It's Been a While

It's been a while since my last post. It's been a very busy summer! Hopefully I'll update in the next week or two. In the meantime, a friend of mine that I met in the rooms of NA gave me this link to a blog that she wrote about some people in NA and their intolerance towards people who are on MAT, or medicated assisted treatment.

I've faced many people in those rooms who told me I wasn't clean because I was on methadone and that I needed to get off of it. It did turn me away from NA for a bit but I've gone back. No one can dictate my recovery for me.  Recovery is not a one size fits all approach. I couldn't get clean cold turkey. Methadone was the only thing that worked for me. I considered myself clean the entire time I was on it. Please don't let ANYONE tell you how to deal with your recovery! If you're not using and not abusing your medication, you ARE clean!!

Medication Management Treatment and Narcotics Anonymous: Time For An Open Mind

Starting a Long, Hard Journey

When I signed on to get on a methadone program, I had no idea how much work I was going to have to put into it. The clinical director visited me at the hospital to explain the program. I had to go to the clinic every single day (every day?!) to receive my medication. I was expected to go to four weeks worth of orientation groups, plus go to a prenatal group every week until I delivered my child. I had to see my counselor weekly and submit to at least two random urinalysis tests monthly. It really wasn't a lot but in the beginning, it seemed like my entire life from now on was going to consist of nothing but going to the clinic.

My first day there was so long. I had to wait for an hour (it may have even been longer) to do my intake. People asked me what number I was - number? There were girls arguing, talking about fighting (what did I get myself into?). The intake alone seemed to have taken hours, being asked a million questions. Why do they want to know if I ever sold my body to get drug money (luckily for me, that was one route I never fell into)? Finally, after what seemed like ten hours, I was able to get medicated.

I was supposed to go to orientation and start prenatal groups that week but I didn't go. Finally, about two weeks later, I was asked why I hadn't been to either of them. I said I didn't know when they started for me (I was lying). I met my counselor, who was a very nice woman, but I wasn't going to break down and tell her more than she asked.

I stayed off heroin for my first week there. Jim still got high. It was agony, seeing his continued use. One day, we were fighting (we actually fought pretty much everyday). He left the house and I began to clean our bedroom. I pulled the bed out and lying right in front of me was a full bag of dope. I picked it up. My first thought was to flush it down the toilet - that would've pissed Jim off. Instead, I put it into my pocket. I used it an hour or two later.

Later that night, I told Jim about finding it. He asked me where it was and I told him I flushed it. I got the reaction I knew I was going to get - anger. I then told him the truth. Of course, he was mad. He wasn't mad because I did it, but because I didn't give it to him so he could do it. This is how our lives continued throughout July. We fought, he went and bought dope. I was right back to using again.

At the end of July or beginning of August, I had a prenatal appointment. When I was in the hospital, they took some blood for some tests. At my first appointment, I was told that I tested positive for the baby to have Trisomy 18, Edward's Syndrome. I had no clue what that was. I've never heard of it before. It was explained to me that it was like Down Syndrome...only much, much worse (Down Syndrome is Trisomy 21). Most babies that are born with Trisomy 18 don't make it to their first birthday, with most dying in the first see of life. I was devastated. Was it because of my drug use? No. It's because when the fertilized egg begins to split, three copies of chromosome #18 are made instead of two. I was told that I could elect to terminate the pregnancy and that the time for termination was almost up - I had one or two days to decide if I wanted to continue with the pregnancy. I was almost SIX MONTHS along.

MMT

NOTE: I already published this post. For some reason, it was dated March 27, 2015. I don't know how that happened since I didn't write it until May. Keeping it with that date messed up the chronological order so I'm reposting it as a fresh blog post.

On June 29, 2012, I decided to check in at the hospital to get help for my addiction. I went to the hospital that I was taken to when I was arrested. They began my medication assisted treatment - methadone. I really didn't want to be on methadone; I had always been against it, but I didn't have much of a choice. I wasn't going to be able to stop on my own.

