Family Inheritance (21 page)

“Okay.” Suzanne was jittery. She wanted it to work this time. She had read all of
the pre-treatment paperwork and knew what the treatment would be like—on paper anyway.
This was the fourth treatment center that she had signed up for in the last several
weeks, and all of the previous times she had backed out the day she was supposed
to get started. Then she would spend a few days drinking in the hotel room, get disgusted
with herself, and start the search all over again. It had been six weeks since she
was supposed to have started treatment, and she kept promising Helene and Alice that
she would, so she had to go through with it this time. There was a good selection
of treatment facilities in Minnesota, but she would eventually run out of options,
and she was determined to get treatment close to where all of her issues had begun.

“Well,” the doctor continued, “step one, as you know, will be detoxification. We'll
put you in a room that's much like a hospital room. It typically takes three to five
days, however long it takes your body to adjust to no alcohol. As I've explained,
you will be in a hospital gown for the first phase. Nurses will monitor your heart
rate and pulse rate, and we'll be there to comfort you as much as we can. But, Suzanne,
this is not going to be easy. Your body has gotten used to a chemical dosage—in your
case—alcohol, on a regular basis.
The reaction that each person has varies. As I've
explained, fever, chills, and nausea are all common side effects. And don't be surprised
by bouts of rage or anxiety. Remember, we're here to help and support you in every
way we can, but you're the one who has to do the work because it's your recovery.”

Suzanne was silent.

“Are you scared?” The doctor's voice was gentle.

Suzanne nodded.

“That's normal and a good sign, I might add.” He stood up. “Let's get you checked
in, shall we?”

The room was bare except for a bed, a nightstand, and a few magazines. The bed was
equipped with a switch that Suzanne could turn on to call a nurse. She scanned through
some magazines and gazed out the window. The nurse checked in from time to time.

It was now evening. She'd checked in just before lunch, and so far she'd had no side
effects except boredom. She could go to the group room down the hall and watch television.
Forget it! I don't want to deal with other people right now.
Maybe she was wasting
her time. Maybe she wouldn't have any of those side effects they kept telling her
about. Maybe she could stop drinking anytime she wanted. Maybe it was just a lack
of willpower.

The nurse, Cindy, brought her dinner on a tray, and they talked for a few minutes.
Then Cindy left. As the evening continued, the walls started closing in. She paced
around the room, rapidly flipped through the magazines, but she couldn't sit still
and her mind was racing. Finally, she threw down the magazine she had been holding
and went to the closet for her suitcases. They weren't there. She slammed the closet
door and stomped to the bed where she flipped on the nurse's light. After a few minutes,
Cindy opened Suzanne's door. “Yes, Suzanne?”

“Where are my suitcases?” she demanded.

“They're in your room in Cottage A where you'll be staying,” Cindy replied.

“I want them here.” Suzanne stood with her hands on her hips.

“You can't have them here,” Cindy answered as she began to leave the room.

“Why not?” Suzanne's voice was becoming obstinate.

“Because it's the rules.”

“Screw the rules.” Suzanne glared at the woman. “I'm paying a fortune to stay here,
and I want my suitcases.”

“You can't have them now.” Cindy's voice was low and matter-of-fact. “You can't have
the bottles you've hidden in them, Suzanne.”

“What right have you got to go through my luggage?” she seethed.

“I didn't personally go through them.”

“Then how do you know I have a bottle?”

“It's simple,” Cindy replied. “I'm an alcoholic and I've worked here for three years.
We all come in with our stash—just in case we need it.”

“You don't understand,” Suzanne pleaded. “I just need a tiny sip to help me relax.
I'm not going to drink. Honest. I'm here to help me stop from drinking so much that
I get drunk. But I just need a little sip to settle my nerves.”

Cindy sat down in the chair and smiled at her. “No, Suzanne. You won't stop with
one drink.”

“Of course I will. I can't stand this.” She furiously rubbed her temples. “I can't
stand this.”

“Let's talk.” Cindy was gentle.

“I don't want to talk.” Suzanne's anger was escalating. “I need one small drink,
damn it. Just give me a drink.”

“Suzanne, this is where the rough part starts. Try to lie down. It's not going to
be easy.”

“Go to hell!” Suzanne screamed. “Just give me a drink.” She fell back onto the bed
as if all energy was drained from her. She covered her face and began to cry. Then
she bolted upright. “I'm out of here. Do you hear me? I don't need this.” Her hands
shook, and chills ran through her body.

Cindy walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. “Don't fight it so hard, Suzanne.
Let me cover you up. The chills are going to get so bad nothing can warm you. Don't
fight it. Try not to be afraid.”

