Police Protection

The abscess had to be cleaned and they knocked me out to fix the broken jaw (mandibuler fracture, they called it)… My nose and cheek bone were broken too: eye was swollen shut by the time we got to the E.R. They had to do some fixing there. The abscess left a crater… a gash at least an inch deep... four inches long and an inch and a half wide… down to the muscle. They had an oxygen mask taped down on my face and another taped onto the gash. An oxygen mask on the gash was weird... something about oxygen speeds the healing. My jaw was wired shut. I had to try to talk through my teeth and the mask. One of my doctors was a young, handsome, man who must have been an addiction specialist. I don’t remember his name but I do know he was kind.

“Just show me some fingers or nod yes or no. How long have you been using?” he asked.

I held up two fingers.

“Two years?”

“Uh, uh…nuh” I knew he couldn't understand me if I tried to speak through my teeth and the mask but I tried anyway.

“Two months?”

I nodded a yes.

 “Well, the anesthetics and Demerol will stave off withdrawals while you are on them. Are you ready to detox?”

I had mixed feelings. If I don’t have something I will go back to drinking and if I don’t drink I will go crazy. The last time in France was particularly bad because I did it cold-turkey. I dread so much the muscle aches, the stomach cramps. I couldn’t sleep… and more than anything the gnawing, the restlessness, vomiting, diarrhea… as the demonic mania of heroin calls me…

“Nu-uh!” I tossed my head back and forth I exclaimed through my wired teeth.

“If you are afraid we have some pretty good medications that help with the symptoms,” he tried to assure me.

“Pleeee, nuh.”

“You know, we could have lost you? I’ll keep checking on you though, okay?”

I loved warmth in his tone. There was no hint of medical superiority. His bedside manner was more like a visit from a concerned friend. I didn’t want him to leave. I slept… I don’t know how long.

I awoke to see officer Richards face. He was cold and dead serious.

“I have to make a report on what happened. Can you help me with that? Just nod yes or no.” He pulled up a chair next to me. Unlike the doctor I felt uneasy about this cop. What the hell was I going to be able to tell him through my wired jaw and oxygen mask? I didn’t want to rat out Nick. Then again, I knew he’d probably do the best he could to protect Nick. No one would believe anything his junkie wife said if ever it went to court for spousal abuse.

I tried to shout… It probably sounded more like a muffled, “eee---iiit---me, duumut!”

“Who hit you, Mickey?”

“Nuuh, Nick!”

“Mick?”

Shit, I thought… this is useless. I can’t talk and this guy is obtuse. I want to sleep… “Guuh-uhhhwuh!” I tried to say, “Go away!”

I closed my eyes and ignored him until a nurse showed up at the door. “Mrs. Baker needs to rest. You can try again in a few day.”

“I have enough now, thanks.” He got up to leave.

 As he went for the door, I ripped off the mask and tape and yelled as best as I could through my teeth… “No, it was Nick and it was my fault!”

He didn’t stop or acknowledge my plea at all. I heard him talking with the nurse in the hall outside my door.

“Yeh, her husband says she was fine when he left to run some errands. That is when he saw Mr. McKee coming up the street on his motorcycle.”

I feared for Mickey and what this Richards would do to cover Nick.