The First Day in Rehab
I’m grateful for Halloween. I’m grateful for Halloween candy. I’m grateful for my anniversary and for the coffee next to me. I’m grateful to be sober today.
I hope Halloween was everything you needed it to be. Although I speak pretty much annually about my desire to eventually own a high-quality George Washington costume—real Father of Your Country stuff—Halloween 2023 has passed without me striding the streets of New York like George Washington actually did, but 2024 is just on the horizon.
The First of November also marks the end of my sober anniversary month, which is fine by me. I think it’s obviously significant and important to share with others, when I was a newcomer hearing people with sobriety of several years gave me hope; the folks who had 20 years? That was just impossible. That’s why that First Year Anniversary means so much, and not just to the celebrant.
For me, that anniversary month stirs up some complicated feelings, as I like to say, the day before the sober anniversary was typically not a great day for most of us. It’s hard to remember October 22nd, without remembering the 21st, and the 20th, and the two weeks before that. I also find myself thinking more about what happened, why some things worked and others didn’t. Mostly, why did it take me ten years to get my first year of sobriety?
Still working on that. You know I like to be a bit dramatic, and come up with semi-ridiculous ways of looking at things, so I’m thinking this is a bit of a cold case thing these days. As I get more sober, I see some things more clearly. Frankly, a lot of what I look back at, the things I did and thought, seems pretty unreal; sometimes, I think maybe I didn’t drink enough because I remember too much.
There are still lots of things I really don’t like to think about, that still evoke some visceral physical reactions. A friend of mine who is a very serious meditator has told me that the path to peace is found by leaning into discomfort. I am finding that is correct, uncomfortably correct.
I make a lot of jokes and comments about rehab. I think there are things about rehabs and treatment centers that could and should change, but they are invaluable. What I learned there was a critical part of my recovery; I would not be sober today without the time I spent and the lessons I learned in rehab. At the same time, as the Big Book points out in the first sixteen pages:
Self-Knowledge is Insufficient to Produce Sobriety.
Anyway, I’ve written about some of my experiences in rehab here:
Here’s what really happened.
In August 2016, I had been trying to get sober for about five years. I think the longest period of actual sobriety during that time was less than four months, but I had managed to carry off the lie (mostly) that I was sober. I was anything but. I drank every day, I was just pretty good at concealing it, most of the time. This was easier to accomplish when there were no significant outside entanglements. In August 2016, I had a significant outside entanglement, she had finally figured me out and had declared that she had received a sufficient amount of my nonsense. No further deliveries would be necessary.
That is to say, she broke up with me. I was devastated, as I often was in those days. To make matters worse, my most regular drinking haunt was being renovated, so I had to relocate to The Commissary, down the street. For whatever reason, I never really liked the Commissary, but spent an awfully big chunk of my life perched on those bar stools, watching the silent 80’s movies on the tiny TV’s over the bar. The ex and I were still texting each other, but she was clear that my promises would not be enough on the go-forward,
The bullshit had walked it’s final walk.
This meant sleepaway rehab. This had been suggested many times before and resisted by me many times before, because it would mean actually getting sober. I was not prepared for that. Like many alcoholics and addicts, I struggle with issues around co-dependency, they are definitely intertwined with my alcoholism, but also separate. In this instance, the existential fear triggered by her announced abandonment was enough to get me to make the phone call to the therapist she suggested, then to the rehab center in Pennsylvania that he suggested. Of course, I conducted this business from a barstool at the Commissary.
I was going to one of the big rehabs, they have a big campus, lots of famous people have spent time there and have their names on donor plaques outside the auditorium/chapel. It’s a great place, they truly care about people and they help a lot of people. I arrived on the Saturday morning of Labor Day weekend.1 It had not been a pleasant drive, as the GPS took me past the exit for said ex-gf’s house as well as the exit for my ex-wife’s family. I think the Universe was trying to make a point. Also, I was in terrible withdrawal. I was sweating, shaking and the anxiety unspooling in my head, well, I kept thinking about that really weird scene in the movie “Eraserhead.”
