The End of My Addiction

rehab, removed from daily stresses and strains, I felt remarkably calm and peaceful, if not as inspired and hopeful as I was in the last days of my admission to New York Hospital. The counselors at Clear Spring all told me I was doing great and predicted that I was on the way to a full recovery from alcoholism.
    A month later I was back. Once I was out of the rehab cocoon, my anxiety, and following that my craving for alcohol, returned in full force despite the Luvox and naltrexone I was continuing to take as directed. Said a counselor with almost maternal concern, “You’ve lost weight.”
    My second stint of rehab at Clear Spring had lasted a week when a physician came and spoke to me in the morning. With great earnestness he said, “You need to stay here longer this time. Your first stay with us was too short, and that’s why you relapsed. What you absolutely need for your health is to stay for two months or so.”
    “That seems like a very long time, Doctor,” I said.
    “In the context of your whole life, assuming you are able to enjoy a normal life span, it’s a very short time. And I am only recommending this because you have an extremely severe addiction, and your life depends on treating it with all the seriousness it requires. I am not exaggerating in the slightest when I say that for you this is a matter of life or death.”
    “What do you mean? I’m going to die if I don’t stay here for at least two months?”
    He looked at me with grave concern and said, “Consider the state you were in when you arrived a few days ago.” He gave me an encouraging smile and said, “I won’t press you more on this right now. Carry on with the rest of the day’s activities, and we’ll discuss it again tomorrow.”
    Late in the morning, the sky clouded over and it began to rain steadily. At lunchtime the doctor approached me again and said, “There’s a problem.”
    “What’s the problem?” I asked.
    “Your insurance won’t pay for you to stay here any longer.”
    “Why not? They paid last time.”
    “We checked and double-checked. You are maxed out on their coverage for addiction treatment. Are you willing to pay out of pocket?”
    “How much is it?”
    He hemmed and hawed for a moment, looked around to see if any other patients were within earshot, and then almost whispered, “At your current level of accommodation and treatment, it is a little over five hundred dollars a day.”
    It was a shocking amount. “I’m not sure I can afford that much.” I wondered how much the celebrities and wealthy people in the private bungalows were paying.
    “Then you have to leave.”
    “When?”
    “Right now, today. The insurance will pay only through this morning.”
    “But is that safe? You said my treatment here was a matter of life or death.”
    “No, no, that’s not what I said at all. Don’t be dramatic. These things are not black-and-white.”
    “But you told me that if I don’t stay, it will be terrible for me.”
    “Let’s not exaggerate,” the doctor said.
    “But how will I get back to New York? I don’t know if I can reach anyone to come pick me up.”
    “There is a train station not so far away. You can walk there and get a train to the city.”
    I was trembling with anxiety. I pointed outside the window and said, “In this downpour? Can’t I stay tonight and make arrangements to leave tomorrow morning? I can pay for one night at least.”
    The doctor stood up, straightened his white coat, and said, “This is a hospital, not a hotel. I’m sure you’ll do very well.” Then he turned on his heel and left without another word.
    I got my things, a few changes of clothes, and put them in the paper shopping bag in which Joan had brought them to New York Hospital.
    I didn’t know what to do. Once again I had no credit cards, and only a few crumpled bills that were in my pocket when Joan called EMS. I doubted there was enough for both a taxi to the train station and a ticket to New York. A counselor I had a nice rapport with passed by and said, “You’re leaving us already?”
    I explained the situation and he said, “I am sure some other patients will be leaving today. Maybe you can catch a ride with one of them to the station or even all the way to New York City.”
    I waited through the afternoon. Around six o’clock an eighteen-year-old kid I had talked to earlier in the week came into the reception area with his things. Other patients said he looked like a young James Caan.