Thursday, 26 March 2009

trying not to fall asleep at the computer...

woke up this morning around 10am which is late for me. i thought 'urgh, another day' but that was soon replaced by 'hell yeah, you have a snowball ready made up and more gear' so I hopped out of bed, said good morning, picked up some water pretending i was actually going to drink it, took a pepsi from the fridge and returned back to my room to do my dig. very nice. was my second snowball in god knows how long. took my breath a-w-a-y. not this monday, but monday the 16th i went to the doctors and showed her my arm and she instantly told me to go to hospital. I insisted I would go, but my friend was waiting for me outside (was true) but even though he would of taken me right away, I decided with my £10 I wanted to get a hit before I went. After all, what pain relief would I get in hospital, being a junkie and all? So, by now, my arm was bigger than the day before and I was delirious and giddy and off my head. I bumped into somebody I didn't really know and had to take my chances he wouldn't rip me off (he didn't) and we took a stroll down town to score and nearly two hours later I was in a much worser shape. I fainted on the way back into the centre. Hospital was at the opposite end of town but I knew I couldn't get there on foot. I was going to go back to the doctors and take the offer of a lift in a ambulance car. After I fainted, I was sweating and began to be sick. It wasn't a dirty hit but could of well been. My legs could barely carry me and I was shaking violently. I was pale as pale could be. Then something odd happens as I am panicing thinking I am going to die. I see Laila, the girl who gave me gear for the first time. She began talking to me as she got off her bike and crossed the road over towards me, about Narcotics Anonymous and staying clean. She had been to Detox5 years before and had an implant, but replapsed and I think it was the recent police intervention (she got caught Nov/Dec dealing to an undercover copper) that managed to finally put her off heroin & crack. I couldn't concentrate standing there talking to her so I said I must go, and she tells me I look ill and asks me whats wrong. She assumes I am clucking until I pull up my sleeve. I tell her I need to call my Mum and she urges me to get to hospital. 'I am trying' I tell her. I see, well she did, a big blue taxi outside the Boathouse pub. I recognise the driver as the father of a boy who was in my class at secondary school. She tells me to get in the taxi, to which I reply 'I have no money'. She tells me she does and I tell her I can't accept it. While I go into a phonebox and ring my Mum, acting all fine and explaining I need to go to hospital to have it checked out (it being an infected cut, I didn't tell her it was an abcess), she talks to the taxi driver. As I put down the reciever she walks up to me and tells me she has paid the driver and I am to get in "Why are you doing this for me?" I ask her, "Because Naomi, I care about you. You are my friend," Nobody has ever done something like that for me before. Ever. I was touched. I took her number, thanked her, and got in the cab. I was so frightened I was going to be sick that I shut my eyes (the light hurt it anyway, and it was VERY sunny) and covered them, putting my head down. I was sweating so much that when I got out the cab, the seat was soaking wet where my back was. The journey seemed to take forever and ever so often I would peek out from behind my hands to see where I was, but every time I was much further away than I could of ever imagined. I didn't want to pay £50 for a clean-up fee if I were to be sick. We eventually got there, though. I felt much better in the a&E.

I sat waiting in a room full of people, one man opposite me had a long 3.5" nail right through his knuckle, the central one. It was making these girls next to me squirm and he enjoyed the banter he was engaging in with them. They asked why I was there and I pulled up my sleeve. The girl sitting next to me actually jumped up from her seat and went "Urghhhhhhhh!" before apologising and sitting back down. Eventually, after 2 or 3 hours I went to see the doctor. One wanted to put me to sleep, and have a plastic surgeon carefully cut it to minimise scarring and make sure he got deep enough to get it ALL out. The other South African doctor just decided to get a scalpal and cut it open, which he did. He lay me down and told me to look away. He just freezed it basically but when he sliced it open I could feel the pus and blood running down. I regret not looking, morbid as it sounds. He described it to me throughout "wow... the amount is unbelievable. Wow! There is even more! Where is it coming from? MORE! MORE!" When he got swabs to take samples he told me it would hurt and it did, he dug it right inside the wound and when I turned to look I was stunned by the size of this said wound. IT WAS HUGE! Like when I've self-harmed. Of course, he cut it open, of course its going to be huge but obviously, since it can't be stitched (need to make sure all the craps out) it seems so odd to be open and left. The hole was crazy and he placed a piece of packing in it to hole to make the sides come together and absorb some of the crap. He gave me an appointment for the following Monday and that was it really. I didn't go on the Monday because it seemed to have healed fine. It hasn't; doctor told me its healing over the top but there is still loads of pus in there that needs to come out. So I still have this big hole, too. Need to get it sorted, its weaping pus all the time and I didn't finish my antibiotics at all. Naughty, I know.

I missed my methadone yesterday and its 13:49 so I should get out of my pyjamas and get ready! Ha, I'm so lazy!!!!

3 comments:

Michelle said...

Hah, I had one of these nasties once, on my right wrist, big as my fuckin hand. I COULD have gone to the doctor, but I knew they'd just slice it and drain it and all I could think is, "I have a knife, I have a sink... what do I need a doctor for?" So I did it myself, and was floored by the retarded amount of stuff that poured outta there like water, looked like vanilla pudding tinged with snot and blood. Smelled like death and gangrene. When it stopped pouring I just ran water over it in the sink until all I saw was blood instead of "pudding." Then I poured vodka all over the whole mess, then put a peroxide-soaked piece of ripped-up T-shirt over it covered with some duct tape. Completely ghetto, right? I still have a scar, but it looks like a needle mark like all the others- it never got infected again. You can do it yourself too. It's not exactly medically recommended, but it IS possible.

sHeLLeY

Victoria said...

Relax, ugly slut.

Jealous much?

"OOOHHH ohoh I'M THE BIGGER JUNKIE!! LIVE A WEEK IN MY SHOES!!" hahaha.

It's my blog and my life and my truth, and no one is making you read it. However, I do love the fact that you get so angry by what I write. I laughed pretty hard when I read your comment.

Just because I write really well doesn't mean I was never a heroin addict. I actually take it as a compliment that no one believes I was ever a junkie. With you on the other hand, it is VERY believable.

Maybe when you grow up you'll start thinking clearly and acting less obnoxious.

But maybe not.

Tiffany said...
This comment has been removed by the author.