Life was pretty good for us but my youngest son was beginning to act out, like most American teenagers when they turn 15 or so.  My youngest son, Nicholaus, was no exception and typical of his nature, very over-the-top.  He did nothing half way and that included his more 'negative' activities.  Nick had started running with friends that I didn't approve of, they were commonly known as 'druggies' and and 'dopers'.  I was very afraid that Nickolaus (Nick) would wind up addicted or dead or in jail, any of these are a mother's worst nightmare. 

Just before Nick's 16th birthday he had requested that I allow him to spend the evening of his birthday with some of his friends.  I was planning a party for him and when I heard who he wanted to spend his birthday with I refused.  Now, Nick and I are very much alike in many ways, we are both very strong willed and stubborn as the day is long.  My poor husband was caught in the middle and was trying to negotiate the situation so that both could be happy.  Nick finally got tired of this and simply left the house and didn't come back that evening.  By the next morning, after staying up all night waiting for him, I had called the police and reported him missing.  Nick had run away, this wasn't the first time either.  I did the usual things in this situation, went to all of his known friends, contacted everyone I could think of, put up flyers with his picture on it, etc... all to no avail. 

I spent his birthday sullen and anxious, hoping he would at least call home and let me know that he was alive and well, but no news and no information.  I went to bed that night in tears and my husband could do nothing but try to comfort me.  Sometime after midnight the phone rang and I lurched out of sleep to answer it, knowing it was my son.  It wasn't, it was a doctor at the local hospital.  She was a kind woman but had to tell me the awful news, my son had overdosed and could I please hurry down there.  I said "Yes, I'm on my way," and hung up the phone.  My husband had been awakened by the phone call also and as he saw me rushing around, throwing on clothes he asked, "what's wrong... was that about Nick?"  I relayed what the ER doctor had said to me and he too jumped up and rushed to get dressed. 

We lived about 10 minutes from the hospital and drove there as quickly as possible.  I ran into the ER (emergency room) and asked where my son was after giving his name to the desk nurse.  She told me which room and I ran to it.  I was met outside of the trauma room by a young sandy haired doctor.  He asked if I was Nick's mother and I shook my head yes.  "Well," he began, "I just want you to be prepared for the worst because we can't save him.  Your son is going to die..."  I never let him finish, my anger and rage sprang up and I walked past him into the trauma room.  My son was lying on the table and looked lifeless, there were tubes and machines attached to him and a nurse was manually bagging him because he wasn't breathing on his own.  The young doctor had followed me and kept saying that my son was going to die and that I should prepare myself for the inevitable.  I spun around on my heel and said to him, "you don't know me and you don't know my son... together we've been beating the odds since before he was born so DON'T tell to let him go..." Apparently my tone was a bit forceful because the doctor stumbled and sputtered his way out of the room - backwards.  My husband later told me that I looked like some avenging Valkyrie when I turned on the doctor. 

The nurse wasn't sure what to make of all of this but she never stopped bagging my son.  I went over to the table and quietly asked her how he was doing and to tell me what she could about what had happened.  She told me that he had been brought in by ambulance from some party that the police had broken up.  The officers had found him on the floor at the party, people were very intoxicated and were stepping over and around him, never noticing that he wasn't breathing.  Obviously, they had arrived in time to get him to the hospital and lots of folks went to jail that night.  I was holding Nick's hand as she was recounting the story as she knew it.  He took a breathe, raised his head, called out to me, collapsed once more and didn't take another breath.  The nurse kept bagging him and trying to talk to him to get him to start breathing.  I saw what she was doing and looked at her with a question on my face, 'should I try too?' and she seemed to know and nodded her head, telling me 'yes'. 

I talked to him, saying everything that knew would normally get a reaction from him.  "Come on, Nick, talk to me.  Say anything, just take breath.  Tell me to go to hell, just breath...." And the conversation went on like that for a while, I couldn't tell you how long.  Several more times he would take a breath, call out to me and then collapse again.  At one point I felt him slip away and his head fell to the side.  The room around me faded away and I found myself rushing down a dark corridor after my son, refusing to let him go, refusing to give him up.  I thought that I had imagined it all, stress - lack of sleep and the like.  But as my vision returned to the room around me I saw that I still had a hold of my son's hand and he was starting to breath again on his own, slowly and painfully but it was happening.  The nurse let out an audible sigh and a look of relief came over her face. 

The door to the trauma room opened and an older doctor came in and said hello.  He walked over to the counter and picked up my son's chart and asked, "what do we have here?"  The nurse verified what he was obviously reading in the pages and then he instructed her to give him another round of the anti-overdose and anti-alcohol poisoning drugs that they use in these cases.  The nurse said, "he's already had a round of those earlier when he first came in..."  "That's alright," he said calmly, "he's a young man and can handle it.  We need to get whatever junk he took out of his system."  After a bit of further discussion with the nurse he turned to me and smiled kindly.  "Normally," he said, "I like to intabate these youngsters when they pull these stunts.  Waking up with a breathing tube down your throat usually is such an unpleasant experience that they think twice about trying it again.  But," he continued, "this one has had such a hard breathing that I don't want his body to stop breathing on it's own.  We won't tube him at this time and just encourage his body to respond on it's own."  I thanked him and shook his hand in appreciation.  He made some comment about a mother's protectiveness and determination but I wasn't exactly paying attention, I was back at my son's side.

