Days 104- 111 Dunsmuir House

Lee's Journal Entry: Dec. 26, 1995

i slept good last night for a change. yesterday i felt depressed. after turkey dinner my mom prepared i start to cry. my mother came over to hold me and hug me. i was really touched by this.

last wed and thurs night i got really drunk.

today i just feel like staying in bed and drinking beer, i’ve got to stay here till at least 4pm. mom & dad are coming around noon and i’ve got to stay here until Meals on Wheels arrives.

i should go downstairs to phone mom & dad to find out what time they’ll be here but i don’t have the energy. i hope there is a bar close by so i can get some off sales beer.

i wish mom & dad would get their asses over here as i’m bored and have no tv or radio. mom is suppose to bring the little tv that she has. i wish i had some food to eat. i wish meals on wheels would get here.

***

meals on wheels brought me a lunch which was pretty good. i’m probably going to eat the one meal brought to me and for dinner have a sandwich and veggies.

mom & dad came by with some of my stuff, also the little tv and a radio. i’m glad they didn’t stay long, mom was looking in the closet and saw a mickey of rum that i stashed away and forgot about. bonus i thought.

***

i drank all the rum. i’m now on my second beer, from the twelve that i bought.

i’m in a strange mood today. the only way i can explain it is thought of being in bed with the comfort and security it brings. there’s even a part of me that misses being in ward 2E. i almost think of going back there.

The day after Christmas Patti and I went downtown to see Dunsmuir House and try to find out just what was going on. Dunsmuir turned out to be a large old building that had seen better days, but it was clean, neat, orderly and above all, a safe place for Lee. He had his own room, with a bed, dresser table and chair, and an adjoining bathroom with a large old bathtub and toilet. The toilet was apparently broken but I showed Lee how to work it and said a little prayer of thanks when two or three days of accumulated shit went down with the first flush and didn’t overflow. Small mercies are most appreciated.

St. Paul’s had simply dumped Lee at Dunsmuir House. He had the clothes on his back, no coat, no hat, no gloves, no socks, no wallet, no identification. They sent him a weeks meds done up in a blister pack he didn’t remember how to operate. They gave him an address and a room number and told him to go there and he went. They arranged for Meals on Wheels to start sometime? but no visiting nurse or homecare had been arranged. Lee though he had $20-30 when he left but he only had $2.24 when we got him on Christmas morning. He was not too happy with Dunsmuir because it doesn’t have a stove or fridge, but that was his only bitch, and he was already planning on moving if he can find a place. Lee had his lunch from Meals on Wheels, was pleased with the little TV we brought him, and was looking forward to giving Dr. De Wet shit when he sees him tomorrow. We left Lee reasonably content. If he can stay away from the booze and observe the house rules at Dunsmuir I feel he might be in the best place to slowly make a transition back to the community.

Lee's Journal Entry: Dec 27, 1997

i got up at 0600 this morning. at 7am i went for breakfast to the cafeteria that is downstairs and had eggs and sausage. i’m now stuck waiting here till meals on wheels gets here. i’m on my sixth beer and i don’t feel intoxicated.

this afternoon i must go to the bank. i wish i didn’t have to.

i wish i could just lay in bed watching tv and eating junk food.

i’m in a really weird mood today.

***

lunch finally came at 1230, fish, rice and some mixed veggies. i’ve got to go downtown to the bank and do some shopping. i just want to lay in bed watching tv and drinking rum

**

i’m depressed. i’m depressed because i’ve been smoking too much and i’ve been drinking too much.

so what do i do this afternoon? i bought a carton of cigs and a six pack of beer and a bottle of rum. i told myself this is the last time that i drink.

i bought some food this afternoon but i feel like going for pizza at the pizza place across the street.

the thought of watching tv depresses me

tomorrow dad plans to come to my doctors appointment with dewet. he plans on asking a lot of questions. i’m going to ask why in hell did i go to that “2E Ward”. i wonder what his answer will be?

***

i’m now drinking my beer and rum and it feels good.

i’m depressed with this hotel/apartment room. it’s so drab and ugly. there’s no fridge, no stove.

i hope at the end of the month i can get in the grandview hotel. even if it is a dump at least they have stoves and fridges. better yet they’ve got gas stoves.

***

today everything is a huge effort, it was a huge effort to go to the stores today and the bank. the only reason i did it was because i needed cigarettes. otherwise i would have spent the day in bed getting up only to eat and use the bathroom.

and now it seems to be this big effort to go across the street for 1 or 2 slices of pizza.

have i mentioned it before? it is obvious that i so often think about and write about suicide. it’s not like i’m planning on doing it tomorrow. i think about it to prepare myself that i must do it when i really start to get ill. i will only do it if my inner self says it’s ok. right now i couldn’t do it because i know it would be wrong. i know it is not the right time- no matter how much i want to do it, i can’t,unless my inner self ok’s it.

