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mannerup posted:If only someone could have seen this coming and stopped this tragedy from happening. That was quite rude. He died of heatstroke because of a bad decision to detour from his usual routes. He was being treated for chronic pain. He was on a lot of pain pills. He didn't overdose on them. Nothing could have stopped this from happening short of a miraculous surgical procedure to fix his pain or having lived in someplace that wasn't 100+ degrees most of the year. I take offense to the tone of your post. -- thatdamnjew's widow
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Jun 30, 2013 08:12
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I just wanted to say that I read every post in this thread at least once a day. Thank you all for your words. I wish I could respond to each one of you but these days thinking and typing are a lot harder than they should be, so just know that all the posts here are comforting (except one, although I did get to read over some of my husband's old posts, which was nice, so it wasn't entirely bad) and that I really appreciate the thoughts.
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Jul 4, 2013 19:10
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Beaters posted:Your late husband's contributions here were and are appreciated. So are yours, now. Despite the occasional moronic outbursts from the peanut gallery we hope you feel welcome here. I may need help identifying some of the things I'm finding around the house, so I'll stick around for a bit. Most of the words on the vials I can't even pronounce, let alone research and retain information about. Also, gently caress phenazepam. If I could find out who he got that stuff from I would hold that person down and light them on fire and then run over them with a truck. There's more to that story there but I have a lot to do today and I can't get lost in grief because I wouldn't get any of it done. Edit: As an adult I fully realize that my husband's decisions were his own and the consequences just happened to leak over into not-just-his-life in this situation, and I want to take my anger out on the person who sold him the stuff that ultimately contributed to his death, but that person was just running a business and was not out to be malicious in any way. I shouldn't blame them or want to light them on fire. Still, it is extremely negligent to sell research chemicals when you have a pretty fair idea that they are going to be used in a manner in which they are not intended.
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Jul 5, 2013 19:17
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Here's the reason for my 'gently caress phenazepam' comment. I was gone when he died. I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive myself for the guilt I feel for being gone when he died. I was gone because he had scared me with how out of it he was the days before. I was just going to let him ride this one out on his own and ... I don't know. But I was gone. That Wednesday night, he hallucinated for two hours. Severe, complete, unmistakable hallucinations. Then he fell asleep. He didn't remember anything Thursday morning. I asked him what he had taken and he said phenazepam, but only one milligram (I think he said milligram). I left him to do his work like he had been doing from home. Later in the afternoon I took the boys to karate. When I came home, he was dressed and waiting for me to give him the car keys. He was stumbling, though, and I said no. He said he needed to meet a friend just up the street. After a convoluted chain of events, I threw the keys at him and said to just go. He sat for ten minutes in the driveway before he drove off. He came back and said he had forgotten something, and we talked for a few minutes; he was forgetting things he had said only minutes before, so I called the discussion a loss and he went back out; on his way out he said, "If you've been recording this conversation I'll degauss your iphone." "Why would I record our conversation?" "So that you'd have evidence when you take the kids and bail." "Why would I do that?" "When you get tired of all this and take the kids." "I'm not recording anything. What the gently caress is wrong with you? What the gently caress?" And he left. He came back once again, and this time I asked him if he had taken more phenazepam. He said yes, but told me two milligrams (or x measurement, I don't remember exactly). I begged him to let me hold it for him and dose it properly since it did work for his PTSD and it did help him sleep. He was vehemently opposed to that because he feared I would stop wanting to give him any. Here's where it got scary. He went into the office and grabbed the safe keys. Now, I followed him because I was sure he'd go to wherever he had his stash of phenazepam. He took the safe keys into the bedroom and closed the door. I, of course, opened it and he immediately sat down. "What're you going into the safe for?" "I'm not, I'm just sitting here, thinking." So I sat down and waited. Then I remembered we had a spare safe key in the closet so I got up to get it. I stepped into the closet and he pulled his gun out of its holster. He didn't point it at me, but he drew it. "Why do you have your gun out?" "I don't know if there are any other weapons in the closet." "Are you serious? We cleaned this out last week. There's nothing