Chasing Carson: A Family's Journey through Adolescence, Addiction and Recovery

By Dawn McCord

We knew we were in trouble when we started getting calls from the neighbors saying Carson was at the top of the tallest tree on the street. He was 7 or 8 years old. At 10 he made a zipline out of the dog’s tie out and leash then attempted to zip from the tree to the top of the playhouse, nearly hanging himself. He came out of the womb a natural athlete and risk taker. We were amazed by his ingenuity.
Freshman year of high school he started experimenting with drugs like most teens do, however our boy had unlocked the door to addiction. As his drugs became harder he spiraled out of control with periods of abstinence followed by a few weeks of being on a “bender” until a crisis would end that cycle. Each time, we would think this is his “rock bottom”, then it wasn’t. We struggled with “Is this just the throws of adolescence or does he have a problem.” By his Senior year he overdosed.
Then starts the scramble to find some sort of rehabilitation that is longer, different and out of our area. How can we afford it? Insurance? Savings? Mortgage the house? What does recovery look like for a now 18 year old that can just walk away from wherever we send him?
……Always Chasing Carson……

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gatekeeper Press
• Release date: Dec 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662919879

Book preview

Introduction

Today’s the day . . . it’s raining out and we are all under a shelter in place order in our state of Indiana during the COVID-19 pandemic of 2020. I am a hairdresser who usually works from home, and due to not being able to practice social distancing, I am out of a job for a while. My college-age son, Jackson, sits next to me with his earbuds in watching his professor’s lecture on WebEx.

It is a different world right now, filled with a lot of uncertainty. Are we taking this virus seriously or are we overreacting? I personally would err on the side of caution. I closed my business and canceled my clients a week before it was mandated.

Clients, friends, and family have asked . . . Are you scared?

I said, No, after nearly losing a child . . . no other crisis compares.

I don’t mean to trivialize the seriousness of this illness and how it will affect the health and financial aspects of people’s lives. It might be all relative, but from a mother’s perspective, losing a child or watching them nearly die . . . well, nothing else matters.

This is our story.

• In the State of Indiana, approximately 90 percent of individuals with addiction begin using illicit drugs before the age of eighteen. Since 1999, the number of opioid poisoning deaths increased by 500%. (MPH, In.gov)

• Analysis from the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration states that as addicts need stronger painkillers to achieve the same effect, they may be unable to access pills through their healthcare provider or unable to afford illegally sold pills. Some end up switching to heroin, a cheaper illegal opioid. (www.usafacts.org, published May 20, 2019, SAMHSA.gov data review 2013)

• Addiction is one of the most common mental illnesses in the United States, affecting millions of Americans every day. An estimated 21 million Americans ages twelve or older (7.8 percent of the population) required treatment for substance abuse in 2016, according to the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Administration. (Alvernia University, Oct. 25, 2017)

• Although the addiction process is similar for adults and adolescents, it happens more quickly for teenagers. If substance abuse begins in adulthood, it can take eight to ten years for an individual to reach chronic stages of dependency. If the onset is during adolescence, it can take less than fifteen months. (Dick Schaefer, Choices and Consequences)

1.

...and Mary wept

October 18, 2019

Carson, wake up and go to bed . . . Carson . . . Carson . . .

Sloan turns the light on in the living room and screams Carson!

It’s 4:30 in the morning and Sloan, my husband, has just gone downstairs to start his day when I hear him scream. I jump out of bed and run down the stairs to find Sloan trying to revive our son.

Carson is gray and gasping for breath. He has vomited on his shoulder. I scream and run back upstairs for the Narcan that I bought one and a half years ago . . . just in case. I grab my phone and call 911. I scream into the phone, My son is overdosing, please help!

I am fumbling with the Narcan vial, trying to read the directions (this is an old type of dose, intramuscular), as I’m trying to tell the dispatcher what I’m trying to do, and she is attempting to guide me.

I drop the dose, then pick it up. I know I only have moments to get this into him. I have no idea how long he has been like this . . . has he aspirated? I get the two parts together and try to shoot it into his thigh, but I had it put together wrong and the Narcan liquid just runs down his leg! I am losing my son. I run to the front door to open it for the paramedics . . . the door is old, the lock sticks. I can’t fucking open the door. Finally, it opens and the paramedics come in and take over-- there are three!

More firemen arrive. When the police arrive there are two officers, but all I hear is, Ma’am, what did your son take?

I don’t know! He has a history of substance abuse; he was just in treatment all summer!

I hear, He’s going to pass out, Sir . . . Sir, sit down . . . Ma’am, get your husband some water.

I run to the kitchen to get water, the whole time screaming, Oh my God, no, please no!

