So Weeps the Willow - 6. Sobriety Day 5

Day 5

This blog is turning into a recording of my sobriety experiment, and nothing else. I think you’ve become my sounding board, my anchor to reality, my trail of breadcrumbs through the forest. I know nobody is reading this. The counter hasn’t moved since last night. So, I can be perfectly honest. Yet, I feel so numb now.

Today was the worst day of my life. Without a doubt. I woke up and felt a little nauseated. I made coffee, drank some juice, and then it began. It started with my heart pounding, my breath became labored, and my skin was crawling off my body. I felt like the whole world was spinning out of control, away from me. I couldn’t keep my balance. I staggered to my cell phone and called Eddie. It was a reflective action. I could have called my mom, my dad, even Nats, but I called my ex. He came over and took me to the emergency room.

When he was holding my hand, I felt a little better. At the hospital, we sat and waited for me to get called. It felt like a forever until they announced I was next. Eddie assured me it had only been sixteen minutes. I was sweating. My hands were clammy and sticky. A nurse beckoned to me, drawing me to the exam area. I stood and felt my legs and skin quiver as I walked toward her.

I looked back as they showed me the way to the back. Eddie was watching me, a sad smile on his face. His handsome, olive-complexion shining in the bright lights, his black, curly hair glowing. His eyes were following me. I felt like I could see his love for me. It’s not love like we had. This is love as a friend, a brother, not a lover. His real love, as a boyfriend, was gone. I’d killed that long ago, stomped it out, and ground the embers of our affection into dust. Regardless, there was care and concern in his face. I felt the ground firmly beneath my feet, at last, and I could breathe easier. Eddie saved me in that moment.

I’ll try to replicate the scene as best I can. A nurse, a rather rotund woman, somewhat ageless, dressed in brown scrubs with a red beaded necklace, took my vitals. She barely talked to me except for the curt instructions and the fake smile as she took my temperature. I could imagine how a car felt when getting serviced at an oil change place. She just stuck things in, weighed me, measured me, and grunted a few times at the numbers. I was glad when she left and the door opened admitting another person. Her badge said, Dr. Hampstead.

The doctor was a tired looking middle-aged woman, probably in her late forties, early fifties, with a long black skirt, a gray blouse under a white lab coat. She had a few instruments poking out of her pockets, gadgets I couldn’t identify. I hoped she didn’t need to use them on me.

“Mr. Ogden, you are experiencing some heart issues and feeling under the weather?” she asked, thumbing a tablet computer. “Has this happened before?”

“No.” I swallowed hard, steeling myself for the worst. “I think I’m having the DT’s. I quit drinking cold turkey four, no five days ago and I think it’s catching up on me.”

The doctor pursed her generously full lips and squinted at the tablet. She looked up, confused. “DT’s?”

“Yeah, delirium tremens,” I answered quickly, surprised the doctor didn’t know about such things. She was a doctor in an emergency room at a hospital. Surely, she’d seen serious cases of detoxication from drugs or alcohol before. How did I end up with the only doctor anywhere who had never heard of the DT’s?”

“What makes you think you’re experiencing serious chemical withdrawal symptoms?” she asked, an eyebrow arching.

I sighed, exasperated. “I told you. I quit drinking this past weekend and now I’m having a heart attack and maybe even an episode of shock.” It was then I realized how foolish I appeared. I was calmly sitting in the exam room talking rationally about a near death experience, which was probably not really happening at all. The sense of complete humiliation had started about then. I felt ashamed, but then the doctor made it a little better

She reacted in a way that helped. Dr. Hampstead simply smiled at me nicely, sincerely, and I felt a little better. She began.

“First of all, you’re not having a heart attack or even serious issues. Your vitals are elevated, but within normal parameters. Your intake form mentions some dizziness and shortness of breath. I think you had a panic attack, and this may be the residual effects. I’m not seeing any signs of withdrawal. Have you had any vomiting, anxiety, or seizures before today?”

“No, well, maybe some anxiety and this feeling that something’s wrong. Actually, I haven’t felt anything physically for a couple of days except a little headache. There are severe muscle aches in my back and legs.”

The doctor seemed to thumb to something else on the tablet. “I’m going to draw some blood and do a few tests to make sure nothing going on. However, your blood pressure is relatively normal, maybe a little elevated. Your heart rate is within the average range for your age. You seem to be breathing fine now. Since you’ve stopped drinking, your symptoms sound like they’re rather mild. You’re lucky. But, we’ll make sure there’s nothing else going on.”

She gave me a reassuring smile, a real one, that came deep from within. That’s when I felt like an idiot. I’d called Eddie, freaking out, acting like the last gay drama queen from a Logo TV show, about practically nothing. Now I had to face him. Sure, it was good I wasn’t experiencing severe withdrawal and having heart issues, but what if my ex thought this was something else entirely?

What if Eddie thought I was trying to gain his sympathy? What if he saw this as a ruse on my part to get him to take care of me? I was mortified at the thought, and my breathing became labored again. I took a couple of deep ones, calming myself, closing my eyes, breathing out slowly.

I wouldn’t panic, not again.

After they took blood and told me the preliminary findings were normal, they discharged me and I emerged into the waiting room. Eddie was curled on the chair, a copy of Men’s Fitness magazine draped over his crossed leg. He was dozing, but awoke as I neared.

“Everything okay?” he asked, uncrossing his leg and with it the magazine flopped onto the tile floor.

“False alarm. I’m fine. I had a little panic attack, freaked myself out, and imagined something worse than it was. Sorry about that.”

Eddie rubbed his eyes and said, “No worries. I’m glad you’re okay. We’ve been concerned a little. You’ve been kind of out of control. Not to make you feel bad, but what’s up? You seem so lost.”

“Really?” I answered. Yet, I knew he was right. Something was out of control. But, I was starting to find my way. It was beginning to feel like I wasn’t spinning wildly toward a brick wall or a concrete pillar. There was a gap in the walls I’d erected around me. My drinking had hemmed me in. Stopping had given me an opening to find my way towards something. I hoped that something was happiness.

Eddie was very kind to me, and I really didn’t deserve it. Not after what I’d done to him.