Daniel H.

Daniel H. is from town. He should be far away like everyone else is. He drove in, which means he’ll probably drive off at some point. Daniel was maybe 40, but twenty years of coke added ten years to his skelatol frame. He had two arrests in the past 24 months and this was his second rehab. He had strange crustations, scabs, and cuts on his hands. Strange war wounds for a professional photographer.

We talked cameras a little. I always try to find the common denominator between me and the patient and work from there. It works out well. He’s using the same camera professionally that I intend to buy as the first step in my three-step post-graduation plan.

The intake forms had me asking him how often he used. “Once a week.” I questioned further, wondering how a guy who only used once a week was talking about coke messing up his life as bad as it was. I told him how it seemed most coke users did it a couple times a year or a couple times a day without a lot people in between.

Well… one day to him, he clarrified. He was staying awake for five days at a time. He told me how his girlfriend was a little better. She could do a couple lines and go to sleep. She would hide the rest of her stash. He wasn't like her, though. He would spend the rest of the night trying to find her cache once he ran out.

Beer was his trigger. Three beers and he’d have to find some coke.

He missed his Narcotics Anonymous meeting yesterday and his sponsor arranged everything. Oddly, that was my first NA meeting. I had to drive a van full of patients from the apartments to the NA meeting in his neighborhood. Funny how things work out like that.