.”

“Goddammit.” Then I heard her say to someone: “Can I leave this here for a second?” Then she was out on the sidewalk, 17th Street. I could hear it. I drank the large glass of water I’d smartly left next to the bed. “When are you planning to do this?” she asked. She lit a cigarette.

“January 2nd.”

“That’s smart. Oh, hold it — is this like that Sober January thing you used to talk about but never did anymore?”

“Exactly. Except I’m doing it.”

“Fuck, Kurt. Okay. So, you have eight days.”

“Oh, my god. Thank you, Dolly.”

“I’m going to send you a list of supplies to get.”

“You are the fucking best.”

“There’re a couple great websites. Also, you’ll need a full timer to babysit you. I can’t do that — I won’t do that.”

“Of course. I’ll get Brian.”

“It’s going to take you most of January.”

“Perfect.”

She made a frustrated groan. “Goddammit, Kurt. I shouldn’t help you. I’m not coming back to you. Get that straight.”

“I don’t want that. I mean, I don’t expect that. I just need someone who knows what they’re doing. I’ll be eternally thankful.”

“Whatever, Kurt. Look, right now for the next eight days, you’re going to want to go hard until January, you know, like a last hurrah — but don’t do it. Don’t die before you do this. That happens. Please keep it together until January; I don’t want to see you in a box.”

“I’ll take it easy. I’ll get supplies. I’ll set it up with Brian.”

“Give me Brian’s phone number. I’ll need to talk to him.”

“I’ll text it to you.”

“Goddammit, Kurt. Don’t fuck this up. You’ll get no second chance with me to do this.”

“I know — I won’t fuck it up.”

“Call me at the end of the month if you’re really still interested and this isn’t just you being high.”

“I will, and I’m pretty sure this isn’t just me being high. I just woke up.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. Just call me on the 30th.”

“Okay.”

“I reserve the fucking right to back out, Kurt.”

“Okay.”

“Goddammit. Bye.”

“Bye, Dolly. Thanks — ”

The call ended, cutting me off. All bullshit aside, Dolly was a good one. Very smart for leaving me. I did her wrong, her and so many others. What an asshole.

Anyhow, I called my buddy Brian and set things in motion. I gave him the low-down and offered him a generous payout. He didn’t want to have anything to do with it, even with the money, but also he would do anything to get me off the junk, so he agreed.

I had no idea what I was getting into. I had only Hollywood notions of what getting off heroin was like. Trainspotting, Man with the Golden Arm, Basketball Diaries. There was no story about it, fiction or nonfiction, that made it sound pretty.

A couple days after Christmas, I called a meeting to tell the crew. Franks, Poindexter and the new guy, August, sat around the big dining table. All were skeptical.

“No offense, man, but I’ll believe it when I see it,” Franks said.

“Ye of little faith.”

August glanced at Poins, almost as though he was making sure it was okay if he spoke. Poins nodded affirmatively. August, who had still not grown very comfortable with me, said, “So… you’re different when you’re clean? I never can tell when you’re even high.” The tonal quality of his voice was that of a teenager, always sounding out of place at the big kids’ table. Again, there was the glance at Poins to see if what he said was within bounds. Poins nodded. This kid might’ve been a drug dealer, but he looked like a techie intern.

Franks said, “Straight or high — he’s always kind of a dick.”

“With different levels of sleepy,” Poins added.

“Yeah,” August said. “I’ve never tried the heroin. As far as I can tell, it just sort of makes you tired and a little sweaty.”

“Want to try?” I teased.

“No, thank you.”

Franks went back on topic. “So, you’re going to do it here. Do we need to babysit you?”

“No, Dolly is going to help me. And Brian.”

“Dolly?” Franks asked. “Wow.”

“Brian?” August inquired.

“Brian’s an old friend of mine.”

Franks and Poins exchanged a look. “Great,” Franks said.

“Look, you guys. Brian’s going to be here full time for a few weeks. You are bound to bump into each other and you are going to get along. If any of you fuck with him, I will cut you loose. He’s closer than family.” I looked at Poins directly when I said this, then at Franks. “Clear?”

Franks put his hands up in a surrender gesture. “Hey, I have no problem with Brian.”

“Right,” I said. “Well, that’s good. You definitely will have no problem with Brian.”

