Friday July 29 2022

The new moon vibes are still vibing high today; and depending on whether you subscribe to the Western or the Vedic astrology systems, the moon is in either Cancer or Leo. And in the buried history of these lands there must be other names and older rites for the mid summer dark moon.

All of my energies have been consumed by housing upheaval and the seeking of housing in Victoria, which is notoriously challenging and over-priced. I was crying like a little baby as housing opportunity after housing opportunity fell under my feet despite herculean efforts to procure four walls and a place to rest my head each night. I was preparing myself for the possibility of living in my grandpa’s old truck again.

I reflected on how difficult it must be for those who are far more marginalized than myself to secure housing in this city, and it’s no surprise that there is homelessness everywhere. And one of the biggest barriers to those who are addicted and traumatized in having any chance of recovery is finding safe and affordable housing. One place I looked at was in a rooming house with 9 suites, one working bathroom, one half working bathroom; and the small room I viewed had smashed in windows and walls with graffiti all over it including a swastika with ”Fuck Trudeau” scrawled underneath it. The landlord said he would “probably” have it ready for August 1. He wanted $1050 for rent.

A few days ago I answered an obscure and not very detailed Craigslist ad for an apartment share/sublease with a person who would only be around a few times a month and I only replied on a whim and out of desperation. I got to the place and felt like I had just walked into a New York artist’s apartment in 1972: high ceilings, canvasses everywhere, glass door knobs, giant decorative metal heaters and a massive porcelain bath tub. And it turns out that the person I’ll be sharing with is doing their masters degree in New York and will only be here a few times while I’m here for the next 7 or so months, and most of those visits coincide with times I’ll be visiting my family up island. The rent is cheap and it’s tucked away in the back of an aged brick building building so is very quiet considering it’s right downtown; and it’s super comfortable and a little messy, just how I like it. I feel beyond blessed to have found this place and was able to move in early and it already feels like home.

I headed out to run some errands today and I walked by a drop in centre on Douglas street. I saw that they were offering Naloxone training there so went inside to inquire. I ended up talking to a woman there who gave me some info on the whole process and I was told to keep the person breathing and inject in to the leg muscle rather than the arms. 

I started walking home and was all like I probably won’t ever get into a situation where I need to revive someone, I really don’t think I’d be able to deal with it anyway, but it’s good to know just in case and to be aware of and acknowledge the issues that are going on around me; and honour those who I’ve lost to opiates. About 15 minutes later I heard a woman screaming for a Naloxone kit kitty corner from the Ocean Island Inn on Pandora and Blanshard street. I ran over and there was a frail lifeless man hunched over like a rag doll on a busy street where cars, cyclists and pedestrians were passing by as if it was nothing. I quickly pulled out my kit and the woman who was going to use it was putting on gloves as she mentioned that she has HIV. It was taking quite a while as it was hotter than heck out and I reckon that no one evaded being covered with a slick layer of greasy sweat. I was like it’s cool I can do it. I told her that I had never used a kit before and would follow her lead and she told me to draw up all of the liquid from the small vial she had placed down. I went to stick the needle in and my hand was shaking violently. I had to ask her to hold the vial still and I managed to get all the fluid in until a gurgling sound started coming up from the needle tip. I remembered from my own dark past to turn the needle upside down and get all of the bubbles out until a few drops of fluid came out of the tip. I then injected the Narcan into the man’s thigh.

She was totally chill through the whole ordeal and when I suggested we call an ambulance she was like no no no he’ll be fine. I got the second needle ready and then was like sorry I can’t do it and had to hand it to her to inject. I wasn’t trusting that I was doing it right and didn’t want to mess it up. It was hard to stay present as a big part of me wanted to jump out of my skin and take a ride to the stars but I kept breathing and then she told me that she would need another kit and so I ran over to the Ocean Island Inn. I asked the two young people working at the counter for a kit and they didn’t seem to know what Naloxone was. I was like someone is having a medical emergency and I need another Naloxone kit, do you have one around somewhere?. They just looked stunned and were like why don’t you call 911?. I was like we don’t have time to wait for an ambulance.

