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You are here: Home / Archives for Bad situations

Bad situations

Reduce Drug Overdose Deaths with this Conversation

By Diana Gardner Robinson 1 Comment

Not long ago a friend lost a family member to a drug overdose. The tragedy, which happens way too often these days, reminded me of something that I wrote a while back. I decided to create it at the length called for  on the Op-Ed section of my local newspaper, and to submit it. My title was “A conversation that could reduce the number of opioid overdose deaths…” which of course was far too long.  They shortened it to “Opioid conversation can prevent deaths.”

Some people familiar with the issue have suggested that I should publish it as a blog. As I’m not too sure of where the copyright lies, I am instead posting a link to the piece. It concerns a conversation that is very rarely to be heard in addiction treatment facilities (and I explain why). I must add that another reason to the reason mentioned in the piece is that most people assume that knowledge about drug tolerance and its place in the world of overdoses is common sense. The truth is, though, that in the horror of drug craving, common sense rarely gets a chance to speak.

If you know anyone involved in drug use, and most importantly if you know anyone in recovery, please read this article that I wrote for the Rochester Democrat & Chronicle. Just click on the link below.

(Sorry about the ads, I have no control over the newspaper website.)

Opioid conversation can prevent deaths

 

The Homemade Gadget that made Me a Hero

By Diana Gardner Robinson Leave a Comment

Today I became almost a hero – no doubt for a very short time but it felt good to be able to help someone. I was reminded just how useful a small, simple gadget that I made long ago can be. Perhaps you will need one at some point in the future…

As the elevator arrived I stood aside for an older woman in a wheelchair and a younger one, probably her daughter, pushing the wheelchair and laden down with packages. Just as it seemed we were safely inside I heard a slightly out-of-place clink, assumed it to relate to the wheel chair, thought nothing of it, and reached for the door close button.

“Oh, said the wheelchair pusher,” I think I dropped something. She checked around, then “My car keys!”

I re-opened the doors. We both looked around, no keys. I looked at the little gap between elevator and hallway. So did she. “That’s where the sound came from she said.” Her voice pitched a little higher as she realized the problem that faced her.

I knew how near the security folk were, and that I had to be ready to head out to an appointment in less than 15 minutes. I thought, then, that there was nothing I could do, so I wished her the best of luck and hurried to my apartment… thinking.

By the time I was ready to head out, the thinking had clicked. I went to the refrigerator and took with me the simplest and cheapest of gadgets. 

As I headed toward the lobby, I passed the two-level elevator, where the lady and two security people were sitting on the floor, reaching through the elevator gap with bits of wire. (I am sure that an elevator mechanic could have solved the problem in ten minutes flat, but I am not sure how long it would have taken them to get there, and how much it would have cost. I suspect both numbers are fairly high.) Clearly our very resourceful security folk  were determined to solve the problem themselves.

I handed them my gadget, told them I wanted it returned when they were done with it, and left.

On my return, one of the team was on duty in the lobby, and I learned that I was a hero. My gadget had enabled the keys to be retrieved and I was thanked enthusiastically! Sometimes becoming a hero is so easy it is ridiculous.

That little hero-maker consists of a round magnet about the size and shape of a quarter or other medium sized coin, glued firmly to a very, very long piece of string. I had made it after dropping my car keys into the exact spot in a car, between the seat and the center block, that is impossible to reach no matter how far back or forward you move the seat. Why I had attached so long a piece of string I have no idea, but it seemed like a good idea at the time – as it turned out to be.

So… do you have a handy magnet attached to any kind of string or cord? Or something similar? And if not… why not? Remember, I made mine not for such drama as car keys dropped beneath an elevator, but for an inconvenience that can happen to almost anyone. It is really easy. Again, all you need is a long piece of string, some kind of super strong glue, and a magnet small enough to get into tight spaces. I think mine came in a pack of six. In order to both preserve the power of the magnet and have it easily reached, it belongs on the side of the refrigerator.

I hope you never need one, but if you do… maybe it would be good to be prepared? Who knows, yours might some day make you, too, a hero.

DianaR

P.S. It’s pretty good for picking up paperclips, screws, etc. without having to bend down, too.

 

The Addict’s plea…

By Diana Gardner Robinson Leave a Comment

I don’t know why I am posting this today. I wrote it a while back, prompted by things I’d seen and heard when working in the field of addiction counseling. I usually find that when I publish something on impulse, I hear from a reader somewhere that the timing was precisely what they needed. I hope that is the case today. Diana

Touching bottom, Lord, help me climb back up.
It hurts down here, where I’ve put myself
(There’s no one to blame but me).
I’ve gotta stop now, I can see that it’s true.
Can’t do it alone, can’t win without You.

Touching bottom, Lord

I lost a good job today.
Fine job, nice folks, nothing wrong with the pay,
But a friend came by with a beer in his hand,
And I followed him, off to the promised land.
So I lost a good job today.

Touching bottom, Lord…

Left my best friend alone today.
He needed my help, and I’d promised, but, say,
The phone rang again, with a tip on a pony,
The chance of a lifetime, so said someone’s crony.
My friend managed his crisis alone, today.