After an unknown amount of time the older doctor came in again and said, "Well, he seems to doing a bit better and I think he's out of danger.  We're getting ready to move him to a room in ICU."  My husband and I followed the gurney into the elevator and went upstairs to the ICU ward and helped to get Nick settled.  He was still unconscious but was breathing on his own but still a bit shallowly.  After the nurses had hooked him up to all of the different monitors and machines to keep track of .... well everything we were able to let out a bit of a sigh.  My husband must have noticed the play of emotion across my face and suggested that I go outside and smoke or get a cup of coffee or something.  I started to protest but he just put the mobile phone in my hand and pointed me toward the door and said, "Go get some air... take a few minutes."  With that he kissed me and sat down beside my son's bed and just watched over him. 

On the elevator down I began to understand my husband's meaning.  The realization that my son was safe again, well safer, and that he was going to live through this was starting to hit me and the emotions were scrambling to the surface.  I headed outside towards the parking lot, it was still dark out and I knew that the darkness of pre-dawn would give me privacy.  As soon as I got to our vehicle the first sob broke to the surface.  I could barely unlock the car door, my hands and body shook so badly.  I got into the vehicle and covered my face with my hands and the uncontrolled sobbing began and continued it's barrage for sometime.  I finally cried myself out and sat in the car for a few moments, smoking to calm my nerves.  I snuffed out the cigarette and went back up to my son's room.

For three days I sat by Nick's bed in ICU, taking turns with my husband to go home and shower and change.  During that time I had to go to juvenile court, my son had a date scheduled because of his truancy and curfew issues.  The judge and I had become friends due to my son's acting out.  The judge saw me in the courtroom and came over to me.  Apparently my face showed the stress and strain the past few days.  I recounted the experience to him and he patted my hand in sympathy.  He suggested to the man who was my son's probation officer that after court was over that we simply reschedule the boys court date.  They all knew me from the many visits I had to make into that court because of my son's behaviors. These officials had come to respect my care and determination to keep my son on the right and proper path, my reputation in the community helped also. 

Several days later Nick was awake and slowly moving around.  He got on the phone and was talking to a girl that he had started to hang around with, not someone that I approved of.  Before I knew it she was at the hospital and in his room.  She had brought him clothing and was helping him to get dressed.  I walked into the ICU room and said, "what do you think you're doing?"  "Leaving," he informed me, "I have another party to go to tonight."  "Are you kidding me?" I said shocked by his lack of concern for his own safety and welfare.  The doctor came in at that point and had the discharge papers in his hand.  "You'll be ready to check out in about an hour, young man.  Give us a little time to get everything together and you're home free."  I started to protest and he took me by the upper arm, gently and guided me outside of the room.  He explained the he was doing what he could to stop the boy but his hands were tied and surely couldn't I do anything or call someone to stop his from going out to harm himself anymore?  A light went on in my brain and I had an idea.  I thanked the doctor and went to the nearest phone.  I finally contacted my son's probation officer and explained to him what was happening.  He said that he would help with the problem and to keep my son there for as long as possible.  I said that I would and hung up.  I went to the doctor and suggested that he take as long as possible to finish up the paperwork, he nodded in understanding.

I went back into Nick's room and did my best to slow down his progress.  I even gave the girl money to go down to the snack bar and get us all something to eat.  I had held him up as long as I could and he and the girl headed out of the room.  I followed him out and saw two police officers enter the ICU ward.  I heard them ask where my son was by name and that they had a warrant for his arrest.  I let out a sigh of relief, I knew that he wouldn't be able to harm himself with reckless behavior that night.  No drinking and no drugging for him that night or that weekend.  Nick looked at me and a scowl came over his face, "you did this, didn't you Mom?" He said very accusingly.  "Yes, darling, if this is what I have to do to protect you from yourself then so be it."  I answered with arms crossed over my chest.  The officers were cuffing his hands behind his back but were handling him gently when they were told that he was just being released from ICU. 

I went down with them in the elevator and Nick refused to look at me.  The older police officer began trying to talk to him and reason with the boy. Of course at that age Nick was already as tall as me and I stand just under 2 meters tall.  The older officer was getting through to Nick and by the time we reached the patrol car outside Nick relented and let me give him a hug and kiss.  He asked me to come and visit him in the juvenile center, I promised that I would and that I would also be there for his court date. 

I went home with a heavy heart, sad that I'd had to take such extreme measures to safe guard my own son.  I did a lot of soul searching that evening and for several days there after.  I had to find a way to reach my son and get him to see reason and to stop his self destructive behavior.  As a result of my phone call the judge gave him a stern lecture and ordered him to go into counseling for drug and alcohol abuse and to join me in family counseling to try to resolve these issues.  Did these measure work to save my son from himself?  That's another tale in and of itself.