One of my friends is sick and in the hospital. Several hours before she was admitted, alone in her apartment, she wrote on a little piece of paper something that she wanted me to have. It pains me to know that I am so far away and there is little I can do for her other than pray for her recovery. I think she wants to die because she sees no other way out and I’m not sure if she’s going to make it. While several of the people reading this journal don’t know me well, and while I feel a bit insecure about writing such personal items over the web, this is what’s on my mind right now, and this is what I’ve been thinking about. I tell her story not to be praised or glorified, not for popularity or for recognition, but I tell it in the hopes that it will cause others to reflect and think about their own lives, the choices they make and the interventions that can make a difference in other people’s lives…
It was June 2002 and it was another stressful summer night in Philadelphia for me. With just 5 days remaining before I needed to take my Medical Boards, I found myself sitting in my room at my desk, trying to remain calm, and going over in my head some last minute medical pearls that might allow me to score 1 or 2 points higher on the test that was going to determine how good of a Doctor I really was. It was quiet in the house, and this was unusual because I lived in a medical fraternity with 13 other med students. I was startled by the sound of my phone and when I answered, it was my friend Victor. “Whatcha doin? How’s the studying coming?” “Alright”, I said, trying my hardest to welcome the interruption, “What’s up?” “You need to put down the books and come model in a fashion show with me tonight downtown! One of the models dropped out at the last minute and we need someone to model swimwear.” “You’re kidding right?” I said, “You do know I take my boards in 5 days right?” “R.J., you need a break, you’ve been studying non-stop everyday for 12 hours for 3 months. Give your brain a rest, it’ll do you good and it’ll be fun, I promise!” Well, he had a point, I had been studying quite a bit and a break did sound inviting. “Alright, where are you?”…
The show turned out to be a blast. There were 4 girls and 4 guys and we all modeled summer wear and swimsuits. Back then I had my 6 pack of Abs working and although walking out on a runway with nothing more than a tight trendy Italian bathing suit was a little intimidating, it wasn’t anything that a Mojito or two couldn’t handle and the applause was great for my ego. I ended up making some pocket change that night and we had such a good time, that all the models suggested we keep the night going by going out dancing at a club called Shampoo. I figured “the night’s shot anyway, may as well have a blast, right?”. So as I walked out the front door waiting for my friends to exit the restaurant (where the event was hosted). It was there that I met fate.
Standing on the corner of the street about 30 feet away from me was an older frail looking woman clasping something in her hands. I’m not sure why I even looked over at her and noticed her at all, as Philly did have its share of homeless, but something moved me that night. Something told me I was meant to go over to this woman and ask her if she was ok.
As I walked over to her she began to walk into the street – a busy street with cars racing by in both directions. I grabbed her and called out to her before she got completely in the street “Hey, are you ok miss?” She turned and looked at me, I could tell she had been crying. She paused for moment, shaking, and said “I need to get to Miramar”. I could smell the alcohol on her breath. I said, “Do you know where you are?” All I got was “I need to get to Miramar”. I opened up her clasped hands and in them was a single key, not on a ring, just a key. I asked her what it was to and she told me an apartment address that was located just a few blocks away from where I was. I said “Stay here, I’ll be right back”.
I walked back to my friends, who were all anxiously awaiting me, and I said “I’m not sure what’s wrong with this woman but I’m going to walk her home.” They said, “C’mon, stop playing Doctor, let’s go!” I resisted, “No, I’m going to walk her home, you can come with me or go on to the club”. 2 of the girls said “We’ll go with you”, and everyone else left for the club.
As we walked her to her apartment she started crying, saying “I’m so ugly. I don’t want to live. I never used to be like this. I used to be a beautiful person. I’m so scared.” The girls and I were a bit shaken up because we realized what she was trying to do. I got to the address and she asked if I would take the elevator up with her. I said “you’ll be ok”, but she said “please don’t leave me” and as the doors were about to shut, I stopped them and decided to go on up, the girls said they would to.
“Push 14, mine’s the last door on the left”. I walked ahead of the girls down to the door and as I was about to put the key in I noticed that the door was cracked open. Now I became a little nervous and I wondered what I was getting myself into. I cracked open the door slowly and said “Hello, is anyone there?” I got no reply. All the lights were on, so I walked inside and noticed a ¾ empty jug of Vodka on the table and a large French Chef knife. I put the vodka out of sight and did the same with the knife. The studio apartment was small, but quaint. There were paintings on the wall, artwork, a futon, small TV, small dining table for 2, a kitchen and a bathroom. She walked inside and we started to calm her down enough for her to tell us what was happening in her half lucid state.
She explained that she was very depressed. She hated herself and she needed help. After a lot of questioning I discovered that “Miramar” was a rehabilitation Center just outside of Philadelphia. I called information on my cell and found a listing. When I called and spoke to the woman on the phone, I told her the situation and she said that they were expecting Barbara that day but she never showed. I said she was extremely intoxicated and not coherent and they told me I should call an ambulance to take her to the hospital to be screened before they could admit her. I said “I understand”.