The paramedics have given Carson a dose of Narcan through his nose, they have started an IV of Narcan, and they have bagged him to help him breathe. He hasn’t come to yet.

Isn’t he supposed to come to after Narcan?!

The police officer asks, Is this his wallet on the table?

Yes, I say.

Can you please look through it and show me the contents? he asks.

I open the wallet to find a straw and a baggy of powder. The police officer with gloves on takes it from me and says, It looks like heroin.

Heroin?! Heroin?! What?! Nooooo!

Ma’am, you need to go wash your hands. We don’t know if it’s laced with fentanyl.

Wait, what?! How’d we get here? How did experimenting with pot end up with my son overdosing on heroin?!

I notice that in the frenzy of everyone doing something to help Carson, there is an older man, a fireman, leaning up against the wall just watching with an expression of judgment. I can’t believe I am noticing this. Like, what the hell? Has he seen so much that he is just disgusted? I have the wherewithal, or call it God, but I take pictures of the whole ordeal. If Carson makes it through, he has to see what he is doing to himself . . . to us. They wheel him out and ask what hospital. I say, Community North.

Before Sloan and I go upstairs to put clothes on, I call my dad, screaming and crying, telling my eighty-one-year-old father that my son just overdosed, and that I’m not sure if he’s going to make it. I hang up with him and I call my childhood best friend. She answers on the first ring. It’s almost 5:00 a.m. now.

What’s wrong?! she says.

I say, He overdosed, Mern. Carson overdosed on heroin!

Is he alive? she asks tentatively.

As of when they took him out the door he was, but he hadn’t come to. We are heading to Community North, I’ll let you know . . .

It’s roughly 5:20 a.m. when we arrive at the hospital. The ER desk says he has arrived and that they’ll let us know when we can go back and see him. He’s alive! I turn around to see Suzie and Shane, my best friends since I was twelve years old, standing in front of Sloan and me. We collapse in their arms.

What seems like hours is still just minutes until they call us back to see him. He is sedated because he finally came to in the ambulance and was agitated. They have him all wired up, IV in his arm, and he is tied to his bed. Nurses and doctors come in and introduce themselves. They order tests, saying they need to stabilize him. I text our church friends to tell them what is going on and ask for prayers. This isn’t the first time Sloan and I have called on them to pray for Carson.

Julie, an oncology nurse and church friend, shows up. She walked across the hospital campus immediately after getting the text. She starts to explain everything going on.

Carson starts to become conscious. It’s obvious he’s still high. He says he’s Got to pee. He tries to get out of bed before realizing his arms are attached to the bed. What the fuck? he says.

I try to reason with him, and he says he can’t hear me, so I speak louder, Julie speaks louder, the other female nurse speaks louder.

Nothing, he can’t hear us.

We finally write it down on paper. Doctors and lab people come in and out doing tests, his oxygen saturation rate keeps dipping, and they put an oxygen mask on him, which he keeps trying to take off. His blood pressure hovers dangerously low. They start administering antibiotics through the IV because they fear he has pneumonia due to aspirating his vomit. They decide to move him to ICU . . .

Did Mary, Mother of God, weep? Absolutely!

2.

poly-substance use is higher among adolescents

~ Dick Schaefer, Choices and Consequences

It’s August 2017, two years before the overdose, and Carson has just finished his first week of his sophomore year of high school and a week’s worth of football practice. The state fair is in full swing. We had a lovely summer. Carson’s older brother, Jackson, went on a church mission trip to Haiti, and Carson and I went to visit our family friend’s house in England and on to France for two weeks.

In those countries, as most know, the culture is quite liberal about letting teenagers drink. Even though I do not drink, Sloan and I agreed to let Carson drink on this trip. I struggled with that since both mine and my husband’s fathers were alcoholics, but I hoped that maybe Carson could learn how to drink responsibly.

On Sunday of that week, we decide to meet grandma and grandpa (my parents) for lunch so the boys could tell them about their trips and show pictures. We wake the boys to get showers and get moving. I’m in the shower when Carson comes in and asks when I’ll be out.

Why? I ask him.

Because, I have to take a shower.

Carson, you just took a shower.

Oh, yeah . . . I’m half-asleep.

Strange, I think.

We get to the restaurant and Carson is walking across the parking lot like he’s drunk. I say to him, What is up with you? We sit down with the grandparents and order our food. Jackson tells them about his trip, but I’m watching Carson and notice he is having trouble keeping his eyes open and his movements have slowed. I look toward Sloan, who is also watching him. Suddenly, in the middle of conversation, Carson scoots his chair back from the table and yells, I gotta take a piss.

Carson, keep your voice down! I say between gritted teeth. You know where the bathroom is, go!

I look at Jackson and say, Go with him.

Jackson comes back to the table and says, He’s fine.

No!