F--Friend

My Friend Joe

Part 1

I met Joe at the alcohol recovery house in the summer of 1985, at the lowest point in my life. Joe had entered the house a couple of weeks before I had, at what was probably his lowest point. Prior to entering the house, he had been staying in a homeless shelter near the river after having recently been discharged from the VA hospital after an almost fatal bout with pancreatitis.

The recovery house was pretty much the last stop before the gutter for alcoholics who were trying to give sobriety one last chance. There were about 18 of us at any given time living there, but people tended to come and go. It was a three-month program of AA meetings, mutual support, and an environment free of temptation. The house was really a house—a big place on a quiet, tree-lined street in the middle of a residential neighborhood. It had a big front porch where we spent most of our free time feeding squirrels and bemoaning our various fates.
( Getting sober and finding a friend )

My Friend Joe--Part two

Joe spent only two days in the hospital. They did the biopsy and confirmed what the CT had shown. There wasn’t much in the way of treatment options. At best, they could extend his life for a few months. He decided against treatment and opted for hospice care instead. We took him home.

It was frustrating for Joe—he had great difficulty talking, and couldn’t take care of himself very well. Mary began to care for him and meet his needs. He deteriorated pretty quickly for a while. His left eye began to droop—the tumor pressing on one of his cranial nerves. We weren’t sure he would even survive to the wedding.

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