After I was sent to the labor and delivery unit, I was examined and had an ultrasound. They left me for about an hour or so. I began to experience withdrawal and I told the next nurse who came into my room that I couldn't take it much longer and was going to leave. She then brought me my first dose of methadone, which was 30 milligrams. I was then taken to antenatal for my hospital stay.

I wound up staying at the hospital until July 2nd. They had to be sure I was on a dose that would maintain me for 24 hours without having any cravings or withdrawal. I wanted to leave several times, and almost did twice. But my reason for wanting to leave wasn't because I wanted to get high - I didn't. I wanted a cigarette. They gave me a nicotine patch to help with that craving. When I was discharged, I was on 40 milligrams. My first day at the clinic was July 3rd.

Accomplished

I'm getting a bit ahead of myself with this post, as I just began to write about my methadone treatment but I just had an appointment with my counselor. She told me that the mayor of Philadelphia is having this dinner (I forget what it's called). She said that each clinic chooses one of their clients to represent them at the dinner. Each counselor at my clinic picks one of their clients and during their treatment meeting, they will discuss everyone and choose one person to represent them. She chose me as her nomination! She had nothing but good things to say about me. Whether I get chosen or not, am so proud of myself for everything I've accomplished!

Hitting Bottom

Nothing new happened in May. The month passed. Jim and I were still getting high. I completed my court case from my April arrest in the beginning of June. The day after my case was closed, Jim and I went to buy some dope in Kensington because our guy wasn't answering his phone.

I went to make the transition. At first, no one was out. After checking out a few spots unsuccessfully, I went to leave. As I was walking up towards Lehigh Ave, an older Spanish guy approached me and asked what I wanted. I told him dope then he asked if I had a cigarette. I gave him one and he pointed someone out to me. He called me over and I went into an abandoned lot, completely out of sight. I got a couple bags and left.

As I got to the corner where I would turn, a car pulled over and the guy asked me for directions. I had a bad feeling but I told him where the street was that he asked for. He said, "Okay, I turn here then go how far?" As I was telling him again, another guy grabbed me from behind. They were undercover. He searched my bag and found the dope. I was cuffed and put in the car. They drove up a block or two and did the same thing to another guy, then got the dealer.

They wound up locking up around ten people. We were all taken to the 24th/25th district and processed. I was taken to the roundhouse after a couple of hours. When I got there and was having my intake interview, the guy realized I was pregnant after I told him when my LMP was. They sent me to the hospital for evaluation. I was at the hospital for a few hours trying to convince me to start on methadone. I refused, telling them that I had no arrangements for my child at home and wouldn't be able to stay in the hospital for several days. They released me and I was taken back to the roundhouse. Luckily, not only did I fall asleep when I was there but I also had my appearance before the judge shortly after returning, maybe an hour or two. I was released on ROR again, but was also placed in AMP - Accelerated Misdemeanor Program. I had court on July 3rd.

I just spent May and June getting high. Eventually, enough was enough. I couldn't keep this up. It was bad enough I was putting heroin into my own body, but also into my baby's? I was just a scumbag. I hated myself. I resented Jim for dragging me into this lifestyle. I decided to get help.

Becoming Who I Despised

Pregnant? What? There's no way I can be pregnant! I'm a fucking heroin junkie! No! Just no! What am I going to do?! I made an appointment with my OB right away. Luckily, she got me in very quickly since I had already had two miscarriages in the last 7-8 months. I was so worried because they give you a drug screen at your first appointment.

I forget what day my appointment with the doctor was but it was very soon after I first called. I went in and the doctor did all the stuff they do and check for at your first prenatal appointment. After we were finished, I went into her office with her. I told her that I needed to speak with her about something. I told her straight out what I had been doing. She told me that methadone was the best thing they can do for a pregnant heroin addict. She told me about a clinic in the city that deals with pregnant women addicted to opiates (I had known about it from my friend Sam. I saw her about two weeks before I started using and she told me that's where she goes - after she finally admitted to me that she had in fact, been using heroin like I had suspected a year before). But I didn't want to get on methadone. To me, all methadone was for was to keep you high legally, just a switch from one drug to another. No way. And having to go to the clinic every single day? Yeah, okay.

