Dear John,
I talked to your mom tonight. It seemed like we were on the phone for hours even though it was really closer to 20 minutes, but I guess there are situations were minutes drag out forever.
She seemed like a nice woman, certainly a mother who loves her son very much. I heard her love for you in every word she spoke, in the quiver of her voice, the pain in her screams. I think if we had "met" under different circumstances we might have become friends, but I know in my heart I'm the last person she ever wants to speak to again.
When your mother called me tonight saying she'd found you unconscious and barely breathing I immediately feared the worse. Twenty-two year old men with no medical problems rarely collapse without cause, but when I asked if there was any chance you had overdosed on drugs she adamantly denied it. She assured me you were a good kid, a collage student who held down a part time job while keeping your grades up. You routinely mowed your grandmother's lawn and drove her to do her grocery shopping. You didn't do drugs, absolutely didn't do drugs, there was NO WAY you had taken drugs!
I kept talking to your mom, waiting with her for help to arrive, encouraging her to check your breathing often, to unlock the door, turn the porch light on, check your breathing again, put the dog outside, check you again, reminding her to tell me if there was even the slightest change in your condition.
When your mom said you were making "funny noises" I told her she needed to pull you off the couch and onto the floor. I know my request didn't make any sense to her but I knew what was coming, I've seen it hundreds of times before and I wanted to be ready for the inevitable. That's when you're mom found the syringe under your body and started crying hysterically. I only had seconds to get her calmed down, to ask if she knew CPR. I almost groaned out loud when she told me she had meant to take a class but had never found the time.
I told your mom how to reposition your head to open the airway, praying that this would be enough to keep you alive until the paramedics arrived, but knowing it probably wouldn't, and sure enough in seconds your mother screamed that you were no longer breathing
I tried to talk to her calmly John, I really did, but she was screaming and not listening to me. I had to yell to get her attention so I could teach her a 4-hour CPR class in 30 seconds while you lay dying in front of her. I counted the compressions for her, encouraging her to go faster, make sure she was pressing hard enough, two compressions per second I counted for her "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 , 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30... one hand under the neck, one hand on the forehead, tilt the head back, pinch the nose close, completely cover his mouth with your mouth, blow two regular breaths into his lungs, about 1 second each. Did the chest rise with each breath? Okay, 30 more compressions... 1,2,3,4,5... FASTER... 6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18,19,20,21,22,23,24,25,26,27,28,29,30...two more breaths, hand under the neck, the other on the forehead, tilt the head back, two regular breaths... did the chest rise? Good...30 more compressions..."
Your mom worked so hard to keep you alive, I worked so hard to keep you alive...we did CPR for 16 minutes until help got there....16 minutes that felt like 16 hours. Even I was asking the medical dispatcher what was taking so long.
I had to explain to your mom the ambulance that is normally near your home was already on a call so the next closest one had been dispatched, but it would take a little longer to get there. "Keep doing CPR" I told her while also assuring her the fire department was responding too and everyone was getting there as quickly as they could. I could hear your sister crying in the background, calling your dad, screaming for him to come home. You're mom was working so hard that she was gasping for air, trying to count with me, pleading between the numbers for you to stay with her.
The scream that tore from your mother's lips when the paramedics got there and took over broke my heart. I've heard it before, so many times. It's a scream you never forget, unlike any other scream you've ever heard. It rips your heart out to hear, I wanted to wrap my arms around her, comfort her and tell her everything would be okay, but I couldn't because I didn't want to lie to her. Instead I told her what a great job she did, how she had done everything possible to help you, I tried to calm her and keep her attention focused on me instead of what the medics were doing to you.
You were lucky John, your mother found you while you were still alive, I was already on the phone with her when you stopped breathing, we started CPR immediately. So often it's too late when we get the call, more often than not the person is already dead and no matter what we do, no matter how long we do CPR or how much Narcan the medics administer we can't get them back.
I hope your near death will save your life. I hope you learned from your mistake, I pray you turn your life around, but I know that using heroin even one time forms an addiction so the odds are we'll be dispatching another ambulance for you in the future for yet another overdose.
I only hope we're not too late.