in here." I had my finger on the button to call 911 but he put his gun away as I stood there. I was mad but calm. "Give me the safe keys." "I don't have the safe keys." "Yes you do, I saw you take them." "I don't have the safe keys. Do you want me to empty my pockets?" "So if I go into the office right now, I'll find them?" "Yeah." I walk into the office, eye on him the whole time, and find no keys. I made him empty his pockets and got the safe keys. I opened the safe and emptied it, hoping to find his drugs. I found nothing. He said he needed to get money out of the safe and I said no, he could use his debit card for anything he needed money for (for my own tracking purposes). He asked me if I wanted a divorce. I said no, wholeheartedly no, and asked him the same. He said no. He left, finally, to "go clear his head" at the bar down the street, and I called my ex-prison-guard friend for advice. Because he had drawn on me, I didn't feel safe. Because he was having such a major psychotic episode, and because phenazepam overdose causes extreme psychosis, I didn't know what was coming next. My friend and his wife came over and he removed all the magazines from the guns we couldn't take with us in the car while she helped me gather a bag of things for the kids and myself. The kids and I went to my sister's house to stay the night. He had turkey and coke at the bar down the street. He tweeted about it. He texted me to see if it was ok to come home. I didn't respond. When he got home he texted, at 11:43pm, "well, I guess I have a loaded .40s&w for whether it is you're planning on doing. if you aim to shoot first, make it cout. all that said, whatever you're planning on, it won't end well." (text is exactly as he typed it, spelling errors and everything) The next morning, Friday, after a few normal-ish texts about an issue with his paycheck, he sent, at 8:43am: "is the 50 in my wallet for cab fare? wtf is going on here" Shortly after, he began this: "house keys where are they" Me: "I have them, why?" "I need IMO in now I NEED TO GET SOME THING INNHOUSE because I'm leaving early for my apt keys, or I'm leaving" Me: "I'm not home, sweetie." "where are you and the kids this will be problem 2 later" Me: "Out. Why did you lock the door? How did you expect to get back in with no keys?" "ok. this convertation is over talk to you later angry" Me: "When you get to your doctor's appointment, you should leave your gun in the car. In case you're still angry." "my anger is focused" At this point, I called his pain management doctor. I told him how he had been acting, what he was on, and that he had a gun. The doctor had never heard of phenazepam. I gave him a brief rundown. He said he would call Metro for backup, just in case. I knew I was breaking the rules of the contract and it could get my husband booted from the office and banned from pain management, but at this point I didn't care. I was too concerned about the welfare of the people in that office and my husband to worry about pain management; I was actually thinking about rehab for him by then. 9:19am "how mad am I going to be" Me: "I just don't want you to snap in the office because you've been seriously off. And you don't remember how off you've been being. You just remember that I'm angry." "there are only 2-3 things that might make me 'snap'/disassociate" Me: "Phenazepam being one of them, apparently." "... battery dying see you whenever to grace my presence again I will see the kids before that" Me: "Get help and we will talk." "you first" Me: "Alright." "out. and now I am even more angry" Metro called me and I explained the situation. I told them I called because he was out of it on some medication and that he drew his weapon on me the previous night. They said they'd call me back after they got to talk to him. I'm filling in gaps here from what the doctor and Metro told me after he had already been sent on his way. His doctor got him in the room with Metro and asked him to unload and hand over his gun, which happened willingly. Then the doctor said he looked really ill. My husband's response was, "I'm just exhausted from my trip to Israel. I'm fine." And the visit continued on from there like normal. Before he left, Metro confiscated his gun for a two week period. His last text to me was "ANGRRYO" about the time that he left the doctor's office, which was 11am. The doctor and Metro both called to tell me that he passed all the lucidity tests and "answered questions appropriately." What they didn't know when they let him go was that he hadn't been to Israel; the doctor was very upset to have heard that and said he regretted giving him his prescription at that point but that he had known what day it was, where he was, who the people around him were, and all that. The doctor offered to walk down with him to the ER but Michael said no. When Metro called, the officer even said that "he seems really out of it but we couldn't legally hold him." He then told me to be safe. Sometime during all this, I had called my mother-in-law to have her come get the kids because I didn't want to deal with putting him into forced rehab or hashing through this latest drug issue while worrying about the kids. She showed up, got the kids, and I took a much-needed nap. This was about 3:30pm or so on that Friday. I texted my neighbor and asked her to check if he was home. She said he was. I sent him two texts asking him if he was okay but got no