I Know You Think You're Okay

"Mom, you really need to come home with me," Erin said, her voice filled with a mix of desperation and hope. The chilly wind blew relentlessly through the small homeless encampment near the river, rattling the tattered tarps, cardboard homes and odd tents that served as shelters for those that chose to live there, or those that had no other choice.

Abby stared blankly at her daughter, who hovered over her, the warmth from the hot coffee in her hand creating a small cloud of condensation that mingled with the misty air. "We've been over this a million times Erin," she said, her voice stern, but quiet. "I don't need your help. I'm perfectly happy here."

"Happy?!" Erin snapped, her face a mixture of frustration and disbelief. She gestured at the squalid surroundings. "Look at where you're living! How do you call this happy?"

"Shh!" Abby stood up, stepping closer to her daughter, hoping to at least quieten her down. "These are my friends. I know you don't understand, but here, I'm not just a crazy woman. I have a purpose," Abby told her, her eyes briefly flashing with anger before they softened again.

"Purpose? What are you talking about?" Erin rubbed at her forehead in frustration, her eyes scanning over the makeshift camp. The place smelled strongly of urine and burning garbage, making her stomach churn. The sight of her mother, who had once been so vibrant and beautiful, now living in such squalor was almost too much to bear. "You're sick... you need help," she motioned to the swollen, red and angry looking wound amongst the track marks on Abby's arm. "This isn't living, mom. It's barely surviving."

Abby sighed heavily, the crow's feet around her eyes deepening. "I know you mean well, Erin," she said, her voice a little gentler now. "But I've told you before, I can't go back to your world. I can't deal with the judgments, the stares, the whispers... or the expectations. Here, I'm accepted."

"Yeah," Erin scoffed, "by other... " She broke off catching the hurt look flash across her mother's face. "I'm sorry," she sighed heavily. "Look, mom, I know it's not ideal, but there are better places. Places that can help you."

"God Erin. Can you stop being a social worker for five minutes and just be my daughter?" Abby's voice broke, as she looked away, her eyes filling with tears. "I'm not your client."

"Exactly!" Erin exclaimed, her voice rising despite her best efforts to keep it steady. "You're not a client, you're my mother. And as your daughter, I can't just stand by and watch you destroy yourself." She paused, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. "You're not well, Mom. You need professional help... as well as... intervention."

"Intervention... right." Abby stared hard at her daughter, wondering where the sweet little red-haired girl who used to love going on long walks, looking for flowers with her had gone. "You mean locking me up in some cold, sterile hospital ward, poisoning me with toxic meds?"

Erin took a deep breath, trying to find the right words as she pushed her frustration down. "It's not like that. There are... softer-type facilities, Mom, where they can help you manage your bipolar disorder... as well as helping you with your... other issues." She didn't dare say the words 'drug addiction' out loud, afraid it might shatter the fragile connection they had.

Abby's expression grew more and more distant with every word Erin spoke. "You don't get it," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the distant sounds of the river. "You think you need to save me, but you don't. I've made my choices Erin, and this is how I choose to live." She laid a hand on the taller woman's arm, noticing that her daughter was nearly a stranger to her. " You're a grown-up woman Erin. You have your own life, your own career, a home you need to get back to... and you need to let me live my own life, in my own home."

"Mom... this, this... isn't a home," Erin's eyes teared up as all her fears for her mother rose to the surface. She didn't know how to argue against her mother's stubbornness, but she had to try while she was here. "You're living in a mold covered tent, with no running water, no heat, no toilet. It's filthy in your... uh, shelter and everywhere around this... place. There are a number of diseases you could have and not know it. That's not to mention the rats and other... "

"Enough! Jesus Erin, just let it be." Abby exhaled loudly.

Erin's eyes searched her mother's face, trying to find a hint of willingness to leave this life behind, but all she saw was a wall of resentment. "I just want what's best for you," she whispered. She didn't understand why her mother lived this way, why she wouldn't accept the help she so desperately needed.

It was so much easier with those she visited in her capacity as a Social Worker. Yes, they often fought her, disagreeing at first, not wanting to accept that their lives could be better. For the most part, they eventually ended up conforming to the plans she laid out for them. Her mother however... she was completely different. Erin's heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice whenever she thought of her being homeless... suffering... and alone.

"I know you think you're okay, Mom, but you're not," she said motioning again to the seeping, red wound on her forearm. She dug through her backpack for the first aid kit she'd brought with her. "Let me at least clean that wound."

