Story Submitted by Tabitha:
Frank messaged me online, and we had enough in common for me to say yes when he asked me out for dinner and drinks. What we didn't have in common, I found out very quickly.
He approached me, as we had agreed, outside of the restaurant, but his speech was slurred and he was doing some sort of shuffle-dance, as if he was incapable of standing still. "You okay?" I asked him, "You need to use a bathroom?"
He replied, "Probably. I shot up a little too much."
"Mmmm," he said, then shuffled his way into the restaurant.
I went inside with him and asked, "Can I call you a cab? I don't think you should be out in the state you're in."
He said, "Nah, I'm good. And you're pretty." We sat down at the bar and he ordered us drinks.
A friend of mine from high school had been a heroin addict who thankfully had detoxed, so I at least vaguely knew how to deal with such a person. I thought that I could have probably convinced him to go home, but he needed help. I thought it was dramatic, but calling 911 seemed to be my only option.
I excused myself from the bar, called 911, and asked for an ambulance. Again, maybe dramatic, but remembering my friend, this guy was probably someone else's friend, and what if he didn't have the support that my friend did?
I waited outside and met the two paramedics there. I explained the situation, described Frank, and they went inside to pick him up.
They apparently did it without incident, as he went with them willingly, from what I could see. They brought him inside the ambulance and were in there with him for a little while before one of them emerged and told me that they were going to bring him to the hospital.
I followed the ambulance there, waited in the waiting room, and the doctor was nice enough to give me at least some limited information, even though I was just his "friend." His condition wasn't terrible, but they were going to keep an eye on him and try to put him into a detox program.
I left the hospital and never heard from him again, thinking that my obligation ended at that point. He was in good hands.
That was five years ago, and I didn't hear from him again until this past January. I received a card from him in the mail that basically said, "I don't know if you remember me, but I wanted to thank you for your help that night. I've been off of heroin for almost four years. Thank you."
I cried when I read that.