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The man in the weeds
May. 10th, 2022 10:31 pm[Content notes: Self harm. Likely drug use and/or mental illness. Medical treatment.]
Friday featured an unusual encounter.
After walking in a preserve with one of the people I support, we came upon a man sitting in the weeds by the parking area.
He called out as we passed, "I'm sitting in poison ivy!" His voice was soft, gentle, and giddy.
I stopped. His shoes were off. "Are you okay?" I asked.
"I'm messed up." He grinned. "So I'm sitting in poison ivy."
"That's not poison ivy. That's garlic mustard."
"No shit? This is mustard?"
"No, garlic mustard. It's different. But it's edible."
He looked at the weeds in wonder. "You can eat this?"
"Well, you wouldn't make a meal of it, but you could put the leaves in your salad."
"Well, how about that."
"So... What's wrong?"
"Aah, I can't tell you. You'll understand later."
I looked around more closely. "Oh wait, there is poison ivy here." I pointed.
"This?" He grabbed the vine with his bare hands. With a peaceful, contented smile, he mashed it around on his forehead.
My eyebrows shot up, but I did nothing. Maybe because it was too late to stop him. Maybe because even if he was messed up, he understood his situation better than I did. Or maybe because I was just too confused to act. I'm pretty sure a deadpan "Seriously?" went through my head, but did not pass my lips.
He told me, "I need to go to the hospital. But I'm afraid they'll kill me."
"They'll kill you?"
"Yeah. The doctors might try to kill me. I'm afraid of the needles."
"Well... I don't know whether you'll get good quality medical care or not. But I'm pretty sure they won't try to kill you."
"Huh." He paused in thought. "Okay, you've convinced me. I wasn't gonna go to the hospital, but now I'll go."
I couldn't give him a ride while I had my companion with me. "Can you get yourself there?" The hospital was a ten minute walk away.
"Yeah, I can." He smiled. "Hey, thanks, buddy. Everyone else just walks right by me. You're the first person who's stopped, and the first person who's been kind to me."
"Any time. You're sure you can get there?"
"Yeah. No problem."
"Okay, good luck." We parted ways.
The person I supported buckled in and commented, "Hopefully that guy will be okay."
I said, "I hope so. Later on, I'll swing by and see if he's still there. Just to check on him."
"I wonder what's wrong with him."
"I don't know. He mentioned he's messed up, which could mean that he's on drugs, but it could mean that he's mentally ill."
"Yeah."
"He just took some poison ivy and rubbed it on himself, which I think means that he wants to develop a rash and get treated at the hospital. Maybe so that he can get some painkillers. That's a common thing that happens, where people go to the hospital for painkillers because they're addicted to them." I had only read about it happening here in the context of public funding: In retrospect, I'm not sure how justified the word "common" really was. Perhaps he needed the hospital for some other purpose, and the poison ivy felt like a foot in the door. Perhaps the two were unrelated, and the poison ivy was just for self harm. I suspect I'll never know.
We drove in silence for a while before I continued. "If it were safe, I would have been happy to call 911 for him. The thing is, if you call 911, they might send the police. And the police are not safe for a Black guy who's acting weird, and possibly on drugs."
"Yeah."
"The police are run by the KKK, basically. They might kill him. So I can't call the police to come check him out. That's why I decided I could come back and check on him. 'Cause while I have you here, I can't give him a ride."
"No."
"But if I drop you off later and go check on him, and he's still there, I could drive him over to the hospital."
A minute later, my companion added, "Like they say, Black Lives Matter."
Little hearts popped up in my eyes. "Yes! Exactly! That's what I'm talking about."
Once we had admired the tulips in the park, I suggested that we head back to the preserve, to check on the guy. My companion agreed. I'd imagined the poor guy being wrong about getting himself to the hospital. I came up with a plan to allow me to bring him there without compromising my duties, though the urushiol would need cleaning up later. What if he were unconscious or dead? I tried to remember what I could of my NARCAN training. It almost certainly wasn't needed, but I would have hated to be unprepared. I also had a number for the mobile crisis unit somewhere in my laptop. I cursed my slowness for not thinking of all of this earlier.
When we arrived, the only trace of our encounter was the crushed patch of garlic mustard. His shoes were gone, so I reasoned that he had probably left under his own power. My companion needed a convenience store, so we picked one that would take us along the route to the hospital. We had been gone more than long enough for that walk, and he wasn't to be seen. I was left reflecting on "next time," because that was all that was left to do.
