CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The following is an excerpt from the book Stream of Unconsciousness available on the Amazon and Barnes and Noble websites.

Sleep did not come easily on my first night at rehab, and for the first time that I could recall, it had nothing to do with cocaine. I had no doubt that the shock and emotions related to my intervention and my new living quarters burned the chemicals right out of my system. The thing that kept me up tossing and turning was the haunting visions of my children crying and holding on to me as I left the house for rehab. Their voices, “Daddy don’t go, don’t leave us,” resonated endlessly in my mind. The look of confusion and terror that was in their eyes after being told their father was sick with an “allergy to alcohol” felt like caffeine injections. My heart palpitated.

The memories tormented me for about an hour before I finally got to sleep. I remember my body feeling very heavy. I knew it wouldn’t be long before I dropped off into a deep slumber. Considering my recent binge and the lack of sleep that accompanied it, I expected tonight’s sleep to be more like hibernation. My body certainly needed the rest.

“Steven, wake up.” Someone was shaking me. “Wake up, Steven.”

This couldn’t be happening. This must be a dream. More like a nightmare. There was no way it could be morning already. I felt as though I had just gotten to sleep. I looked at my watch. It was 2:00 a.m. I was right, I had only just gotten to sleep, about an hour or so earlier.

“What’s the matter?” I said, groggily. “Who are you?”

My eyes slowly adjusted to the bright lights of the room. Standing in front of me was a woman in a white uniform scribbling something on a clipboard.

“My name is Joanne. I’m a nurse. I need to take your vitals.”

What the hell was so vital about my vitals?

“Didn’t you check with the front desk? They already took them when I got here.”

“I’m sorry Steven, but all new residents have to be monitored closely after they are checked in. We have to check you every couple of hours. Some people who have abruptly stopped their self-medication are sometimes subject to heart attacks, strokes and other complications. We just need to make sure you are okay.”

Self Medication? What a joke — she made it sound like I was taking aspirin for a cold. However, I had to admit, it did sound so much better than Drug Binge. Nevertheless, my hibernation was over. By my calculations, my sleep would be disturbed two more times before breakfast. I had only been in rehab for about four hours, and already it sucked.

I lay there as she poked and prodded and then mercifully left.

In what seemed like barely five minutes after her next visit, I was startled awake again by another knock on the door.

“Good morning Steven,” announced a female voice from the other side of my bedroom door. “Time for morning check-in. We’re meeting in the living room. Be ready in five minutes.”

I rolled over to my right and attempted to see what time it was. After a few seconds of focusing, I was finally able to see the clock on my bedside table. Six-fifty a.m. This couldn’t be happening. I estimated I might have had three and a half hours of sleep, combined, after a blissful night of being examined and probed like a captive alien by the night nursing staff. I couldn’t imagine the urgency of getting up so early. We were sick people, for Christ’s sake. We needed rest. Hadn’t they ever heard doctors telling their patients to get plenty of rest if they weren’t feeling well?

I started to fall back asleep. The single bed was surprisingly comfortable, and the brisk morning air was driving me deeper and deeper under the warm and heavy comforter. My fantasy of slipping back to sleep was rudely interrupted by a loud knock on my door followed by an authoritative male voice.

“Steven! Are you up? We’re meeting in five minutes.”

“Okay, okay. I’m up.” I rolled out of bed.

Five minutes? They expect me to get dressed and ready in five minutes? I’ve taken pisses that last more than five minutes.

Groggily, I suppressed my mutinous thoughts and decided to be a team player. I had already made up my mind that I was going to get sober, and if it meant abiding by the orders of the Malibu boot camp counselors, I was in.

I cleaned up in the bathroom across the hall, threw on some shorts, a sweatshirt, sandals and a baseball cap and walked down the hall toward the living room. I smiled to myself as I walked the long corridor. Although I was dead tired from lack of sleep, this was the first morning in quite some time where I was able to get up without a severe hangover and negotiate my way down a hall without using the walls for assistance. …