I pulled into the parking lot for the admissions office, lugged my bags up the steps, and could barely sign my name on the forms I was presented, my hands were shaking so badly. For some reason, I had never really considered the possibility of a stay in a detox as part of my rehab experience. I assumed it was going to be more like checking into a hotel. I had opted into the swanky “executive” program, we had our own house, our own schedule, we had special meals in the cafeteria (this was presented as having a “private chef,”), most importantly, we got to keep our phones and electronics. This is where I very much wanted to be.
At this time, if you were to ask me what I feared most in the world, the answer would be spending unmedicated time alone with my thoughts, with me.2 That’s how fundamental the war had become, I was literally unable to face myself unless I was drinking. Of course, at this time, I blamed much of that on the people around me. That is an attitude that does not cease with the cessation of alcohol, it requires working the Steps. That attitude was one of the false beliefs at the core of my drinking.
As the admissions counselor began explaining this new part about the medical assessment and maybe staying here in the medical unit for a few days, uhhhh no. I need to check into the swanky hotel part of this place right away, so I can start figuring out how the f*** I’m going to distract myself from myself long enough to get through this? I was not happy.
Next stop, the waiting area. I spent about an hour waiting for an exam slot in the medical center on Broyhill-style chairs watching the Lord of the Rings movies on the small TV. There was a very small assortment of DVDs that had been deemed appropriate for viewing, and the LOTR franchise was on the green list. I inquired about watching football? Live tv can be a big no-no in rehab owing to the constant alcohol content. So me and the two other alcoholic/addicts, one pretty much catatonic after his intervention and the other guy on his 6th visit, telling me that they never check your socks, dude.
Finally, I go back to the medical center. The nurse is wearing a Winnie-the-Pooh smock and, given that this is a treatment center, I find that a bit jarring. She took my pulse and blood pressure—both reached personal bests given the events of the day. She had me hold my hands out and asked me about withdrawal symptoms, I denied having any, thinking this might spare me a few days in detox.
My hands were remarkably steady, I thought I had pulled it off, then she asked me to stick my tongue out. I did, she examined it, made a soft “umhm” noise, and then said, “you’re in pretty serious withdrawal.” I said something like, “what?” She said, “some of you can keep your hands from shaking, but you can’t keep your tongue from shaking.” Busted, and I was doing a night or two in the Box.
It was the Saturday night of Labor Day weekend. I was on a twin bed in one of the small rooms attached to the medical center. I was told the doctor would be in on Sunday afternoon or Monday morning, and could clear me to join my unit then. This was actually as bad as it could get, from my perspective and I over-dramatically wondered how I was going to make it 36 or 48 more hours like this.
There was a small kitchenette and we were allowed to get food from there—there were a variety of snacks and sandwiches and beverages in the refrigerator. I had gone in to peruse the sandwich selection, and suddenly a very large man with a very large voice was in there with me.
“Hey,” he twanged, “you guard or inmate?” I laughed, “Uhh, inmate I guess.” He stuck his hand out, “My name is Beef, well, that’s what people call me.” It turned out Beef was from my soon to be house and we became pretty good friends over the next few weeks. That was how I got through the first night, a very providential intrusion by a very funny guy. His reason for visiting the medical center? His mom was in town and had taken him to dinner. In our swanky unit, we actually had off-campus privileges, but had to be tested at the medical center upon return. Beef was there a while because he had to have a full urine screen and he was a bit dehydrated and was also taking the opportunity to conduct a fairly extensive raid on the contents of the detox refrigerator. He told me had smoked so much weed, that he was still testing positive nearly 30 days after entering rehab.
I don’t have a snazzy ending here today. That was just the abridged story of my Day One in rehab. Pretty traumatic, a fair bit of morbid humor, and, in retrospect, the Universe showing me a little about how things worked around here. Looking back, I can see how strong the current of self-dishonesty was, it was as though my head was fixed in one position, and that’s the only way I could see things, the world around me.
The world around me was now very different, admission nurses with f***** Eeyore prints on their smocks, colorful, eccentric, dysfunctional housemates and friends, and me, feeling like I was unmoored from approximately everything. That’s how it started. Again.
WTF with me and Labor Day?
Bear attacks are very high on that list now.
Awesome post! So glad you've shared this story of your first day. 🌞