***

some grocery items sit outside on the window sill so as to cool. in these months who needs a fridge?

i can’t believe it’s jan. soon. in 1988 when i first found out i was HIV i never imagined i would be alive in 1995. and here i am, without any major problems

i wonder if i should change doctors.

thank god i’ve no penis warts anymore. it’s been months since i had them- thank god.

some gay men get diagnosed with HIV and 2-3 yrs later they’re on their deathbeds. not me? i can’t thank god for allowing me to live a long time with disease.

oh, well. it’s time to force myself to go get some pizza.

***

there is this little voice in my head. i’ve never listened to it before. tonight i bought two slices of pizza, the voice told me to only get one. to my regret i got 2 and could only eat one. so i have one for later on tonight or for breakfast.

i left the pizza place to go to a nearby store to get 2 chocolate bars. the voice in my head said “ forget it, they’re closed.” i got to the place and sure enough it was closed.

this little voice is a part of me that tells me it is not time to suicide, that it will let me know when it is time.

i must start listening to it more often. i must start consulting with it.

When we left Lee we went up to 2 East to see if they still had his wallet and ID. They didn’t. I stated exactly how I felt about the way Lee had been dumped at Dunsmuir. The grapevine works fast and first thing the next morning Patti got a call from Dr. De Wet’s office. She told them about the lack of supports in place, his screwed up medications, and about his great Christmas Eve. She also confirmed his appointment for tomorrow, Thursday, and told them I would be accompanying Lee and expected an explanation about his screwed up discharge.

Thursday, I went down to Dunsmuir House, saw Lee to let him know I was there and went and met the Director of Dunsmuir. He came, met Lee, and started making inquiries on Lee’s behalf. He said that for once it was nice to be able to work proactively, rather than retroactively. I went back and got Lee and we went to see Dr. De Wet. Lee laid right into him. “How and why did I wind up in Hospital for 3 months...” Dr. De Wet explained about suicidal declarations and legal responsibilities for reporting and preventing, and Lee bought none of it. In his mind De Wet was his doctor and anything said between them was privileged. He had bared his soul to De Wet and he felt that the breaking of this trust was unforgivable. He remembered nothing of the days leading up to his crash or of the month following it. The tragedy of the situation was that for all it was immediately apparent to everyone who met him that Lee had severe short term memory problems and a compromised attention span, it was not apparent to Lee. In his own mind, he was perfectly capable of looking after himself, there was absolutely nothing wrong with his memory or he would have remembered it, and he very much resented all the attention and interference in his life.

De Wet told Lee that he really had not expected Lee to make it that long on his own, but he had and that was good.. He was making plans and that was also good but it was necessary to continue to monitor his progress. That was why the visiting nurse would continue to call daily. If Lee showed he was managing his meds and personal care well she would gradually fade out of his life. He examined the split in the back of Lee’s head, discovered a couple of stitches, and scheduled Lee back in the next Tuesday for their removal. When Lee finely went for a pee Dr. De Wet and I had a chance to talk.

I asked him, "What the fuck happened? I thought we had an agreement that all the god-damned supports were to be in place before Lee was discharged. At this point virtually nothing is in place. The kid has a fried mind and that bastard Social Worker at St. Paul's has the balls to tell me that it really didn't matter a shit whether or not Lee wanted to go to Dunsmuir. He's made arrangements and Lee's out on the god-damned street. The bastard didn't even have the time to spare to take Lee down to the place and give him an orientation. He just turfed him out in the clothes he was wearing and nothing but verbal instructions. He should have had the common sense to write things down on paper, Lee can still read, but the stupid bugger didn't even have the smarts to do that. How the hell do you explain all this bullshit?"

He could only reply that to the best of his knowledge, when Lee was released from St. Paul’s, all the supports were to have been in place. He had been insistent enough with Mr. Weir to have elicited the response “Don’t tell me how to do my fucking job!”.

I responded, "Well its about time somebody fucking well did. He sure as fuck doesn't know now. I suggest you bloody well find out what the hell happened because I sure as hell am going to. If this is how you and that god-damned Hospital honor an agreement with a mental patient and his family regarding conditions for discharge, then let me tell you here and now that if Lee crashes again, St. Paul's Hospital is the last god-damned place on earth I want him taken to!"

Lee returned from his pee and we left. I have not spoken to Dr. De Wet since.