Touching bottom, Lord…

I hit my wife today.
Not her fault, rent was due, and she had it to pay.
But I wanted that money, and she held it tight,
So I yelled, and I freaked, and we had a fight.
I injured my wife today.

Touching bottom, Lord…

My daughter’s birthday today.
A party, her friends, and some kids’ games to play,
So I laughed, and I drank, and I had a ball
Till I saw her face.  One look told it all.
I embarrassed my daughter today.

Touching bottom, Lord,

I lost a true lover today.
I took it for granted that she’d always stay,
She’d keep giving her love, and her help, and her care
So I took, never gave, while my mind was elsewhere,
And I lost a true lover today.

Touching bottom, Lord.

Once again, I have lied to my friends.
They care, that I know, they’re with me to the end
But I want their respect (though I don’t have my own)
So I played the big man with a fax and a phone,
And I lied, once again, to my friends.

Touching bottom, Lord.

I scammed my mother today;
Took her trust, and threw it away.
I thought I could buy my way out of my pain
But instead I feel like I’m going insane.
I scammed my mother today.

Touching bottom, today.

My life is a nightmare today.
I keep spinning, and turning, and trying to hold on, but everything’s flying away:
Dreams destroyed, friends betrayed, nothing’s immune,
Addictions, addictions are playing the tune.
My life is a nightmare today.

Reaching up, Lord.

I can take the first step today.
Can’t put everything right, but at least I can pray,
I can build my support group of people who’ve found
The way to the good life with feet on the ground.
I can take the first step today.

Reaching up, Lord.  Help me climb back up.
It hurts down here, where I’ve put myself
(There’s no one to blame but me).
I’ve gotta stop now, I can see that it’s true.
Can’t do it alone, can’t win without You.

Lord, help me climb back up.

© 2016 Diana Gardner Robinson

The Piece I Wrote just after 9/11/01 – that still holds true

By Diana Gardner Robinson Leave a Comment

 

TRAGEDIES

Tragedies change our lives. Need they change us, the people we truly are?

So much has already been written about the September 11 tragedies that I hesitate to write more, for it feels as though all has been said already. Yet I cannot ignore them, either.

We are overwhelmed with tragedies. Tragedy of the thousands of deaths, innocent people suddenly taken from their loved ones, children destined to grow up without the father, or the mother, or the sibling or other family member or friend who might have made all the difference in their lives. People who have lost those closest to them, people who, almost worst pain of all, still do not know…

Tragedy of symbols destroyed. Tragedy of life plans, work plans, lost. Of years of hard work, time, effort, dreams, tossed aside and ground into powder.

Tragedy of innocence lost, of people who lived in faith and calm who will now live with suspicion and fear.

Tragedy of contagious anger. The frustration and pain that most feel, but that, in some, is flowing over into hateful thoughts, vicious messages and actions.  Suddenly the internet is more filled with anger and hostility, both toward individuals and toward peoples as a whole. Suddenly people who have lived relatively peacefully fear to shop at their local grocery store. Suddenly the terrorists are winning by undermining not brick and concrete, but how we are to each other.

We may assume that the terrorists had many goals, ncluding shock, pain, death, destruction. There is much about which most of us can do little or nothing, except pray, contribute where we can, offer a shoulder where it is needed. But about the anger and hate… there we CAN do something. We can refuse to hate. We can deal with our anger. We can come together in caring, rather than rant apart in rage. If you would deny the terrorists their ultimate goal, which may go far beyond the destruction of steel and concrete and flesh and bone, then refuse to hate. Refuse to let them change, in a negative direction, the way you respond to your fellow humans.

Have you ever been condemned by association?  Assumed to be a certain way because of the company you kept, the clothes you wore, the friends you had? Ever been stereotyped, responded to in a certain way by people who did not know you at all? Simply because of how you looked, or where you or your ancestors were born? I have, and I know how deeply it wounds, by its very unfairness, and the feeling of helplessness that it engenders.

Even on the day of the tragedy, the mayor of the community in which I live found it necessary to plead for tolerance because the Islamic members of that community were already being harassed. Even before the tragedy, some internet messageboards were becoming hateful. Hate-ful. Full of hate. What does that say about those who are so consumed?

Our fury at the terrorists is, with full justification, multi-faceted, but much of it is about the killing of innocents, people with whom they could not have any quarrel, for they did not know them. When we turn that fury on people we do not know because of what they wear, how they worship, or where they or their parents were born, do we not begin to slide down the slippery slope toward a similarly heinous attitude?

How will we heal from these tragedies? Slowly, I think, but most definitely not by hating. Certainly the perpetrators must pay full penalty for their actions, but let not the innocent suffer with them. If we become like unto the perpetrators in our actions, and in our anger, then they win.

Whether it is the neighbor in your grocery store, or the families living near wherever the originator of these dark deeds may be, let us resolve to protect them as surely as we wish that our loved ones had been protected.

Where the perpetrators hoped to disrupt, let us keep moving forward with our lives wherever we can. Where they sought despair, let us hope. Where they attempted to sow hatred, let our love for the innocents of humanity grow ever stronger.

Diana Gardner Robinson

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