I called 911 and explained what was happening. They asked for Barbara’s name, address and social security number, which I found on a bill sitting on the table. I suddenly heard Barbara in the back “No! No ambulances! I won’t go!” She was becoming frantic. I asked if the operator would hold on for a second and I went back over to Barbara and spoke softly, “Barbara, I promise you I’m not going to leave you, but I need to get you help. If I stay with you and walk you down, will you come into the ambulance with me?” She paused, then nodded her head and grabbed my hand. I told the operator that we’d be down at the front door shortly.
As we waited for the ambulance, Barbara shared with us a little bit of her life – she liked art and back in the day was ‘quite a dish’ – hanging out in Philadelphia’s High Society with some of the most famous people of the day, like Frank Sinatra for example. She was a writer and a painter and she showed us some of her most beautiful work. We all thought to ourselves “What could have gone wrong in this woman?”
Soon the flashing red and white lights lit up the narrow street and we walked out together, arm in arm. She was scared. I was scared for her. I helped her gently into the ambulance and shut the doors saying “You’re going to be ok now.” She looked at me straight in the eyes and said, “Thank you.” The doors shut and as the ambulance drove away, a tear fell from my eye. I had an epiphany, a moment of clarity. I realized that no test was going to be the judge of how good of a doctor I would be. My board scores weren’t going to dictate how good of a Physician I would one day become. It was me. It was the fact that I cared about people and their well-being – and I had the bedside manner to be a good Doctor. So I left that night calm and collected and 5 days later, when I took my boards, I stayed calm and collected.
My 5 day vacation in Miami after taking the boards was great! Victor and I went and had the time of our lives and when we returned to Philadelphia, I put my suitcase down in my room and noticed my answering machine light was blinking. This is the message that played, “R.J., I don’t know if you remember, but my name’s Barbara – the woman you helped about a week ago. Well, I found your name and telephone number on a piece of paper left in my apartment. I just wanted to let you know that I think you’re an Angel sent by God. I wanted to kill myself that night and I tried to get drunk and throw myself in the street. You stopped me. (She started to cry) I don’t know ever how to thank you, but everyone at Miramar including myself thinks that you’re an Angel. I’ll never forget what you did. If you want to call me, here’s my number. Thank you, I love you and God Bless You!” I began to cry.
In the year following, Barbara struggled with her Alcoholism and she befriended my mom and I, who offered our support however we could. I got her into rehab and with some time and hard work she finally came out of it. She stayed dry for several years and we became friends. My mom and I would visit her in Philadelphia and she’d make us dinner or we’d take her out to eat and she’d tell us stories about people she’d met and things she’d done in her life. Last year, her father passed away, and her sister was entrusted with the will and settlement. Unfortunately, despite a significant inheritance, her sister kept the money from her, calling her a drunk, instead of praising her accomplishment of being dry for a significant period of time. It doesn’t seem fair, that her sister won’t even take money to buy her a bed, or food. Instead she gives her something like 100. a month allowance.
Before I left for Iraq I took Barbara out to dinner at one of the nicest restaurants in Philly – McCormick & Schmick’s, with my mom. Barbara gave me a rosary cross and a little angel pin and said she would pray for me every day and she wanted me to keep those with me here. I hung the rosary on a string by my bed and it’s the last thing I see every night before I go to bed. I know she’s praying for me, and I pray for her too.
Last night I called my mother. I knew something had happened to Barbara before I even called my mom. I felt it. When my mother called she said that she didn’t want to burden me with anything, but Barbara started drinking again, only this time, it scared my mom because she wrote down on little pieces of paper what she wanted us to have of her belongings. She wanted me to have her favorite painting. It was as if she was writing her will. My mom and mom’s friend called her and tried to help her, and Barbara finally got to the hospital and is being transferred to a Rehabilitation Center once again. I know she wants to die and I can only hope and pray that she comes out of this as strong as she did once before.
Alcohol can be a dangerous substance, and I am very cautious when it comes to it. Psychiatrists will say, “Alcohol should be nothing more than a liquid, like juice or soda. It should be something that you can take or leave and not something you need to depend on. Once you start saying things like “I NEED a few drinks after work to calm down or blow off some steam”, it can become a problem.” Alcohol should not be something that helps you cope, and if it does, try giving it up for a day or two and see if you’re successful.
Last night my mom gave me some praise which felt really good. She said, “You know RJ, when you used to live with me before you went to Miami for Grad School, you used to stay out late at night, and I used to worry about you, but you would often call me, sometimes at 2 or 3 am, knowing I might be asleep and you’d say “Mom, I had a few drinks tonight and although I feel fine, I’m going to stay over at a friend’s house instead of taking the chance to drive home”. That was really good of you RJ and I always knew you were smart when it came to that.” [Thanks mom!]
Alcoholism is a sneaky little beast that can creep up on anyone. Drinking responsibly takes discipline, especially when others say things like “C’mon, let loose, don’t worry about it, lets have another shot, you worry too much…”. I’ve seen alcoholism in both friends and family members and it can be very destructive. While I ask that everyone include Barbara in their prayers, I also ask that they make good decisions about alcohol and encourage their children to do the same.
Enclosed is one of the only pictures I have of Barbara and I. Barbara always says “Whenever I get my picture taken, my eyes are closed.” The picture taken with me was no different, and it worries me.
