Courage

A missed opportunity yesterday, I am taking advantage of it today

Recovery has a path -
but it doesn't start out with clarity.

to add my commendation to all those women, men and teens that have attempted, 

and maybe even succeeded,

on this journey.

Yesterday was 

Recovery Day in Victoria

A celebration of Recovery from active addiction,

and of those brave and committed souls that

keep on, keepin’ on despite the many challenges

that they face, and burned bridges to mend.

My work in Detoxes across many miles 

is at the beginning of this often terrifying journey

that so very many take in an attempt

to restore joy and order from chaos and loss.

I am grateful to each and every patient and client, 

over the past twenty-seven years of my much longer nursing career,

for the fun, gratitude and caring you have given me,

and more importantly, given to each other.

That sounds so trite - but let me share with you 

a piece I wrote several years ago about 

this often stuttering beginning on the road to recovery in Detox.

It is not a pretty piece to read, so please do not continue if you

have difficulty with the details of sickness.

This story is a composite of many, and is true of any gender or age. 

Alcohol or drug withdrawal can be accompanied by minimal or severely acute medical crises.  A rather average story, it is simply called:

Courage.

She was so very tired; afraid and hungry every single day.  She sat huddled in a doctor’s office, desperately wanting to run.  Edgy and anxious, she was barely able to sit still. This waiting was taking precious time from her constant, frantic search to score and was almost more than she could do. If someone didn't help her soon she would be too sick to stay here.  Many days, despite her tiredness and weakness, she had not wanted, or even been able to take this time to find a way out.  She was desperate – and truly afraid for her life.

***

Now she was huddled in a hard cot at Detox, covers pulled over her head, shivering, feeling each tiny muscle in her body vibrating with dope sickness.  She was so cold.  Sweat drenched her in foul smelling sweat oozing from every pore, soaking thin cotton pyjamas.  Her bones were cold and ached miserably.  Her legs seemed unattached to her body and lay kicking and jerking, never allowing her to rest. 
Nausea and hunger mixed together in a bile coated and twisting stomach.  Every noise was magnified, sounds working in concert with jerking muscles.  And why were all the lights so bright?  Even with her head completely covered, tiny rays of light lasered through minute cracks in the thick flannel blanket, jabbing through tightly squeezed eyelids.  Every nerve in her body was screaming for relief.  

She refused to provide it.  It would be so easy.  Her dealer, or certain friends, would be only too willing to help her back into the chaos she was trying to get away from.  Now her very life was at stake.  The high and the fun had gone as surely as the job, home and family.  She missed her darling children so, so much.

She cried bitter tears when she remembered words spoken her kindly, only moments before:  "Withdrawal is the easy part of recovery."

She groaned, dragged herself out of bed and wiped her tears away. It was time for another hot shower.

"A fine glass vase goes from treasure to trash, the moment it is broken.  Fortunately, something else happens to you and me.  
Pick up the pieces. Then, help me gather mine."

~ Vera Nazarian