Today is a day of reflection for many, as it should be. So today I was reflecting on the battles I have fought in my life...never on a true battle field, but a war zone none the less. Here is a poem, and below that is a small section of the manuscript I am currently working on. Due to poor health my writing has not been progressing like it should, at least how I feel it should, but I am getting back into the swing of things. Tonight a woman is going to help me start putting a chap book together of poetry, I guess the pros will have to wait for the second (or fifth) book :-)
In
arms
If
I die this day
Lay
me down with the fallen
For
in arms I went to the field of battle
And
in their arms I would be sent off
Into
eternity
Chris
McQueeney 11/11/12 8:39 P.M.
Dr...I need help
Society has a bad
impression of drug addicts. And it should, but the way society in general
thinks about addiction is not functional. I had been shooting up some very good
crystal meth and I wanted to quit…but I couldn't That shit had me by the
balls. I’m not sure how long that particular run lasted but it was the middle
of the summer, the temp in the mid-90s, and I was walking around in a long
sleeved sweatshirt because of the track marks.
I remember getting
on the thirty-three bus because I couldn't go back to the place I was staying
and I didn't know where to go. I didn't want to do this shit any more. I rode
the bus from Oregon City to Portland and back three times before getting off.
Not quite sure what time it was but it wasn't too late because the McClane Clinic
on the middle level of Oregon City was open. I decided that I was going to go
in and ask the doctor for help. I remember thinking that I had to talk to the
doctor because if I talked to him as a patent he had to keep it confidential. I
walked in and asked to talk to the doc and the receptionist had me fill out the
paperwork and wait.
It was cool in the
office and the light was dim. I was so fucking high. Every nerve in my body was
on edge, racing. After being up for days though and being in a state of perpetual
starvation I had reached a plateau. I was so fucking high but I didn't feel
like I was. No more picking at myself, no twitching, and no paranoia. I can’t
speak for other tweekers but this was a strange feeling to have. I didn't think
of it at the time but I was for the first time resolute. I wanted to stop and
the doc was going to make that happen.
The wait wasn't long, maybe fifteen minutes, before I was directed into a small examination
room. The doctor was already there waiting. The nurse handed him my paperwork
and walked out. He looked over the papers and without even looking at me he
asked what he could do for me. Without hesitating I pulled up the sleeves of my
sweatshirt and showed my arms. All up and down both of my arms were track marks.
Every vain I could hit had been hit. Some of the veins had been hit so many
times they were just long ugly bruises. People call them track marks because
that is what they look like, just follow the tracks to find where the drugs
have gone in.
“ I've been slamming
crystal and I can’t stop, I need help.”
Finally he looked
up at me and his whole demeanor changed. Gone was the calm professionalism, the
doctor client detachment. In its place an attitude of disgust washed over the
doctor. I could see the change in him. That was the first time I experienced
that, but not the last. He didn't check my vitals. He didn't ask me any
questions. No when was the last time you ate, or how long have you been up, and
no how much have you been using. Maybe
those things were obvious to him…maybe, but I don’t think so.
He turned from me and
the disdain radiating off him was palpable. He scribbled something on a piece
of paper and handed it to me. “Here are some phone numbers, you need to leave”
and with that he opened the door and practically shoved me out.
I went into that
man’s, no that doctor’s, office, as a paying customer and asked for help. He
was duty bound to help me. At one point in time he swore an oath, the
Hippocratic Oath. I was polite to his staff, I was honest with him. I asked for
help with no excuses, no preamble about how it was not my fault. He gave me a
piece of paper with two numbers and rudely told me to leave. This professional,
this man who swore an oath gave me no medical treatment, gave me a piece of
paper with two non-operational disconnected phone numbers and charged me one
hundred and seventy dollars for his mistreatment of me.
Chris McQueeney 2012
There is more from that day, but if you read this far and are not one of my beta readers you'll have to wait. that is of course if you are willing to, or want to read more of my shit :-)