response. I woke up from one of the hardest and deepest naps I can ever remember and checked my phone. It was about 4:45pm. I sent a couple of texts as I got ready to go home but I got no answer. I called his phone but it went to voicemail. My neighbor looked outside for me and said the car was there and had been there for a while. It wasn't like him to be home and not charge his phone. I got worried. I left my sister's house at 5:20pm. I pulled up to my house and called my neighbor; she was going to be my backup buddy because I had promised several people I wouldn't go into the house alone. That's when I found him; I'll paste in here what I posted elsewhere because it's too hard to re-write. --- I parked across the street and walked toward the driveway. I looked at the car, you know, just absentmindedly, because it was our car. I could vaguely see, through the dark tint, the outline of the headrests. I continued walking up the driveway and it was then that I saw it; one headrest didn’t look like a headrest anymore. It looked like a silhouette of a lock of hair. Two steps took me to the driver’s side of the car. I saw him, slightly leaned toward the door, not moving. My eyes went to his chest, hoping, begging to see it rise and fall with breath but it was still. I tried to open the door but it was locked. I pounded on the window with my fists using all my strength and willpower and yelled his name. He didn’t wake up. I shook the car, screaming for him; his body moved with the motion but otherwise was unresponsive. My neighbor had walked outside to say hi already and I yelled to her frantically, “He’s in the car!” She ran back into her house to get a phone to call 911 and get her husband. There was a stepping stone nearby so I picked it up and smashed it against the back side window. It didn’t do anything so I hit it again. I hit it a third time and realized the window wasn’t going to break; I needed a stronger option. I was dialing 911 on my cell while running into my neighbor’s garage to get the sledgehammer I knew was there. My neighbor’s husband had seen what needed to be done and had run back inside to get a coat hanger to try to get the passenger side open. The 911 operator answered and I gave my address while swinging the sledgehammer towards the side window. It bounced off. I swung it again while Medical Response got on the line. The side window didn’t break and I had to get in. I had to. Briefly the thought crossed my mind about how much repair work had just been done on the car but my husband was in the front seat, unresponsive. The back window crinkled and shattered with one desperate blow and the sledgehammer was taken from me as I climbed onto the trunk. My neighbor’s stepdad had taken the sledgehammer and was using it to clear chunks of window from around me as I leaned in and screamed out Michael’s name. I couldn’t fit between the roof and the back headrests, so I fumbled to remove the middle one. One of our kids’ carseats was in the way so I leaned down inside and unbuckled it, dragging it out through the hole where the back window was. It got stuck and I needed help to pull it out, but the second it was out, I was down inside that car, leaning into the front seat to unlock the doors for the people who were there. Michael was still unresponsive and his body was unmoving, unyielding, as hands tried to pull him out. I knocked on the window and someone opened the door to let me out of the back seat. I tumbled out and screamed his name over and over; I was held back, away from the car, as the 911 operator said to get him out and start CPR. I said we couldn’t get him out. She said we needed to start CPR. I said he’s stiff and we can’t get him out. The officers arrived in droves at that time, and the paramedics were right behind them. They swarmed the scene like ants and reported to dispatch that they were there. The lady on the phone said she was going to let me go because they were there and I said thank you and she hung up. --- I've been trying not to lay blame anywhere, because in the end it all comes back to me. Well, to him, rather, but there were so many things I could have done, so many choices I could have made to not have allowed this to happen. I am secure in the fact that I made the best decisions I could in the moment the situation was happening, but ... but I wasn't there. I was gone. I didn't have him forcibly committed. I didn't have him arrested. I was scared, though, and trusted him to work it all out like the adult he was. But I wasn't there and every so often it hits me and I think I could have prevented this somehow. I just don't know. They found his empty phenazepam vial in his pocket, as well as a set of house keys. I know it's not my fault but god dammit, god dammit, god dammit. gently caress phenazepam. gently caress escapism. gently caress everything. gently caress you, Michael, for doing this to us. gently caress it all. God dammit. edit: One comfort I have is that all his actions were the result of the phenazepam and not him. He would never have acted like this normally. Another small comfort is that he probably didn't remember 90% of any of this and so ... I don't know, I don't feel like the last three days of his life counted in our relationship. No last words of anger, no arguments, no nothing. The last three days were wiped clean and we ended on a good note, not this horribly lovely one. I'll take all the comfort I can hold onto.
