Brad seemed like he had Asperger’s syndrome or some form of autism that had never officially been diagnosed. Although, his behavior could have been from being spoiled all his life just as easily as it could have been an official disorder.
“Sure thing; how about I leave the applesauce and salad for you right now, and I’ll bring the rest back after I talk to the cook? Will that work?”
“Whatever.”
Brad Hanson was a musician and child celebrity who had frequented Paradise Peak for as long as I had worked there. Over the two years I had known him, I witnessed just what addiction could do to a man, and it made me so sad. Brad was forty-two years old and all alone. In his prime, he had been in a boy band that had been very popular in the ’90s, but in recent years, cocaine had taken over his life. He had also been part of a sitcom that ran for many years after his band broke up. All that happened before he turned twenty-five.
Most of the other technicians that worked on my unit didn’t like to deal with Brad, so inevitably I ended up caring for him whenever I worked.
As a technician, my job was to make the stay more comfortable for our patients. Sometimes I called them clients, and sometimes Mr. March asked us to call people our guests. But it didn’t matter what people were called, they were at our facility to deal with their demons and hopefully get better during their time with us.
Brad was rude and often mean, but there was an honesty to him that hit home with me. I didn’t mind his attitude and found him quite enjoyable when he sobered up and got to the end of his stays at our facility.
Nothing much usually bothered me while I was at work. I didn’t take insults personally, and I was patient with people and knew that they would eventually become friendlier.
Drugs and alcohol had a way of changing how someone dealt with life and the people in it. So, when a patient arrived who had to go through detox and withdrawals, I felt it was my responsibility to make that process as comfortable as possible. Trust me, they were going to go through enough pain and uncomfortable feelings; they didn’t need me to have an attitude with them, as well.
“Is Brad giving you a hard time?” Kaitlin asked as I returned to the back room with the tray of food. “I don’t know why you even try with that guy. He’s never nice.”
“Oh, you know Brad. I need to go talk to Chef Alexander and find out what the chicken is stuffed with before Brad will eat it.”
“Just give it to me. I’ll tell him what it’s stuffed with,” Kaitlin said as she reached for the tray.
“It’s fine. I don’t mind going and finding out. It will make him feel better, and that’s all that matters.”
“You’re way too nice to him. He’s a drug seeker who’s not interested in getting better. I don’t know why you baby him like you do. He’s not even nice to you.”
Brad wasn’t a drug seeker in my eyes, though. To me, he was just an addict who didn’t know how to cope with even the simplest of things in his life. He had popped a pill or drank some alcohol anytime he felt bad for as long as he could remember; it was going to take some time for him to truly learn new coping skills.
“I’ll be right back,” I said as I headed down the hallway. “Can you start handing out the other trays, please?”
“I guess. But if they don’t like it, that’s just too bad.”
Kaitlin was a nurse at Paradise Peak and one of my best friends. As a nurse, she was responsible for ensuring everyone’s medications were correct and administering them throughout her shift. She liked to pretend like she wasn’t compassionate, but I knew that deep down, she cared a lot for our patients. Tough love was just as important as empathy, and Kaitlin’s value was seen just as much as mine by Mr. March.
“Cassidy,” I heard Mr. March say as I walked into the kitchen.
“Yes.”
“This is Erik. He’s going to be staying in room eight; he’s a vegan,” Mr. March said as he looked at Erik to confirm. “It’s vegan, right? Not vegetarian.”
“Yeah,” Erik said as he totally ignored me and looked out the window at the snow-capped mountains.
His eyes seemed glazed over, and I suspected he was coming down off of a pretty major drug or alcohol binge. Whatever landed him in our facility had probably only happened a few hours before, or he had used before arriving.
It was very common for people to try and curb their withdrawal by thinking that one last sip or hit would make them feel better. I felt bad for the guy; he was about to have a pretty horrible couple of days as his body got rid of the drugs he had taken and the withdrawals began.
“I’ll try to remember, but you might have to remind me sometimes,” I said as I reached my hand out to shake his.
I smiled and tenderly looked at him to offer my support. I always made sure new patients knew they could count on me to make their stay as comfortable as possible. It was my job, but I also really enjoyed helping people.
“Just remember. Let’s not make excuses for why you can’t do your job,” he said curtly and walked away from the two of us.
I opened my eyes large and looked at Mr. March; he knew that look and just shrugged his shoulders in response.
This new patient seemed to have a pretty big chip on his shoulder. I had to wonder what he was there for. My guess was drugs – he seemed pretty strung out. He looked like a spoiled rich kid whose father probably sent him to our facility to straighten up before he was handed the reins of some multi-billion-dollar company. Those guys were the hardest to take care of because they expected so much and put in so little.
Rich, spoiled kids were used to getting exactly what they wanted without having to be polite or work at all. Even when they became addicted to drugs, they expected that just coming to a rehab facility would cure them. Actually doing the work and learning about their addiction wasn’t really what they wanted. Those kids wanted a quick fix and someone to blame when it didn’t work out.