A Street Cat Named Bob

I was the only licensed vendor in the area outside the tube station. And I’d worked out the areas that I could and couldn’t stray into with the other main sellers there - the newspaper vendor and the florist in particular. The chuggers, hawkers and bucket rattlers ran roughshod over those rules. I guess some people would have thought it was ironic, but there were times when I failed to see the funny side of it, I have to admit.

Chapter 17 Forty-eight Hours

The young doctor at the DDU – the drug dependency unit – scribbled his signature at the bottom of the prescription and handed it over to me with a stern expression on his face.

‘Remember, take this, then come back to me at least forty-eight hours later when you can feel the withdrawal symptoms have really kicked in,’ he said, holding my gaze. ‘It’s going to be tough, but it will be a lot tougher if you don’t stick to what I’ve said. OK?’

‘OK, I understand,’ I nodded, picking myself up and heading out of his treatment room. ‘Just hope I can do it. See you in a couple of days.’

I’d been turning up at my fortnightly consultations for a couple of months since we’d first talked about coming off methadone. I thought I was ready for it, but my counsellors and doctors obviously didn’t share that opinion. Each time I’d come in they had kept postponing it. I’d not got any kind of explanation as to why this was. Now, at last, they had decided it was time: I was going to make the final step towards being clean.

The prescription the counsellor had just given me was for my last dose of methadone. Methadone had helped me kick my dependence on heroin. But I’d now tapered down my usage to such an extent that it was time to stop taking it for good.

When I next came to the DDU in a couple of days’ time I would be given my first dose of a much milder medication, Subutex, which would ease me out of drug dependency completely. The counsellor described the process as like landing an aeroplane, which I thought was a good analogy. In the following months he would slowly cut back my dosage until it was almost non-existent. As he did so, he said I would slowly drop back down to earth, landing - hopefully - with a very gentle bump.

As I waited for the prescription to be made up today, I didn’t really dwell on the significance of it. My head was too busy with thoughts about what lay ahead during the next forty-eight hours.

The counsellor had explained the risk to me in graphic detail. Coming off methadone wasn’t easy. In fact, it was really hard. I’d experience ‘clucking’ or ‘cold turkey’, a series of unpleasant physical and mental withdrawal symptoms. I had to wait for those symptoms to become quite severe before I could go back to the clinic to get my first dose of Subutex. If I didn’t I risked having what’s known as a precipitated withdrawal. This was basically a much worse withdrawal. It didn’t bear thinking about.

I was confident at this point that I could do it. But at the same time I had an awful niggling feeling that I could fail and find myself wanting to score something that would make me feel better. But I just kept telling myself that I had to do this, I had to get over this last hurdle. Otherwise it was going to be the same the next day and the next day and the day after that. Nothing was going to change.

This was the reality that had finally dawned on me. I’d been living this way for ten years. A lot of my life had just slipped away. I’d wasted so much time, sitting around watching the days vanish. When you are dependent on drugs, minutes become hours, hours become days. It all just slips by; time becomes inconsequential, you only start worrying about it when you need your next fix. You don’t even care until then.

But that’s when it becomes so awful. Then all you can think about is making money to get some more. I’d made huge progress since I’d been in the depths of my heroin addiction years earlier. The DDU had really put me back on track. But I was just sick of the whole thing now. Having to go to a chemist every day, having to visit the DDU every fortnight. Having to prove that I hadn’t been using. I had had enough. I now felt like I had something to do with my life.

In a way I’d made it harder on myself by insisting on doing it alone. I had been offered the chance several times to join Narcotics Anonymous but I just didn’t like the whole twelve-step programme. I couldn’t do that kind of quasi-religious thing. It’s almost like you have to give yourself up to a higher power. It just wasn’t me.

I realised that I was making life even more difficult for myself by taking that route. The difference was I didn’t think I was on my own now. I had Bob.

As usual, I didn’t take him with me to the DDU clinic. I didn’t like exposing him to the place. It was a part of my life I wasn’t proud about, even though I did feel I’d achieved a lot since I’d first visited.