I didn't know what to do. Maybe I could get off the heroin on my own; after all, I got myself off oxies three different times and it was so easy each time. I could get off heroin, too. Every day was going to be my last day. Tomorrow I won't get high. Things went like that for a couple of weeks before I decided to go to the clinic.

In order for me to become a patient at this clinic, I was going to have to go to the hospital to be admitted for a few days. I spoke with my manager at work and told her the situation and that I was going to need to take that upcoming weekend off work (I think it was the 2nd weekend of April). I was going to the hospital that Friday. In Thursday, I decided to go to Wal-Mart to get a few things. I had to make a diaper cake for a christening for my mom and I needed ribbon that had crosses or something religious. Of course, before I went, I took a trip to the spot and got a few bags.

I probably did a bag on my way to Wal-Mart, and after I got there, I did one in the bathroom. I had one bag left. I spent like an hour walking around in Wal-Mart, sticking random things into my purse. I bought a few things as well. I had a bad feeling and should've went with my gut (I had thought about going into the bathroom and taking everything out of my bag and leaving it, and doing the last bag but I didn't). As I was walking out of the store, a guy came up to me and asked if I had any makeup in my bag. I thought about running out for a second, but then decided to just go with him into their office.

While I was in there, they asked what I had taken. I began to empty things from my purse and hoodie pocket (thinking about it now, it was the same hoodie I am wearing now as I type this). They thought I had only taken some makeup and were surprised to see everything else I had - sunglasses, underwear for my daughter, the ribbon, and who knows what else. I had about $70 worth of stuff. I had been stealing from Wal-Mart for years - karma caught up with me. Since I had gone into the office willingly and complied with them, they weren't going to have me arrested. That is, until the cop that was in there decided to search my purse.

When she started looking in, she found an empty bag. Great. She was going to find the rest. A few seconds later, she found my needles and the last bag. She arrested me.

Luckily, I was released the next day on ROR. But what was I going to do now? I was arrested around 2 in the afternoon and didn't get released until around 5 the next morning. Luckily, I didn't start to get sick until after I was released and Jim was coming to pick me up. The time in jail went pretty quick. I slept a lot. Another girl was put in the cell with me so she and I got through the night together. She even talked the cops that transferred us from the 1st District to the roundhouse into letting us have a cigarette on the way. I felt really bad for her because she was only charged with simple assault and it was the first time she was ever arrested - she wad given bail. Anyway, after Jim picked me up, we went straight to the spot to cop.

Finally, I think in the beginning of May, Jim found a Suboxone doctor that was willing to see the both of us. He made the appointment and we went. Of course, I brought along a shot for each of us when Jim picked me up after he was done work. We were at the doctors for a couple of hours. Jim was given a prescription for Suboxone, and I was given Subutex, because Suboxone isn't safe for pregnancy. We were about to stop getting high...tomorrow, of course.

I couldn't stand the taste of the Subutex. I wasn't able to dissolve even a quarter of a pill without getting sick from the nasty, horrible taste. It didn't last long for either of us. We both wound up selling our scripts. We also found a dealer that would come to us or meet us somewhere so we didn't have to keep going to the badlands. That wad great!!

This just continued. We couldn't stop. I cried pretty much everyday. We fought just about everyday. Our relationship was based on drugs. I fucking HATED heroin addicts before this! I especially hated how a pregnant woman could be so selfish and continue to get high. Why won't she stop? What the fuck kind of mother wound continue to stick a needle full of heroin into herself when she was carrying an innocent baby? Well, until it happened to me, I didn't know how hard it would be to stop. I was a pregnant heroin addict. I became a person I hated.