Abby looked at her forearm. The wound had been causing her pain for days, but she'd managed to ignore it, to some extent, with the help of the heroin she had started using to self-medicate years ago, using just a little more lately to ease the discomfort. The pain was a constant reminder of her failures, but the drugs made it bearable.

Erin pulled out antiseptic wipes and bandages from her backpack and knelt down beside her mother to carefully tend to her wound. As she swiped the cleansing pads across the seeping red sore, she noticed her mother stiffen, a whimper escaping.

Abby bit her lip to keep from crying out as the alcohol stung the open sore, turning her head away as Erin cleaned the lesion. The pain was intense, but it was nothing compared to the emotional agony of having her daughter see her like this.

"Sorry Mom," Erin murmured as she inspected the cleaned wound. She shook her head, seeing an obvious pocket of infection that had begun to form. "I've seen enough of these to know you need this drained and a course of antibiotics," she said with a sadness that mirrored the despair in her own heart.

"Just clean and wrap it," Abby instructed softly. "When the nurse comes by in a few days, I'll get her to take a look."

Erin glanced up, fully prepared to argue until she saw the closed off expression on her mother's face. The nurse she mentioned was likely from a mobile health unit that visited the encampment, but Erin knew the care was limited and inconsistent. "Mom, this could get really bad if it isn't treated properly."

"The nurse comes by every week. I like her." Abby pulled her sleeve down, hiding the wound under the dirty shirt. She busied herself, organizing a few items around her tent, avoiding Erin's gaze. "I've got it under control."

Erin watched for a few minutes. She'd heard her mother loud and clear. She liked the nurse... meaning she trusted her, which was something Erin hadn't earned. She took a deep shuddering breath, a few tears slipping down her cheeks as she tried to pack the items back into her backpack. She'd have to come back with a different approach, she just didn't know what that was yet.

Erin decided to leave without saying anything more. She knew her mother and the way she was puttering around, fussing, re-organizing her meager possessions was a clear sign that she had pushed too hard. She stood up and slung the backpack over her shoulder. Sighing, she turned and left, following the river back out, worry and concern knotting her stomach as she made plans to return in a few days' time.

--

Three days later, Erin followed the river back down to the encampment. Her stomach churned with anxiety as she approached Abby's tent. She had done her research and had a plan. The nurse was due to come by the encampment today.

Erin hoped she could convince her mother to at least get medical help for the infection. If she didn't, well, she knew her mother wasn't taking her bi-polar medication either, so if she refused treatment for her arm by the nurse, Erin would call an ambulance. She hoped that once at the hospital, because her mother was using heroin to self-medicate, she could push to have her mother admitted to the hospital... forcing a psych evaluation. She hated all of it, but didn't see another way.

Erin saw her mother outside the tent, slumped over slightly. "Mom?" She moved closer. It was then she noticed her mother's eyes glazed over, a needle still in her arm. "Fuck... " she muttered, feeling her heart drop as ice-cold fear fill her veins. This was something she'd always feared and much more than she could handle.

She pulled the needle out, setting it aside. "Mom!" her voice louder, shaking her mother roughly.

Abby barely stirred. Erin's voice was a distant echo in the fog of the heroin high that was wrapping her up tightly. She was vaguely aware of her daughter's panic, but the comforting embrace of the drug was too strong to allow her to respond.

"Mom," she called again, louder, sterner as she pulled the woman down flat to the ground. She rubbed hard on Abby's sternum, provoking pain with little results. Panic really set in, and Erin's thoughts raced. She knew what she had to do, despite what she knew would be her mother's protests. She had Over-Dose Training and grabbed her bag, ripping it apart to find the Naloxone she had stashed there for moments like this.

"Mom... I'm gonna hit you with some Naloxone, kay?" She struggled to fill the needle with the medication, her hands shaking. "I know you're gonna hate me for this, but I also don't know how much you took... and you're not responding to pain."

Abby was too deep into the embrace of the opioid to respond to Erin's voice, drifting deeper and deeper... no longer even able to breathe properly on her own. She had a vague understanding that she'd taken too much, but the pain in her arm had worsened over the last night and day and had double her usual heroin dosage. But now, the drug's sweet hold on her, was stealing away her life.

With trembling hands, Erin administered the Naloxone, her mind racing with thoughts of what she had learned in her training. She had to save her mother, even if it meant breaking her mother's trust. She watched anxiously as minutes went by and the medication began to work its magic, the fog slowly lifting from Abby's eyes. She watched anxiously as the blue eyes finally fluttered open.