“Okay,” he said.

“Poins?”

“Sure, holmes.”

“It’s settled, then. I’m starting January 2nd. Franks — I’m handing all the H over to you. It’s gotta be out of the house.”

“What about the blow?”

“The bulk of that can stay. Not as much a problem.”

Poins grinned. “You gonna wear a diaper?”

“What?” I asked.

“A diaper, holmes. My cousin wore a diaper when he kicked cuz he shit himself.”

Franks and August both groaned.

“I don’t know about that,” I replied. “But I’ll do what I have to do.”

This was comedy gold to Franks. “That’s fucking rich, man. Brilliant. Diapers. Whatever I’ve said about Brian, I know now he’s a good man.”

“Shut it, Franks.”

“Should I get you a walker and a bedpan?”

Poins piped in, “Depends.”

“Wow. A rare instance of funny from Poins.” I stood and a grin crept across my face. “Fuck you both.” On the way to get the whiskey, I added, “After I get through with you, you’ll both need a walker and a bedpan.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ll never try heroin now,” August said.

~~•~~

I had my last drink and last fix on New Year’s Day. It was tradition that I’d start Sober January on the 2nd of the month because New Year’s Eve parties generally went through the next day. With all that in mind, the wheels had been set in motion, and Brian and Dolly had been in communication to coordinate their efforts.

Brian recruited another mutual friend, Rob, with whom to tag-team my care and oversight. These guys were good old friends of mine who, despite our disconnection of the last few years, were as close to me as brothers, and they could literally be trusted with my life. They arrived in the afternoon on the first of January; Brian’s minivan was filled with a load of supplies from Costco that Dolly told him to get. I met them in the driveway. I hadn’t seen Brian in probably six months, but I hadn’t seen Rob in maybe a year and half or more. Rob’s reaction was immediate; he stopped dead as I greeted them in the driveway.

I’m not sure what Rob thought he was getting into when he said yes to Brian, but his preconceptions clearly came unraveled when he got a glimpse of me in my current state. Like everyone else, he’d known me as a 220-pound heavyweight, but I was about forty pounds lighter than I had been two years earlier.

“Holy shit, Houston,” he said, looking me up and down. I was in sweats and a long sleeve t-shirt with a couple days of beard growth. “What happened to you? Where’d you go? I thought there was a homeless guy in the driveway.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why you’re here. Thanks.” I was embarrassed and couldn’t muster a witty retort. Still, he embraced me and looked at my face.

“Looks like we are just in time. You’ll be okay, buddy.”

Rob’s a funny guy, basic and straightforward, pretty easygoing, hard to rattle. Worked as a union glazier for most of his adult life. He was built solid, bald, white, with hands made of sandpaper-coated iron.

Brian tugged on my ill-fitting t-shirt. “After we clean you up, we need to fatten you up. The world isn’t right when I outweigh you.”

I examined a package of adult diapers, slightly horrified. “Is this really necessary?”

Brian grinned. “Dolly’s orders. She said sometimes you might not be able to make it to the toilet in time.”

“What have I gotten myself into?”

“Exactly, Kurt.” He leveled a gaze at me and said slowly, “What have you gotten yourself into?”

After we stowed the supplies, we got ourselves some drinks and waited for Dolly. We caught up with each other. While I’d gone criminal and become addicted, Brian and Rob had domesticated. Brian had a daughter; Rob had a wife and a pet rabbit.

At five o’clock, the doorbell rang, and there was Dolly.

She looked good, sleek brown hair drawn back, sunglasses, blue jeans and a green sweater. In her arms was a large bag of still more supplies.

“Well, look at you,” she said. “You look like a poster boy for the needle exchange.”

“Thanks for coming, I think. Come on in. The boys are in the dining room.”

“Good. Let’s not drag this out.” She handed me the bag and took off her sunglasses. “Did you do a sweep?”

“Of course.”

“Where’s the stuff?”

“Franks took away the smack inventory. I have one more shot of my personal supply and I was going to do it and give the works to you.”

“That sounds okay…but I’m going to do a sweep, too.”

“Be my guest.”

“I know all your hiding places.”

“Look, I’m not fucking around, Dolly. If I didn’t want to kick, I wouldn’t pretend. I know you know all the hiding places and I knew you’d do your own sweep.”