Lost Blog Post

A few days ago, I had the next "chapter" of my addiction chronicle almost fully typed. It is (was...going to be...) titled, "New House, New Habit, New...Baby?". It was long, very long; it covered about two months of my life. However, I use my phone to type this, as I can't find my laptop (how can I not find a laptop?!). Sometime in the next few days, I will redo it. In the meantime, check out my "random" blog, The Life and Times of Kim. In the earlier entries, I talk some about my drug issues before my heroin habit started; I just don't get into it as deeply as I do with this one.

Pink - Who Knew

Pink wrote this song about a friend that she lost due to a drug overdose. It's a very powerful, amazing song. This isn't my kind of music but I fucking love Pink!!

New House, New Habit, New...Baby?

We moved in on a Monday. We spent those first few days getting high. I don't remember too much except not having sex that night, which I was mad about. The next day, Valentine's Day, my monthly friend made her visit (this is important, it leads up to the end of the month). That Friday, we both went to work like usual, but we had to get our fix first so we would feel okay at our jobs. Jim picked me up after I was done and we went to our spot. I stayed in the car a block away while he went to get it.

About twenty minutes went by and Jim wasn't back yet. I didn't want to call him because it just doesn't look good when you're making a drug deal. I waited like ten more minutes, watching people walking by looking at me. I knew they were thinking, "Only one reason why a little white girl is around here." I finally called him. No answer. I called several times, sent a few texts. No response. Jim got locked up. I just knew he did. I got into the driver's seat and fired up the engine. It was my first time driving.

I circled the block and as soon as I turned onto the street that Jim went to, I saw a cop car. I drove by, trying to look in the cop car. I couldn't tell if he was in there or not. I circled around a few times before deciding to head home (the cop had left after my first trip or two around). On my last drive by, the dealers were right back out. I didn't get anything - Jim had all of our money, plus I didn't know how to shoot myself up. When I got back into our neighborhood five minutes later, my phone rang. It was Jim. They let him use his phone to let me know he was arrested. I had a lot of trouble sleeping that night.

The next morning, I overslept and was running late for work. I knew I wouldn't make it on time if I took the bus, so I decided to drive there. I did a pretty damn good job driving too. A few hours through my shift, I got a text from Jim. He was released on ROR. He got to my job, got the keys, and went to get a bag. He picked me up when I was done and went to get more. It was my first time going up to the dealers on my own. This continued until the last week of February, when Jim got a call that his job was starting back up. We decided to start taking Suboxone.

We took the subs for I think 5 days. On February 26th, I was feeling really down. I had a baby shower to go to for my friend Kim, the one who introduced us. It was also my due date for the first baby that I had lost. Jim took me to the shower and I had a nice time. After he picked me up, we went home to wait for my daughter to get home from her grandmother's house. We had sex for the first time since living in the house. Jim went I think the next say for a drug screening for his work. He passed. We celebrated him having his job back by getting high.

When my dad was a baby, his mother left him and his three sisters. She left my grandpop for another man. She wound up having two more children. About a week after we started to use again, my parents invited me to meet my dad's half-brother and half-sister. There were a bunch of us - my parents, two of my dad's sisters, I think my cousin's daughter. I forget who else. We went to a bar in the neighborhood where Jim, my dad's half-brother, bought everyone a round. I had a shot of Southern Comfort.

A few days later, I got this feeling inside of me that had happened three other times. It was around March 11th. I went to CVS to buy a pregnancy test. When I peed on it, it told me that I was once again pregnant.

Hello Heroin, My Name is Kim!

From everything I knew about heroin, I was expecting to feel it the second Jim injected it into my arm. I waited. I didn't feel anything. Jim was asking me if my body was starting to feel warm. Nope. After about 30 seconds, I started to get this weird taste in my mouth. Then, I felt the warmth. It spread throughout my entire body. It felt amazing! I had to pee. I got out of the car to pop a squat and could barely feel my legs. I couldn't believe I had never tried heroin before! It was such a great feeling!! We had sex in the car then went to get more dope and needles.

I knew I couldn't go home that night. We decided to spend the night at a hotel. During the half hour drive, I remember laying my seat back in the car. I wanted to talk, but couldn't. I don't even remember getting out of the car when we got to the hotel, or going to our room.