Confusion was the first thing Abby felt as she rose to the surface of consciousness. She opened her eyes and saw her daughter hovering over her. "Erin?" Abby croaked, her voice slurred, as she slowly came to. She stared at her daughter, confusion fading as realization filled her and anger took over. The fog still weaved cotton in her mind, as the world around her spun slightly. "What happened?" Her mouth was dry and talking around her tongue was difficult.

Erin sat back on her heels, her chest heaving with a fear that almost overwhelmed her. She stared at her mother, anger building in her own chest. "You almost overdosed," she said through gritted teeth, her voice shaking with the weight of her emotions. "Do you have any idea how close you came to actually dying?" She held up the needle she'd used to inject the naloxone, then motioned towards the smaller needle that had been in her mother's arm as well as the empty naloxone vial on the ground next to them, amongst the garbage littering the area around them.

Abby's eyes focused on the needle in her daughter's hand, her expression darkening. "You had no right," she slurred, rolling away from Erin until she hit her tent. "This is my body, my choice."

Erin stared unbelievingly at her mother, her voice shaking. "Your choice? I can't believe you," she spat, her voice thick with emotion. "You wouldn't have died... overdosed if I hadn't been here. And let's talk about choices, shall we Mom. You chose to shoot up in a fucking tent, next to a river, with no medical help around except for a nurse that comes by once a week... if they show up at all!" She stood up, pacing, trying to control her trembling. "Your choices almost killed you... ARE going to kill you!"

"Stop being so dramatic," Abby said, her voice weak and slurred as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. "I've got it under control." She glanced down at her filthy clothes, more so now that she'd rolled in the dirt, and frowned. She hadn't expected to overdose; she'd just wanted the pain to go away.

"You almost died!" Erin yelled, her voice echoing through the camp. Several heads turned in their direction. She sighed, needing to keep her voice down. She took a deep breath and crouched in front of her mother... but kept her distance. "Mom, you're NOT in control."

Abby's eyes narrowed as she felt the sting of her daughter's accusation. Erin never could understand what she'd gone through... was still going through. All she ever did was preach to her what she'd learned in school, never taking into consideration how her own mother felt or how she wanted to treat her own illness. "What do you know?" she spat out. "You come here with your fancy degree, thinking you can fix me. But you can't. I make my own choices, and I'm not going anywhere," she told her, eyes flashing. "You still don't get it. I like it here! I belong here, Erin."

Erin gave her mother a look of pity. How could anyone choose to live like this? She knew it was the illness talking, not her mother. She had to make her see that she was killing herself with every needle prick and every missed dose of medication. "You can if I make you... a court order will make you," Erin told her in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. She had never wanted to go down this route, but her mother was leaving her no choice. "I can have you committed."

Abby's eyes went wide with shock and fear before they hardened again. She stepped closer, looking at Erin as if she'd never known her. "You'd really do that to me?" she whispered. "You'd lock me away against my will?"

Erin felt a sadness spread through her, the challenge from her mother shaking her to her very core. "I don't want to," she admitted, "but if it's the only way to keep you safe... I will."

Abby gave her daughter one last long look, her face blank. "Then you need to go. I don't want to see you." Just before she entered the tent, she stopped, but didn't face her daughter. "Erin? Know this... I will never speak to you again if you go down this route," her voice was cold, final. She then walked into her tent, leaving Erin outside with her heart shattered.

The tall red-haired woman stood there for a few moments, trying to compose herself. She had known that committing her mother would not be an easy decision, but also knew it was one she had to make. She took a deep breath, her eyes scanning the camp. She noticed a few of the residents watching her, their expressions a mix of curiosity and pity. They knew what it was like to live in the shadow of addiction and mental illness... and of relatives that didn't understand.

With a heavy heart, Erin turned to her mother's tent and called out, "Mom, I'm so sorry, but I have to do this." She paused, waiting for a response, but there was only silence. "I know you don't understand now, but I can't stand by and watch you throw your life away." Her voice cracked as she spoke, tears running down her face, but she continued, "I won't lose you to this... I'll do what I have to... to keep you safe... even if it means you hate me for it."

The words hung in the air... unanswered. Erin felt the weight of her decision pressing down on her, but she knew she had to follow through. She took out her phone, her hands shaking as she dialed the number she had specifically programmed into her phone for this purpose. "I need an ambulance," she said, her voice steady despite her trembling. "My mother has overdosed on heroin." She gave the location and waited... her eyes never leaving the tent that held the woman who had once been her entire world.

Even if it was the wrong thing to do in her mother's eyes, Erin knew it was the right thing to do in her heart. She would not lose her mother... not for anything.