![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zyzylyMy 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.
One morning I was sitting out on the porch looking through the want ads for a job. We were allowed to work after the first month, as long as we gave half our pay to the house. Sometimes they would send us out on odd jobs to earn some spending money.
That morning, Joe came out and sat across from me. I had never really spoken to him other than to exchange pleasantries. He was a quiet guy who kept to himself. No on knew much about him.
He sat there for a few minutes, and then asked what I was doing. I told him, and he asked what kind of job I was looking for. I had a terribly low self-image at the time, and considered myself a complete failure at life. My job search reflected that—I was looking for a job that reflected how I felt, and had settled on becoming a dishwasher in a nursing home. I told him about the dishwasher job, and he was silent for a few minutes.
After a while, he asked about what I had been doing before I came into the house. I told him I had been a medic in the Air Force, and had eventually become the manager of an outpatient medical clinic (this was before I was a nurse). He thought about it for a minute and observed, “Seems like you could do a little more than just being a dishwasher—maybe you ought to use some of them talents you have”. “Why don’t you see what else is in there”.
So I did, and found a job posting for a phlebotomist. I called, and got an interview. I was anxious, and sure I’d never get the job. Joe pointed out that the worst they could do to me was say “no”, and “no” wasn’t any worse than where I was now. I went to the interview and got the job.
Joe and I started to go to the AA meetings together, and became friends. I began to feel comfortable talking to him. One of the worst things about my drinking was the loneliness. I drank alone and lived alone, and it was the loneliness that finally got to me. Well, that and getting fired and not having any money or any place to stay. But anyway, now I had someone to talk to, and it felt good. And so it went. We got sober together and stayed sober together.
Joe left the recovery house a few weeks before me. He had invited me to come stay with him when I got out, but I wasn’t sure. Part of me still wanted to be alone. I think Joe sensed that I would not be ok on my own. He rented a two-bedroom apartment, and came to pick me up on the day I got out. It saved my life.
We didn’t have much money, but we got by. These were the days where I made my piecrust experiments and learned to keep myself occupied without getting drunk. On Thanksgiving that year, we cooked dinner at his girlfriend’s house—it was my first sober holiday since I was a kid. It was great. For Christmas, we had an open house for the guys who had nowhere to go. Later, Joe and I had a steak and lobster dinner and exchanged gifts. I got him a coat rack, and he gave me a filing cabinet. It was the best Christmas I had had in years.
Time went by. I went back to school and worked a variety of part-time jobs. Joe spent a lot of time at AA meetings working with new people. He was unable to work due to the after-effects of his pancreatitis and diabetes. He received a disability settlement that gave him enough money to buy a house. When he moved, I went with him. We still went to a lot of AA meetings together, and spent a lot of our free time talking about our lives and the world. It was good to have a friend.
When I graduated from nursing school, he gave me a card and told me how proud he was of me. It meant so much—he was the best friend I ever had, and I couldn’t have done it without his help and support. After years of feeling like I had disappointed everyone in my life, I had someone who was proud of me.
Eventually, I began to think about a place of my own. By this time, I had begun to date Arlina and spent most of my time at her house. Joe spent a lot of his time at his girlfriend’s too, so we were hardly ever at his house. Over Christmas, when we were both gone, a pipe froze and burst, filling the house with 8 inches of water. I moved most of my stuff to Arlina’s, and started looking for a house. Joe used the insurance money to fix the house up, and when I moved out, Mary, his girlfriend, and her daughter moved in.
As I became closer to Arlina, Joe’s presence in my life seemed to diminish somewhat. We were still close friends, but didn’t see each other nearly as often, although we talked frequently. We had both developed full, complete lives, and didn’t lead to lean on each other for support.
In June of 1993, Arlina and I decided to get married. We set the date for October, and I asked Joe to be my best man. He was delighted. He kept saying, “Damn! Mike’s gettin’ married. Who’d have thought!”
At around the same time, he got back in contact with his children. His wife had left him while he was still drinking, and had taken his son and daughter back to Denmark where her family was. He hadn’t seen his kids for almost 15 years. He made arrangements for them to come visit him at the end of July. He was excited and nervous. He greatly regretted the breakup of his family and the loss of his children, and was anxious to reconcile with them.
As we drove to the airport to pick them up, he talked of the things he wanted to do to be a father to them. He realized that it was too late for many things, but was going to do what he could. They arrived and he spent the next three weeks getting to know them. I had never seen him happier.
After we took them back to the airport, Arlina and I took him out to dinner. He was unusually quiet. I asked him why and he just shrugged. I figured he was probably just overwhelmed with everything that had happened. We talked a little about the wedding, which was less than two months away, and made plans to take care of some of the arrangements together.
About a week later I got a call from Mary. She told me that thought something was wrong with him. He had been quiet all week, and now was having a funny tremor in his right arm. I told her to take him to the ER and that I would meet her there. They took him in, and did a bunch of tests. I was working upstairs, and came down to talk t the ER doctor. He showed me Joe’s brain CT. There was a huge mass tangled in the left side of his brain. It sat right in the middle of his speech area—this was why he was so quiet lately. It was a glioblastoma, about the worst kind of brain tumor you can have. It is pretty much inoperable.
They admitted him and scheduled him for a biopsy the next day.
To be continued.
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.