Suzanne's mind rested on Cindy's soft, soothing voice and the gentle hands that pulled
the covers up over her shaking body. The shaking got so bad that her teeth chattered
and she hurt from the movement. The minutes seemed like hours as her body revolted
against the absence of alcohol.
Then the chills ceased, and her body began to relax. She believed the worst part
was over. Then the fever came. She kicked the covers from the bed and thrashed around
from the discomfort. As the hours passed, Suzanne was vaguely aware of Cindy who
was trying to make her comfortable. The cool hands checked her pulse and gently pressed
against her face to calm her.

Suzanne was calm for a few moments then the thrashing began again. She felt as though
she was in the depths of the fires of hell. She struggled free of her hospital gown
and lay naked beneath the sheet. Comfort slowly started to return. Then chills rampaged
through her body again. By this time, Suzanne's mind was dazed and she was infuriated,
terrified, and distressed, all at the same time. She was not sure where she was or
who the gentle hands belonged to. Then the nausea came, and she clung to the side
of the bed and emptied her stomach into a metal pan. She was too weak and sick to
argue about anything. She just wanted to die, and she was certain she was going to
get her wish.

Sunshine peeked through the mini blinds as Suzanne awoke from an exhausted sleep.
Her thoughts were muddled as her eyes opened and her mind searched for memories and
clues as to where she was.

“Hi,” a voice said from the doorway.

“Hi,” she faintly replied. There had been several nurses over the last several days,
but Suzanne didn't think she had seen her before. Her long, dark hair and fair skin
reminded Suzanne of Sarah.

“You've had a rough few days,” the nurse said.

Suzanne's mouth was dry and scratchy. She noticed the pitcher of water and reached
for a drink. After drinking one full glass, she drank another. The nurse walked over
to the bed to take her blood pressure.

“Boy, am I thirsty.”

“That's pretty typical. Between the fevers and chills, your body fluids need to be
replenished.”

“Am I done with it now?” Suzanne asked.

“With detoxification, yes. With the cravings and emotional upheaval that accompany
alcoholism, no. That part has just begun.”

“God,” Suzanne sighed, “I don't know if I can do it.”

“You can.” The young woman put her hand on Suzanne's shoulder. “You're the only one
who can do it, so don't give up on yourself. You're worth it.”

Cottage A was a large one-story building. The room assigned to Suzanne had two beds,
two nightstands, two dressers, and two closets. She stood in the middle of the room
looking at her suitcases on the bed as she clutched her schedule in her hand. She
had time to unpack and settle in, then she was scheduled for an individual counseling
session.

“Don't look so sad. It's not that bad. In fact, it's a pretty good place to get yourself
together.”

Suzanne turned. A small woman with white hair smiled at her.

“Hi,” Suzanne said. “You must be the counselor.”

“No, I'm Annette, your roommate. You must be Suzanne.”

Suzanne's eyes widened in surprise. “But, you don't . . . I mean . . .”

“You mean I don't look like an alcoholic?” Annette's smile turned mischievous. “Tell
me, what do alcoholics look like anyway?”

“Well . . . I . . .”

“The answer is easy, honey,” Annette said in a grandmotherly voice. “They look like
you and me. Come on, I'll help you get settled in. For one whole month, this will
be your home.”

Annette stood up and held out her hand. “Now, let me take you on a tour of Cottage
A and the dining hall which we fondly call ‘The Mess,' then over to your counselor's
office.”

Suzanne had gone on a tour of the facilities before she checked in, but it didn't
look the same. She was now on the inside looking out. Cottage A was filled with rooms
identical to Suzanne's. Each room was painted in soft pastels, and the halls connecting
the rooms were lined with artwork, needlepoint, and positive sayings done in calligraphy.

“A lot of this has been done by the patients. I'm working on one myself. I look forward
to hanging it on the wall and leaving a happy memory somewhere.”

“I'm sure you've left a lot of happy memories,” Suzanne responded.

Annette stopped walking. “Suzanne, I'm learning to be honest with myself.
I've hurt
a lot of people and have left very few happy memories along the way. You can't follow
the path to addiction and not have hurt anybody.”

“I haven't.” Suzanne was defensive. “I'm sure I haven't. Besides, I don't have a
husband or children. I couldn't have hurt anyone.”

“Couldn't you?” Annette softly uttered.

In the small kitchen of Cottage A, a group of women were chatting. Suzanne was nervous.
She had never been very good around other women. She never knew what to talk about.

“I couldn't even face the morning without whiskey-laced coffee,” one woman said.
“And I hid bottles all over the house so I'd never be far from a drink.”

“I kept mine in my briefcase in a mouthwash bottle. A little green food coloring
and people thought it was mouthwash. No problem.” The women joined together in laughter.

Annette introduced Suzanne, and the women all reached out to her with friendly handshakes
and smiles.