I didn't want to do it again after that, at least not right away. I was afraid of getting addicted to it. I was actually surprised that I wasn't addicted since I was always told that once you try heroin one time, you're hooked. One day, I texted Sam (we hadn't really spoken in a year except for a few texts and Facebook messages here and there) and told her that I had tried it. She told me not to do it anymore so that the same thing that happened to her wouldn't happen to me (I had hung out with her one day, sometime after my miscarriage and before I tried it). She finally admitted to me that she was doing heroin but I was surprised to learn that she had been doing it since around the time when my daughter was born. She got pregnant and got on methadone. She was about 5 months pregnant at this point.

About a week after the first time I got high, Jim and I got into a fight. I don't remember what the fight was about but I do remember getting high. Jim said that I should get high every time we fight because it relaxes me and makes me happier. It was probably after this that I started to use every day. I never did it by myself, always with Jim. I couldn't do it by myself anyway, I didn't know how to find a vein to shoot up. I tried one night; I must've stuck myself 20 times before giving up. It took some time before I figured it out. Jim and I got a house shortly after. We signed the lease on February 13th. I was definitely addicted to it by then.

The Beginning of the End

I was shocked when Jim told me he left rehab. I was also angry. You went there to get help, not to leave 24 hours later! He went home and cleaned up then drove to my house. He brought a beautiful basket bouquet of hand-cut flowers from his parents' garden. We went out. We drove to the area where he lived, in King of Prussia, PA. He took me to a bar that he used to go to. We got pretty drunk and I pretty much didn't think about anything that had happened. It was my birthday and I wanted to enjoy it. We spent the night at his house, then he drove me to work in the morning.

The next week was hell week. The next night, I had allowed Jim to stay at my house. My parents were at the bar. Jim and I decided to be intimate with each other. Right in the middle, my mother, completely obliterated, kicked my door down and attacked me. We got dressed, I took my daughter, and we left the house. My mom followed, screaming the whole time that I wasn't taking my daughter. I had to carry her about four blocks until I was able to get away from my mom. Jim pulled up and we got into the car. We drove to his house. His mother wasn't very happy to see us at all. I told her what happened, minus the sex part. She asked if my mom was mad because Jim was there. I said yeah, he said no. I wound up spending the week there.

During that week, I had my finals for my classes. With everything that was going on, along with my work schedule, I didn't have much time to study. I couldn't concentrate on my exams. I went from averaging 3 A's and a B for that semester to my final grades being one B, two C's, and a D, all thanks to my finals. I was devastated. It brought my GPA from a 3.7 to a 2.6.

That Saturday, I was at work and Jim was watching Mollyanne. While I was there, I got a phone call from Jim's parents. He had gotten arrested. He was high, driving on I76 in the suburbs of Philadelphia; he most likely was on his way home from buying his bundle of dope when someone called the police to report him for erratic driving. From his license plate, they found out his address and went to his house. He was arrested for paraphernalia and possession. His parents drove Mollyanne to me and we went back to my parents.

A week later, Jim went in front of a judge. He spent the time in jail, as his parents refused to bail him out and I didn't have the money...I don't think I would've paid the bail anyway. He got lucky in the sense that the cop who arrested him knew him - he was the coach for Jim's nephew's baseball team. He told the judge that Jim was a good guy and the only person he had known to have beaten heroin, up to that point, at least. He asked for the judge to be lenient and was sentenced to rehab. He went straight there from court, where he spent 28 days.

I was so happy to see Jim after he finished rehab. He looked so much healthier in just that short amount of time. Of course we were together the day he got out. Unfortunately, the happiness was short-lived. He got out on a Thursday and that Sunday, we went to an Irish festival. After the festival, he went and got high.