“I’m glad you’re taking this seriously, Kurt.” Her expression softened slightly. She was as beautiful as ever and the afternoon sunlight through the foyer window made her more so. “Let’s get started with the boys and I’ll give you guys the detox 101.” I went in to hug her and she said, “Don’t,” and walked past me.

Brian and Dolly had hung out on a number of occasions but Rob had maybe met her once. Dolly drank water while we had beers. We all got comfortable around the dining table, and Dolly set out a few products as though she was presenting at a recovery seminar. We sat on one side of the table, Dolly on the other. It felt very official.

“Guys, welcome to Kurt’s detox. It will be a shitty three weeks, sometimes literally.”

“I’m not wiping up anything, Kurt,” Rob said.

Dolly responded, “You may change your mind on that, Rob. Now listen: I’m going to tell you what to expect in the order of what’s going to happen. Some of the stuff varies from person to person, but a lot of it is the same. Kurt is essentially going to go through the worst flu of his life, especially the sweats, fevers, shakes, chills, nausea, puking, muscle aches — ” Dolly was counting on her fingers. “ — headaches, dry mouth, sleeplessness, nightmares, hallucinations, and possibly violent emotional swings.”

Brian and Rob looked at each other. “Sounds like any Sunday morning with Kurt twenty years ago,” Brian quipped.

“Funny,” I said.

“Also, though, the person going through detox is going to beg you to get him a fix, or get him some drug substitute, will bargain with you, offer you money, threaten you, cry, scream, throw a tantrum, etcetera.”

Rob gazed at me, shaking his head. I said, “Hey, I haven’t done any of those things yet. Gimme a break.”

“You’ll owe me.”

“For sure.”

Dolly presented a large prescription bottle. “This is suboxone. This stuff makes this process way better for all involved. It cuts down the craving, a little like methadone, doesn’t get you high. But this isn’t the usual suboxone cure, because the usual cure just replaces junk with different junk. On my method, you’ll be giving it to Kurt microdoses of suboxone on a limited basis for a couple weeks. You’ll still get sick, Kurt, but it’ll probably keep you from going completely haywire. I’ve written down instructions here in the bag with the rest of the pills.” She put the bottle back in a small white bag.

“How’d you get that stuff?” Rob asked.

“I’m a nurse. I know people.” She paused and took a sip of water. “Any other questions?”

Brian said, “Please, go on.”

“When Kurt wakes up tomorrow, he’s going to want to fix. By the end of the day, he’ll be sweating, nauseous and irritable. He’ll want to gnaw his arm off.” She looked at me. “You’re going to barely sleep and probably be up for a couple days. The flu symptoms will start the following day.” She pushed forward the Pedialyte, Imodium, cold medicine, aspirin, and Dramamine. “Keep him hydrated, make him comfortable. Watch a bunch of TV. You can smoke cigarettes, if it doesn’t make you puke. Have a big puke bowl handy. Shit, have two of them in case you need to empty one while he’s still puking. Kurt, you’re going to get the runs, and if you don’t make it to the john, you’ll probably want to wear the diapers because you’ll never want to wipe up your own shit again — or have your friends do it. A few days in is where the crazy really starts, with the pleading, the fever dreams, the cramps, the sweating.” Brian, Rob, change the sheets because it’s going to reek in his bedroom. Also, sometimes, Kurt, you might feel like you’re having a heart attack. It’s not. Just a panic attack that lasts for a couple days.”

I remember thinking that I’d perhaps made a mistake at that point, and the look showed on my face. Brian rubbed my shoulder. “Kurt, it’s okay. You got this — we got this.”

Dolly was relentless: “Now, after about a week or so, it’s going to seem like you’re out of the woods, but you’re so not. Even with the drugs, the craving will be there. You’ll still feel like you have a bad cold. You’ll start to get ravenously hungry as your body starts to repair itself. Keep hydrated. Your head will start to clear and you’ll be overconfident. Also, your tracks will be healing up and itchy. Your whole body will be itchy anyway. Bad headaches the whole time. Cold medicine is your friend.”

This horror story went on for another twenty minutes, after which I followed Dolly around as she checked places she thought I might’ve hidden extra stashes. She found new places that I took note to use some time. In my bedroom upstairs, she looked through my nightstand and said, “A-ha!”