Another employee came by and found a kit buried under the desk and I ran it over but when I opened it up there were no vials left in it. The man started turning pale and green and I was freaking the fuck out inside and I remembered what the woman at the Aboriginal drop in centre had told me about keeping the person breathing so was like we need to get him CPR. We got his back pack off and put him down on his back and the woman started breathing into his mouth. I could see his chest rising and told her to keep doing that and that I would find a kit. The outreach places along that stretch of Pandora didn’t have anyone at the reception so I tried some more businesses along the road. None of them had Naloxone. I called 911 and was put on hold. Finally, one of the customers from Tacofino went to their vehicle, as they had a kit in there. I ran back to where the man was and he had colour in his face again and his eyes were open.

The man was Indigenous and he nearly died in front of a totem pole erected by the city to honour the First people of these lands. It was fucking haunting.

Him and his partner left to go home and get out of the sun and I sat down and was shaking and felt super fucked up. Someone told me that they had called an ambulance so I waited for them to come so I could tell them that everything was ok now.

The ambulance never came. I went back to Tacofino to talk to a manager or an owner but no one was available. The young women I spoke to seemed very annoyed with me and was like there’s a line up of customers behind you. I couldn’t have cared less about a bunch of yuppies being held up in buying their Bourgeousie tacos. I mean I do love me some Tacofino but a man nearly died like 5 minutes previously just meters down the road and nobody seemed to give two fucks. It was so surreal.

I came home and called a friend and I’m so glad to have good people in my life who I can talk to about the crazy shit that goes down in my world sometimes.

After chilling out at home for a bit and eating some chocolate I walked over to London Drugs to get another kit (or 3, I now know that it can sometimes take up to 3 kits to bring someone back) but the pharmacy there recently changed their hours so they weren’t open. When I came outside there were some guys there that looked like they had street smarts and so I asked them where I could get more kits. I told them that I had had my first experience bringing someone back and they right way showed me so much compassion. The main guy I talked to was like “I know what you’re going through right now, it’s really tough, even when the person lives.” He then told me about his first time bringing someone back. He said that he’s done it 64 times now and not all of the people he tried to save survived. The other guy there said that sometimes he cries afterwards, and I started crying a bit. I’m crying as I write this.

There’s no articulation that can express how I feel right now.

I had heard for years that you can take clippings from herbal plants like mint and lemon balm, stick them in water and they'll sprout roots and can be replanted. I decided to try it out a couple of months ago, and it worked, and it was so cool seeing the spindly little roots shoot out from the ragged and severed orphans. One of my main missions today was to find planter pots to transfer my cuttings into, as the roots are well ready to be transplanted. I first went to a Salvation Army downtown and couldn’t believe how expensive everything there was, like $4.oo for a tiny pot that wasn’t even big enough.

I’m really trying to trust my intuition these days, and although I really wanted to plant my herbs close to the new moon, it just didn’t feel right to get anything in that store; not just because of the price but also because none of the planters seemed very interesting. So I left and went to W.I.N. (another thrift store) and they were closed. Astonishingly, there was a pile of abandoned planter pots next to a garbage bin a few meters down from the store and I scooped them up. Shortly after that is when I heard a woman from across the street screaming for a Naloxone kit.

When I made my way home after berating Tacofino for not having any kits on hand, a man saw my pots and was like oh I’m really jealous right now because I have some aloe vera that need bigger pots haha. I was like dude these are all mine. His presence was stirring, as he looked a lot like one of my x-boyfriends from 20 years ago, minus the sleeves of tattoos. His eyes were nearly identical: big, round, otherworldly blue and deeply set; and I thought about that person from my past who in the years following our break up ended up going down into the depths of hardcore substance use, which was very sad to see. Though the last time I checked in with one of his friends, he was still alive. We had stayed friends for quite a few years after we split up but it got to the point where I couldn't have anything to do with the guy anymore because he started lashing out at me; and I understand why friends and family members get fed up with their drug addicted loved ones. It’s not easy having addicts in your life. But at the end of the day, everyone deserves compassion and care when they are in crisis.

I wasn’t asking anyone from the local businesses to jump in there with me, just to have a fucking medical kit on hand being that their businesses are in the heart of a neighbourhood in the midst of an opiate crisis.

I came home and washed out all of the cracked and crusted pots with the intention of taping up parts of them and painting over other areas. One of them is covered in drips of multicoloured paint on the outside, and on the inside I slowly cleaned away a message scrawled in black pen:

“Even the biggest mess can be beautiful.”

Take Home Naloxone