I didn't know he started to get high again. A week later, he was at the bar around the corner from my house. I found out I was pregnant. I went to the bar and we fought. He left and walked towards the el train. I went home and after a few minutes, started to call him. He wouldn't answer his phone. I was worried that he would relapse, so I ran up to the el. He was there, waiting for the next train. I ran over to him. I tried to convince him not to go. I even held him in place so he couldn't get on the train when it came. He told me later that he was surprised at how strong I was. After he couldn't get on the train, we walked down the steps together. I was relieved.

After we walked through the turnstiles and started towards my house, he broke away from me. For about two or three blocks, I tried holding him back, and he just pushed through me. I grabbed his wallet and phone from his pocket. He pushed me and I knocked him onto the ground. He got up, pushed me again, and I put him into a headlock. I wound up flipping him over my shoulder. He got up and ran. I was done chasing him. It didn't matter what I said or did, he wasn't going to stop. I walked home. He came for his phone and money the next day. We didn't talk for a couple days.

The entire summer was like that. I wound up having a miscarriage in July, at 7 weeks. Even though I hadn't wanted to have anymore kids, I was devastated. It put me into a deep depression but only I knew that I was depressed. I started taking xans again. In August, Jim tried to get his job back. He was doing the xans with me, in addition to smoking weed and doing heroin. He got Suboxone to prevent him from getting dope sick, and we both stopped taking the xans. I still smoked. He got his job back. He was clean for about two weeks when we decided to go to the bar after he got his first paycheck.

One night after him being drunk, he went to his spot to get heroin. He was really, really wasted. I told him to come to my house to spend the night; I asked him where he was and told him I would meet him. While walking up Frankford Ave, he stopped talking. He wouldn't respond to anything I said. I started to panic because the area he was in wasn't good at all. I hung up the phone and called back repeatedly. After about five minutes, a guy answered his phone:

GUY: Hello?
ME: Hello? Who's this?
GUY: Who's this?
ME: Um, you're answering my boyfriend's phone, who is this?
GUY: I'm a police officer.
ME: What happened? Is Jim okay?
COP: He's laying in the middle of the street.

The cop told me where they were. I can't run, but I ran. I didn't know where to go once I got to "A" and Lehigh, and wound up going two blocks too far. I called Jim's phone and when the cop answered, I told him where I was and that I was lost. He told me to walk back. When I got to "A" Street, he began to click his flashlight on and off. I ran up. Jim had woken up. I had a long conversation with the police officers (there were four of them). They told me that they had found him passed out, laying in the middle of the street. They asked if I knew what he was on. I told them that he was drunk and shot up. He was awake and I punched him. The cops let me take him home. We walked towards to bus stop, with me having to hold him up. He spent the whole time on the bus nodding out and drooling. I was so embarrassed. We were only on the bus for less than five minutes but it felt more like an hour. He was so messed up, he had to call out of work the next day. This was the month his nightly escapades at the bar started.

In September, we spent a weekend out of the city. We drove to Hamburg, PA and went camping. He was sick but tried to get through it with his Suboxone. We had gotten a case of beer. He drank a few, I only had one or two. After we came home, he went to the bar. It was the same thing every time. He got done work, went to the bar, got high, we fought. It was like this up until December.

In November, I found out I was pregnant again. It still didn't stop him from going to the bar mostly every night. It was always the same thing: work, bar, high, fight. Right before Thanksgiving, I started to work at the restaurant again.

My nephew's birthday is on December 17th. I couldn't go to his birthday party because I had work that day. Jim and I spent some time together and we had sex. When we were finished, there was blood...a lot of blood. It was from me. I knew what was happening - I was having another miscarriage. I called out of work and we went to the hospital. The miscarriage happened while we were in the waiting room.

After that, I was pretty withdrawn and depressed. I didn't know how to get through it again. I spent a month in a stupor. I smoked a lot. On January 21st, 2012, I was with Jim while he was shooting up. I watched as he did it. After he was done, I told him I wanted some. He asked if I was sure and I said yes.

He got everything out to prepare the shot. I told him I didn't want to do a whole bag because I didn't want to OD and I didn't want to get hooked on it; I just wanted to try it the one time. So he only prepared half a bag. He opened a new needle. He shot me up for the first time.