One morning I was sitting out on the porch looking through the want ads for a job. We were allowed to work after the first month, as long as we gave half our pay to the house. Sometimes they would send us out on odd jobs to earn some spending money.
That morning, Joe came out and sat across from me. I had never really spoken to him other than to exchange pleasantries. He was a quiet guy who kept to himself. No on knew much about him.
He sat there for a few minutes, and then asked what I was doing. I told him, and he asked what kind of job I was looking for. I had a terribly low self-image at the time, and considered myself a complete failure at life. My job search reflected that—I was looking for a job that reflected how I felt, and had settled on becoming a dishwasher in a nursing home. I told him about the dishwasher job, and he was silent for a few minutes.
After a while, he asked about what I had been doing before I came into the house. I told him I had been a medic in the Air Force, and had eventually become the manager of an outpatient medical clinic (this was before I was a nurse). He thought about it for a minute and observed, “Seems like you could do a little more than just being a dishwasher—maybe you ought to use some of them talents you have”. “Why don’t you see what else is in there”.
So I did, and found a job posting for a phlebotomist. I called, and got an interview. I was anxious, and sure I’d never get the job. Joe pointed out that the worst they could do to me was say “no”, and “no” wasn’t any worse than where I was now. I went to the interview and got the job.
Joe and I started to go to the AA meetings together, and became friends. I began to feel comfortable talking to him. One of the worst things about my drinking was the loneliness. I drank alone and lived alone, and it was the loneliness that finally got to me. Well, that and getting fired and not having any money or any place to stay. But anyway, now I had someone to talk to, and it felt good. And so it went. We got sober together and stayed sober together.
Joe left the recovery house a few weeks before me. He had invited me to come stay with him when I got out, but I wasn’t sure. Part of me still wanted to be alone. I think Joe sensed that I would not be ok on my own. He rented a two-bedroom apartment, and came to pick me up on the day I got out. It saved my life.
We didn’t have much money, but we got by. These were the days where I made my piecrust experiments and learned to keep myself occupied without getting drunk. On Thanksgiving that year, we cooked dinner at his girlfriend’s house—it was my first sober holiday since I was a kid. It was great. For Christmas, we had an open house for the guys who had nowhere to go. Later, Joe and I had a steak and lobster dinner and exchanged gifts. I got him a coat rack, and he gave me a filing cabinet. It was the best Christmas I had had in years.
Time went by. I went back to school and worked a variety of part-time jobs. Joe spent a lot of time at AA meetings working with new people. He was unable to work due to the after-effects of his pancreatitis and diabetes. He received a disability settlement that gave him enough money to buy a house. When he moved, I went with him. We still went to a lot of AA meetings together, and spent a lot of our free time talking about our lives and the world. It was good to have a friend.
When I graduated from nursing school, he gave me a card and told me how proud he was of me. It meant so much—he was the best friend I ever had, and I couldn’t have done it without his help and support. After years of feeling like I had disappointed everyone in my life, I had someone who was proud of me.
Eventually, I began to think about a place of my own. By this time, I had begun to date Arlina and spent most of my time at her house. Joe spent a lot of his time at his girlfriend’s too, so we were hardly ever at his house. Over Christmas, when we were both gone, a pipe froze and burst, filling the house with 8 inches of water. I moved most of my stuff to Arlina’s, and started looking for a house. Joe used the insurance money to fix the house up, and when I moved out, Mary, his girlfriend, and her daughter moved in.
As I became closer to Arlina, Joe’s presence in my life seemed to diminish somewhat. We were still close friends, but didn’t see each other nearly as often, although we talked frequently. We had both developed full, complete lives, and didn’t lead to lean on each other for support.
In June of 1993, Arlina and I decided to get married. We set the date for October, and I asked Joe to be my best man. He was delighted. He kept saying, “Damn! Mike’s gettin’ married. Who’d have thought!”
At around the same time, he got back in contact with his children. His wife had left him while he was still drinking, and had taken his son and daughter back to Denmark where her family was. He hadn’t seen his kids for almost 15 years. He made arrangements for them to come visit him at the end of July. He was excited and nervous. He greatly regretted the breakup of his family and the loss of his children, and was anxious to reconcile with them.
As we drove to the airport to pick them up, he talked of the things he wanted to do to be a father to them. He realized that it was too late for many things, but was going to do what he could. They arrived and he spent the next three weeks getting to know them. I had never seen him happier.
After we took them back to the airport, Arlina and I took him out to dinner. He was unusually quiet. I asked him why and he just shrugged. I figured he was probably just overwhelmed with everything that had happened. We talked a little about the wedding, which was less than two months away, and made plans to take care of some of the arrangements together.
About a week later I got a call from Mary. She told me that thought something was wrong with him. He had been quiet all week, and now was having a funny tremor in his right arm. I told her to take him to the ER and that I would meet her there. They took him in, and did a bunch of tests. I was working upstairs, and came down to talk t the ER doctor. He showed me Joe’s brain CT. There was a huge mass tangled in the left side of his brain. It sat right in the middle of his speech area—this was why he was so quiet lately. It was a glioblastoma, about the worst kind of brain tumor you can have. It is pretty much inoperable.
They admitted him and scheduled him for a biopsy the next day.
To be continued.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-11-14 04:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-14 04:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-14 04:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-14 04:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-22 01:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-23 07:25 pm (UTC)Where you been?
no subject
Date: 2003-11-23 11:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-24 10:10 am (UTC)