“What?” There was no way.

She brought out my Glock case. “Having this around is not advised.”

“What am I gonna do?”

“I’m serious. The cure makes you go looney toons.”

“Give it to Rob. He’s a gun guy.”

With the gun case in one hand, she disappeared into the walk-in closet for about five minutes, making all sorts of noise. Finally, she came out, stood in the middle of the room and said, “Well, I have to admit it: you really cleaned your place up. And the big stash of coke is locked up in the study?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure that’s safe?”

“I know this is going to sound wrong, but…well, it’s not my real problem. It’s across the house and I’ll have a babysitter and I really don’t need it like I do the H.”

“Hmmm,” she emitted skeptically. “What is the plan with the crew?”

“They may stop in but they should have what they need.”

“You really think you can trust Franks to take care of things without fucking it up?”

“I wasn’t sure at first, but it’s been over a month and he’s been the most reliable I’ve ever seen him.”

“Interesting.” She looked me in the eye. “Hey, have a seat a second.” She gestured to the chair. I held her gaze and sat down.

“Why are you suddenly kicking?”

“I OD’d and almost died.”

“Yeah, I heard. But…you sure that’s going to keep you from relapsing? Usually, a person needs more than that to stay off the junk.”

“Well…,” I started. Really, almost dying was the main reason. But there were others. “I feel like things are slipping away. My self-respect really took a hit that night I OD’d. Total loser move. I feel like if I don’t make a move now, I may never make a move.”

Dolly sat on the edge of the bed. “So, that’s all?”

“Well, I lost you. I have no friends. My sister hates me.” I was starting to depress myself. “I need to start getting shit back that’s falling away from me. Kicking has to be the first step.”

“Hmmm. Okay.” She stood up. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think it was your junkie ways that killed it for me. It was the drug dealing itself. Being a criminal was fun for a little while, but there’s no future in it for me.” I saw a glint of tear reflecting off her eye. “There’s no future there for you either.” She looked at me, and the look said, Goddamn it, we probably could’ve gone the distance if we hadn’t fucked it up. She shrugged off that look and said, “Now, where’s your works? Let’s do your last dose and I can get out of here.”

~~•~~

Things were pretty chill the first day, and all we did is talk and smoke cigarettes. I drank water as they had beers. We hung out in the family room, put on a movie and, sometime in the early afternoon, I started to get a little antsy, but it wasn’t so bad, so I muscled through it. I distracted myself by playing with Joplin. My nerves started to come undone and the cat scattered. After a while, I asked them if I should have some suboxone, and Brian said, “Dolly said not yet.”

By around eight at night, I was sweating and nauseous, but still they wouldn’t give me anything. I smoked a cigarette and had a horrible bout of flatulence and finally vomited. That’s when they led me up to my bedroom and gave me a very small dose of the suboxone and an over-the-counter sleeping pill. They told me that I was to stay up in my room for a couple days if possible, and they would run food to me and keep me company. I felt horrible, but I drank some water and slept for a couple hours, waking up sweaty and sick and filled with craving. Then it got worse.

I won’t bore you with the details because it’s pretty repetitive. But there were all the things: cramps, vomiting, endless dry-heaving, shitting (the diapers were unnecessary, fortunately), very bad shaking, headaches like an exploding tumor, a painful unscratchable itching, crawling skin. Sunlight hurt my skin. I don’t remember being told about the sleeplessness and boredom. No one told me there’d be night terrors and evil fever dreams. It really did feel like the worst flu. I spent an hour calling for Joplin in the middle of the night, screaming for the cat, and Brian had to come in and calm me down. I don’t remember that part.

There was a recurring night terror about being stuffed into a hole too small for me and all my bones being broken and skin torn off, as I suffocated.

I tried to read, and had some success, but identifying with Richard III of England was not exactly the right headspace for a junkie on detox. It was a mad Elizabethan kaleidoscope of rhyming couplets, thees, thous, and thys.

