March quickly became April and we celebrated Jimmys 31st birthday. His only observation was that he was fortunate to still be here. Events would soon prove this to be painfully prophetic. On Easter Sunday morning, about four oclock, I awoke to the sound of someone vomiting. I jumped out of bed and raced to the bathroom to find Jim leaning over the toilet. I asked him what was wrong. I took a bunch of pills, he moaned. I then raced downstairs to where we kept most of his medications and discovered that he had consumed one bottle each of Lithium, AZT, and Lomotil. I nearly lost control of my senses. What had he done? Why? What was I going to do? He must have been so desperate to stop his living nightmare that he simply decided to end it all. I ran into our bedroom and woke Bruce.

Get up! Get up! I pleaded as I shook him, Jimmy is in big trouble.

Jimmy, what? Bruce tried to rub some sight into his eyes.\

Weve got to do something right away.

We returned to the bathroom only to find that Jimmys nausea was now accompanied by diarrhea.

What do we do now? asked Bruce.

I dont know.

Why dont we call Dr. Pierone? Hell know what to do.

Of course. Whats the matter with me?

It was four in the morning as I frantically jabbed the doctors answering service number into the phone. They told me that they would contact him and have him get back to us as soon as possible.
While we waited, we went upstairs to Jimmys room to make sure that he was still all right. Fifteen minutes later, the phone rang. It was Dr. Pierone. I explained to him what Jimmy had done and how he was reacting. He told me that I should bring him down to the emergency room at Indian River Hospital at once. At that moment, the anxiety which had clouded my judgment, let up long enough for me to rethink what was happening. Im not sure I want to do that Dr. Pierone.

What do you mean? came the somewhat startled reply.

I mean that if he is that desperate to end his life, perhaps I shouldnt be interfering in the decision making process.

Im sorry, said the doctor, but I feel that the best thing is for you to bring him down right away and we can

Im not sure about that. I think this is his call and we should respect his wishes.

After some discussion, Dr. Pierone reluctantly retreated with the proviso that he would call us later in the morning. I then apologized for waking him only to have him tell me that an apology wasnt necessary, he was there for Jimmy at any time and under any circumstance. I hung up the phone and turned to Bruce who had been listening to my half of the conversation. Norma, he said, I think youre right, but tell me one thing.

Whats that?

Why did we call the doctor in the first place?

I dont really know. It was reflexive, I guess, and there was no time to think things out.

We tended to Jimmy throughout the night and gradually the vomiting stopped. We put him back to bed and checked in on him frequently. He seemed to improve, except for a flush over his face: probably from the Lomotil.

Around eight the next morning, while I sat in our family room drinking coffee, Jim came stumbling down the stairs; his eyes drawn and his face flushed. He sank into a chair and began to cry.

Mom, he gasped between sobs, why didnt I die?

I dont think God was ready for you yet, I said, as I knelt down beside him.

Then God isnt fair. Its what I want.

Maybe Jim, He has unfinished business for you?

What could I possibly have left to contribute to anyone or anything? he sobbed, No! No! Its just not fair.

True to his word, Dr. Pierone called at around eight thirty that morning to inquire about Jim. I told him that he had come down stairs under his own power but his face was flushed and his pupils were slightly dilated. Other than that, he seemed alright. He even managed to eat something and keep it down. The doctor then made arrangements for Jim to be admitted to the hospital the following week for yet another psychiatric evaluation.