Friday featured an unusual encounter.
After walking in a preserve with one of the people I support, we came upon a man sitting in the weeds by the parking area.
He called out as we passed, "I'm sitting in poison ivy!" His voice was soft, gentle, and giddy.
I stopped. His shoes were off. "Are you okay?" I asked.
"I'm messed up." He grinned. "So I'm sitting in poison ivy."
"That's not poison ivy. That's garlic mustard."
"No shit? This is mustard?"
"No, garlic mustard. It's different. But it's edible."
He looked at the weeds in wonder. "You can eat this?"
"Well, you wouldn't make a meal of it, but you could put the leaves in your salad."
"Well, how about that."
"So... What's wrong?"
"Aah, I can't tell you. You'll understand later."
I looked around more closely. "Oh wait, there is poison ivy here." I pointed.
"This?" He grabbed the vine with his bare hands. With a peaceful, contented smile, he mashed it around on his forehead.
My eyebrows shot up, but I did nothing. Maybe because it was too late to stop him. Maybe because even if he was messed up, he understood his situation better than I did. Or maybe because I was just too confused to act. I'm pretty sure a deadpan "Seriously?" went through my head, but did not pass my lips.
He told me, "I need to go to the hospital. But I'm afraid they'll kill me."
"They'll kill you?"
"Yeah. The doctors might try to kill me. I'm afraid of the needles."
"Well... I don't know whether you'll get good quality medical care or not. But I'm pretty sure they won't try to kill you."
"Huh." He paused in thought. "Okay, you've convinced me. I wasn't gonna go to the hospital, but now I'll go."
I couldn't give him a ride while I had my companion with me. "Can you get yourself there?" The hospital was a ten minute walk away.
"Yeah, I can." He smiled. "Hey, thanks, buddy. Everyone else just walks right by me. You're the first person who's stopped, and the first person who's been kind to me."
"Any time. You're sure you can get there?"
"Yeah. No problem."
"Okay, good luck." We parted ways.
The person I supported buckled in and commented, "Hopefully that guy will be okay."
I said, "I hope so. Later on, I'll swing by and see if he's still there. Just to check on him."
"I wonder what's wrong with him."
"I don't know. He mentioned he's messed up, which could mean that he's on drugs, but it could mean that he's mentally ill."
"Yeah."
"He just took some poison ivy and rubbed it on himself, which I think means that he wants to develop a rash and get treated at the hospital. Maybe so that he can get some painkillers. That's a common thing that happens, where people go to the hospital for painkillers because they're addicted to them." I had only read about it happening here in the context of public funding: In retrospect, I'm not sure how justified the word "common" really was. Perhaps he needed the hospital for some other purpose, and the poison ivy felt like a foot in the door. Perhaps the two were unrelated, and the poison ivy was just for self harm. I suspect I'll never know.
We drove in silence for a while before I continued. "If it were safe, I would have been happy to call 911 for him. The thing is, if you call 911, they might send the police. And the police are not safe for a Black guy who's acting weird, and possibly on drugs."
"Yeah."
"The police are run by the KKK, basically. They might kill him. So I can't call the police to come check him out. That's why I decided I could come back and check on him. 'Cause while I have you here, I can't give him a ride."
"No."
"But if I drop you off later and go check on him, and he's still there, I could drive him over to the hospital."
A minute later, my companion added, "Like they say, Black Lives Matter."
Little hearts popped up in my eyes. "Yes! Exactly! That's what I'm talking about."
Once we had admired the tulips in the park, I suggested that we head back to the preserve, to check on the guy. My companion agreed. I'd imagined the poor guy being wrong about getting himself to the hospital. I came up with a plan to allow me to bring him there without compromising my duties, though the urushiol would need cleaning up later. What if he were unconscious or dead? I tried to remember what I could of my NARCAN training. It almost certainly wasn't needed, but I would have hated to be unprepared. I also had a number for the mobile crisis unit somewhere in my laptop. I cursed my slowness for not thinking of all of this earlier.
When we arrived, the only trace of our encounter was the crushed patch of garlic mustard. His shoes were gone, so I reasoned that he had probably left under his own power. My companion needed a convenience store, so we picked one that would take us along the route to the hospital. We had been gone more than long enough for that walk, and he wasn't to be seen. I was left reflecting on "next time," because that was all that was left to do.