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Jul 6, 2013 20:33
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And the surprises just keep rolling in. I was going through his medications (that I swept into a box when friends came to clean my house) and discovered round yellow pills with hearts on 'em. Yes, I looked them up. Welp. And there's some powder of a similar nature in ... well, in a place in my house, and it's rumored that there are six stamps of ... stuff ... someplace else in the house but I'll be damned if I can find 'em. (That's the stuff I want to find more than anything.) Sad side effect of losing him - I have no idea of the dosages of any of this stuff and don't plan on experimenting with it. /sigh
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Jul 8, 2013 08:26
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Silber posted:If you don't know what a pill is, don't use it. The way this was secretly packaged I don't think it's aspirin but I am not going to find out. I'm just ... I'm loath to dump anything at this point so I'll just stick it someplace and worry about it later.
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Jul 8, 2013 19:25
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thelightguy posted:Dancesafe and Erowid have partnered with a lab to do anonymous testing of samples in the states. This is a good bit of information. I'm a little more coherent this week. It comes and goes. It's a series of ups and downs whose end result I can't change, so it is both zen and frustrating, depending on how I take the day. I'm glad this has potentially helped some people. If it saves even one life, saves one family from this kind of thing, then it was worth it to put it all down in words. This thread is part of my support network; this is the only place I've posted the real story and the only place I've been free to vent my spleen about what really happened. Everywhere else I'm just a grieving widow; here I'm actually able to come clean about why I wasn't there and how it all went down. So, thanks for that. I don't want to tarnish his reputation elsewhere or allow people to make assumptions, you know? They already did when I made my initial post on facebook - people assumed it was an overdose, or suicide, or whatever, because he was on so many painkillers. I had to set the record straight when I was thinking more clearly. Still pending toxicology. So long as they don't consider it an intentional death, I'll take whatever their answer is. The worry I have is that they consider something like a drunk driving fatality a suicide and I don't know what other drugs he had in his system that they might find that could throw him into the same category. I'm not sure he had a scrip for benzos either, which could end poorly. The vial was labeled, too, so ... sigh.
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Jul 9, 2013 16:54
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Huggable Bear King posted:Like a stone thrown into a pond, your life is a ripple on still water. The consequences of your actions are far reaching and you'll never know the true impact you continue to have on others even long after you've sunk into blackness. A man is never truly dead until he his forgotten. There were letters to his kids that I found (I still can't re-read them; he wrote them prior to his second-to-last surgery, just in case) that asked them to say Kaddish every year on the anniversary of his passing. Kaddish is a Jewish prayer that requires being grateful to G-d for everything even after you've suffered a huge loss (usually it's called the Mourner's Kaddish but it has no mention of death); every day I try to be grateful for my existence and my children's continued existence in his honor. He will live in my / our hearts until the day I die, and then on from there in his children because I will raise them as an honor to his life and his contribution to this plane. I've already had people tell me his death has kept them alive or has touched them, and that's comforting.
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Jul 12, 2013 13:21
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Sorry it's been a while. Still no toxicology report but I did find his stash. There were a lot of (labeled) baggies and a number of vials. They were all mostly empty. He apparently had been taking phenazepam for months. The first reported incident I can come up with was back in March, and he was suffering from a lot of symptoms that could be linked to phenazepam withdrawal over the months following (as his supply dwindled and was replenished, I assume). I also found a bottle of propylene glycol. He had used it in the past to deal with his PTSD. Earlier this year he had started watching Restrepo, over and over, quite literally EVERY DAY, and he had said that spiked his PTSD issues and that's why he hadn't been sleeping. The rest of the story that unfolds as a theory in my head makes me feel a lot better overall because, while it was something I should have been able to help with, he was hiding it from me so I wouldn't worry and he knew how to hide things. It wasn't that I missed some detail, it was that he didn't want me to find out just how bad it was and I don't think he realized how bad it really was. So there's that. I'm ... I'm in a better headspace now because I've pieced together all this. I talked with his doctor about details he'd mentioned about his appointments and his doctor had no idea what I was talking about. Now I know why he didn't want me to go to his appointments with him. He had an addict's brain and knew the addict's game so he easily juggled all of us and kept himself right where he wanted to be. I can't fault him for that; it's who he was and I knew it when I married him. No judgement, no regret. Anyway, that's it for now. I'll update more when I get the report.
