Feel sick and dirty, more dead than alive
I’m waiting for my man
–Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground, “Waitin for My Man”
“I’ll need a license with that,” the pharm tech tells me.
“Uh, Sure,” I mumble. I pull my driver’s license from my wallet and let it drop in the tray.
The tray slides in, and she looks at the license, then me.
“Thirty-seven-fifty,” she says and walks off to find the scrip.
It hits me hard for the first time: I’m buying a controlled substance.
To say that I’m ambivalent about being in line at the pharmacy drive through is a little like saying that Yellowstone smells very mildly like rotten eggs.
The tray slides back out with license, credit card, and amphetamines.
“Any questions on these?” the tech asks me.
“I guess not,” I say and grab the goods, placing them in the empty seat beside me.
I pull through the drive, water hissing beneath my tires, driver’s side window still open, and rain misting my face and arm.
The Velvet Underground comes on the radio, a song about buying heroin. I wonder if this ironic coincidence can happen in real life or if it is just my wild and imaginative mind, a trait that I’ve unwittingly passed on to one of my favorite people and best friends.
I remember earlier in the day when he told me, “Look, I’m not sick. You don’t want to change me. You love me just the way I am.”
We were in his pediatrician’s office, trying to classify his challenges in school, to place him a category that will allow him to get the support he needs. She felt his symptoms of inattention are consitent with ADHD, and she recommended trying a popular stimulant for treatment of the disorder.
He wasn’t sure he wanted this, nor were we, and it crushed us, when we realized he felt betrayed.
When he was a newborn, and I signed papers authorizing blood-transfusions, I felt awesome responsibility. “Who am I to make these decisions on his behalf?” I thought. This feels exactly the same way. I don’t want to screw this up.
His mother and I, holding our breath, agreed to a trial of medication that we know, while we’re considering a very small dose, can be habit forming if not administered conscientiously with the support of an exacting physician.
To the soundtrack of the car engine purring, VU riffing, and rain pattering, I consider whether he can know even half as much how my heart aches for him or how proud I am of him, just, as he says, the way he is.
I turn onto the street, not knowing whether what we’re doing is the right thing, but I will do anything for him. That includes having the courage to take risks and make tough calls.
Lou is waiting for his man, and I am driving home, rain on my face, reluctant pusher.
November 3rd, 2006 at 10:27 pm
Any kid’d be lucky to have you and Jen as parents. You’re working with your children’s best interests at heart. What more could a kiddo really ask for?