A couple days later, the vomiting and shitting stopped, though the mood swings, sleeplessness, and headaches resumed for at least a week. I drank lots of water and diet cokes, smoked a carton of cigarettes, tried to eat, but nothing tasted good, stayed down or satisfied. I binge-watched Battlestar Galactica, the remake and the original. The track marks on my arms were well on their way to healing, which seemed like a miracle because I thought they might be permanent. Hunger returned, my depression turned into dull self-recrimination and loss. But it was at the end of the third week that I had a very odd feeling, and that was the feeling of not being sick at all, no pain or headache, no sniffles or sweats, and no physical craving for smack. The idea of heroin itself filled me with a little loathing, associated directly with the huge shithole of pain I’d just emerged from.

One day, Joplin was curled up next to me for the first time in a couple weeks. I got out of bed, took a shower and went downstairs to find Brian fixing breakfast for the three of us. Rob had taken apart his Mossberg 12-gauge and was dutifully cleaning it on the kitchen table. They looked over at me, both of them visibly satisfied.

“Well, look at Kurt, all up on two legs,” Rob said.

“I do believe you’ve gained about ten pounds. You look great.”

“Thanks guys. I feel pretty good. A little weary though.”

“That was some horrible shit, Kurt,” Rob commented.

Brian said, “I thought we’d have our little post-mortem over breakfast.”

“What?” Rob asked.

“Kurt’s term,” Brian replied.

“Post-mortem in this context is just a meeting about all the shit that just happened and what we learned — that kind of thing. It’s technically the final day of our ordeal.”

“We learned how many times a grown man can shit, piss and puke on themselves in a ten-minute period,” Brian said.

“That’s a valuable lesson,” Rob added.

We sat down at the breakfast counter with eggs and coffee.

“Before I forget,” Brian said, scrolling through his smartphone, “Dolly says ‘congratulations but don’t fuck it up’, and she’s ‘not helping you anymore’. She also says the following: ‘Tell Kurt he should probably go to Narcotics Anonymous so he doesn’t relapse. He won’t do it but tell him.’”

“Yeah,” I said, “that’s not going to happen.”

“She continues: ‘Tell him he should get out and walk around, go shopping, maybe go to the beach. Stay outside for four or five hours.’ She doesn’t have an explanation for this.”

“Sounds pretty nice,” I said.

“‘Tell him to not drink for as long as he can stand it. Tell him to get some exercise and go kick his punching bag.’ She keeps going, there’s a list.”

“Alright. I’m all ears.”

“She says, ‘Tell him to let one of the others handle the smack from now on or get out of that line of business entirely. Tell him to not dive into the blow. Take vitamins.’ Then she added this, ‘Tell him that he should stop kicking himself and move on.’ Last thing is, ‘Tell him not to call me and good luck.’”

I finished my breakfast and coffee. “Well, all that sounds like Dolly.”

“You owe her, man,” Rob told me.

“This is true. I owe you guys the most. What did I miss while I was gone? My cat was here when I woke up.”

Brian craned his head. “She’s around here somewhere.”

Rob said, “I have to admit, I think the guys that work for you are a little sketchy.”

“Well, they are criminals,” I said, smiling.

“I’ve known plenty of guys in the life, Kurt,” Rob admitted, “And these guys…well, there’s something about them. I don’t think they respect you.”

“Huh,” was all I could say.

Brian added to this, “They seemed pretty sloppy, too. They came in a couple times, and they opened up your office and hung out and partied. They invited me in.” He shrugged guiltily. “But they were at your supply pretty liberally and restocked themselves without weighing out, and spilled some and would’ve forgot to shut the safe if I hadn’t said something.”

“All this happened while I was upstairs?”

“Yeah, you were crashed out. I checked on you a couple times. This was about a week and a half ago.”

“Well, shit.”

“My advice to you, Kurt,” Brian said, “is that now that you have your faculties again, I’d take control of your business. These guys are going to fuck it up. I’d check your books and rein it all back in.”

“You keep books?” Rob asked incredulously.

“Of course — It’s a business.”

“Huh.”

We were silent for a moment. Finally, I said, “Well, I’ll work it out. I gotta think about things.” I stood up, “Fuck Dolly. I’m going to reward myself with a beer. We made it through! Why don’t we all pile into Brian’s minivan and go out to Beach Chalet, have a drink, maybe walk around?”

“That’s a great idea,” Brian agreed.

Rob exclaimed, “Drinks on Kurt!”