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Jul 21, 2013 21:09
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Silber posted:I hope you've since destroyed it all. Friday. Friday is trash day.
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Jul 23, 2013 04:55
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Got the tox report. "determination: mixed drug intoxication. ruled: accidental" I'm going to go down there and pay to get the full investigation details including the tox report data. Man. I just ... I mean, I'm relieved because this will never show as intentional (nor should it) and therefore protects his reputation, so to speak, with the rest of the world, but ... it never should have happened. Anyway, that's really all I have to say. I wanted to make sure the thread got updated with the results. And I don't want to flush anything because I just put the new toilet in and I'll be damned if I'm letting anything clog it up or catch someplace for someone to find (that thing took for-freakin-ever to install correctly and has a smaller-than-normal internal pipe flange). Also because I ... I have this thing about littering and flushing inappropriate things. It makes the hippie in me cry. Also because I don't want to be held liable for anything trashpickers in my neighborhood might find. I was thinking of mixing it in with the dirty cat litter in the litter bag. Or I might burn it. But then I might get the whole damned neighborhood high if the wind shifts. There is a tiny temptation that's lurking to just keep it squirreled away but that's just because I'm still sad and prone to not thinking correctly. Friday.
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Jul 24, 2013 06:57
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Warchicken posted:Grind the drugs into the dirt somewhere remote if you're that worried about it. I ended up doing just this and then scooping the dirt up into the kitty litter.
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Jul 26, 2013 08:44
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syxxcowz posted:Since you've only been here since April you probably don't know there's a rule where you aren't supposed to sign your posts. Lurk more. I think, of all the phrases I dislike on this forum, "lurk more" is the one I dislike most. Anyway, thank you to those of you in this thread who have said kind words, given good advice, and generally held out a hand to pick me back up. It's definitely hard, and it's not going to get much easier, but there is something to be said for having a lot of people I've never even met speak well of my husband and send their condolences. I appreciate the chance to have made this thread to read over and over through rough days. Thank you.
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Jul 31, 2013 06:22
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Longanimitas posted:
Technically he didn't sign his post, and I didn't sign my own post since it wasn't under my username. I just wanted to make it clear that it wasn't him posting, even if it was pretty obvious by the content. I thought it added a note of finality and cosmic separation between HIS and MINE. Rambling. I didn't actually know there was a rule against that; I had always thought it was just a dumb thing to do so I had never done it until I felt I had to.
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Jul 31, 2013 06:45
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Shithead. She can sign her husband's death announcement post if she wants.
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extra stout posted:That's a tough read and a tough write I'm sure. I thought a death would be the only tragic part of this thread, I can't imagine staying with someone not only through that level of drug abuse but through having a gun pointed at you by them. I imagine that's a tough mix of emotions to sort out, feel free to PM me if you need another ear. To add to what others have said this thread is informative and helpful even if sad. I'm pretty much stuck on/to benzos and I wasn't even aware of benzo with a 60 hour half life, is it really that strong or is it just the halflife guaranteeing benzo build up/dependency if you take it regularly? I'm pretty sure it's a 60 hour half-life regardless, which is why it's so dangerous. Don't do it; it's too unpredictable. If you get the amnesia effect and redose, it's badness for days rather than hours. If you have to, just stick with regular run-of-the-mill benzos. Much less room for extreme mistakes because they fix themselves quicker. I never minded when he had Valium nights, or Xanax nights. I knew he used them when he needed them. This was ... this was just beyond ridiculous. I stayed because I had no idea; this whole event took place over three days - Wednesday night, Thursday, and Friday. I actually left Thursday to give him some time to cool down and for the drugs to wear off, and I had planned to discuss rehab with him when I got back. When I got back, though, it was too late. Sigh.
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Jul 31, 2013 19:28
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| # ¿ Apr 20, 2024 12:53 |
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Warchicken posted:Don't worry about it, it's just someone trolling because reasons. We all appreciate your updates regarding the situation, and hope your story will prevent harm to someone. Hey, a thread's not a thread till FYAD invades it, right? I'm glad this was so well-received. I actually was kind of nervous when I posted it.
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Jul 31, 2013 19:30
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