I’m in the woods playing paintball with my husband yesterday (in the town my in- law’s live), and I’m sitting on the ground while he goes to hide. I start to get up, and I feel a poke on my finger, and I look down.
Syringe and needle. Great. And I’m bleeding, too.
So we hightail it back to DH’s grandmother’s house, pack, put the syringe in a bag and grab our kid and get outta there. There’s no need to go to the hospital there; the ones where we live (an hour and a half away) are much better.
Long story short, we see the doc (all of the ER people were just wonderful to me), and he just happened to do his residency with HIV stuff. “I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it,” he tells me, “but we’re gonna put you on these meds for a month anyway.” I’m told that HIV can only live outside the body for a little while, and judging from the dirt on the syringe, there’s no telling how long it was in the woods. Hepatitis B is a bigger concern, as it can live for up to 2 weeks, but even those chances are very, very slim.
I’m at peace; I know I’ll be fine. And I’m thankful. What if my child had been with us, and it had been her? There were kids playing near where I was poked, what if it had been one of them? It could have been my husband. Or maybe I could have sat on the needle and thus had to show my butt to the ER people last night Many people wouldn’t have even had access to the medications I’m going to have to take for the next month. I have a new sympathy for those who have to take them every single day. And I’ve been shown once again who my real friends are: friends are people you can call late at night, and instead of going back to sleep, they pray. I am beyond blessed.
This whole thing has reminded me about how interconnected our lives are, though. Every decision we make has the potential to affect others, no matter how mundane the decision is.
Someone out there decided to introduce the needle’s owner to drugs. (My grandmother in law thinks it was a diabetic’s needle, but there is no way an insulin dependent diabetic would be stupid enough to do something like that.)
They got addicted, and one day decided to shoot up in the woods and carelessly throw the needle on the ground, where anyone could be poked by it.
I get poked, and now my insurance company is paying for a month’s worth of meds that cost about $1700, not to mention the ER visit and the follow-up I have to have with some infectious disease doctor.
And the needle’s owner could be shooting up right now as I write this, with no clue as to the risk they exposed an innocent person (really, a whole family) to. I would be angry, but I guess the grace of God is on me not to be. How low can you get, where you are so ravaged by addiction that you honestly don’t care who you kill, as long as you get what you want? There’s nothing normal about selfishness like that, and it’s only because of God’s mercy that I’ve never gone near the stuff. I could have been the drug addict just as easily as anyone else.
So there’s my Sunday, in a nutshell.