right, I’m going to show you something new today,” he said as he squeezed the top off the black marker and walked to the white board. “Everyone here is addicted to alcohol, drugs, or both. Correct?”
“Yes!” the patients screamed in unison.
“All right, how much would you say you spent on one drink, rock, baggy, whatever?”
“Twenty,” “eighty,” “two-fifty,” the patients called out.
“All right, we’ll just say, for the sake of argument, twenty dollars. Okay. Now I’m going to write down everything that the average person has, and I know you can relate to it within a few numbers. Every red-blooded American usually has these things sooner or later in his or her life.”
I examined the list of items Larry wrote on the marker board. Seventy-five percent of the items were things I had once owned. He began to add up this number to the astonishment of the patients. I never really understood the value that was at my disposal; I only considered my belongings things that I could do with however I saw fit. At the end, he circled this god-awful number and struck an arrow to the twenty dollars.
“Most of you have lost all of this. And it only cost you twenty dollars.”
People were silent. I started to calculate the number I had lost, and guessed many of the others were doing the same.
“I hope this sinks in…and we haven’t even gotten into legal and insurance costs. This place alone costs fifteen thousand dollars, people. So think about it. Class dismissed.”
Larry Gates disappeared as the mass of patients exited their rows and walked toward the door. My new group and I stood silent, and waited to exit as we added up our own numbers once again.
Jack Jack, Shorty, and Shawn stared at each other, and let out breaths of disbelief.
“So what is everybody doing?” Jack Jack asked as he tried to change the topic. Father Tom passed slowly behind him.
“Matt H., report to the nurses’ station, Matt H., report to the nurses’ station,” the intercom screamed.
“Son of a bitch…again? I’ll see you guys around.”
I grudgingly walked down the hall, passed Father Tom, and turned the corner. I noticed a long line in front of the other nurse’s window, where the detox-free patients still got medication for various reasons. I was quick to pass them all as they laughed, talked, and itched to get next in line, while I, still stuck to the norm, looked down at the green carpet and hoped no one was at the half-door.
“Good,” I whispered. “Only one.”
“Next,” the old nurse barked as I walked up to the door. “I.D. bracelet please.”
I stuck out my arm and, like always, the nurse pulled it in closer for inspection, which forced my waist to hit the half-door. She released and wrote the information in her notebook while she slowly opened the door, where I went to my usual spot without hesitation, and waited for the blood pressure machine. She wrapped the belt around my arm and pushed the start button. Patiently, I waited to hear the words I’d heard so many times before.
“Well, that’s a surprise…it’s actually down, but we still need to keep an eye on it,” she said as she squinted her eyes. “So, a nurse will still check on you throughout the night.”
I was relieved. Could it be the Valium, her eyesight, or the machine? Who cares I thought. I finally heard some good news.
“Okay. Raise your hands.”
I hoped that the tremors had gone, but as I raised my arms I felt my hands start to shake.
“Even the tremors have gone down some. Good for you, Matt,” the nurse said, emotionless.
Maybe I will get this detox band off my wrist and be done with the Valium, but just not today , I thought.
“Here’s your Valium,” she said.
I swallowed the pill with one hand, began to feel a little cocky, and requested that cup of water. But to my embarrassment, it spilled on my jeans and shirt; I lifted my other hand to help.
“Now remember, the nurses will be checking on you
“Yes!” the patients screamed in unison.
“All right, how much would you say you spent on one drink, rock, baggy, whatever?”
“Twenty,” “eighty,” “two-fifty,” the patients called out.
“All right, we’ll just say, for the sake of argument, twenty dollars. Okay. Now I’m going to write down everything that the average person has, and I know you can relate to it within a few numbers. Every red-blooded American usually has these things sooner or later in his or her life.”
I examined the list of items Larry wrote on the marker board. Seventy-five percent of the items were things I had once owned. He began to add up this number to the astonishment of the patients. I never really understood the value that was at my disposal; I only considered my belongings things that I could do with however I saw fit. At the end, he circled this god-awful number and struck an arrow to the twenty dollars.
“Most of you have lost all of this. And it only cost you twenty dollars.”
People were silent. I started to calculate the number I had lost, and guessed many of the others were doing the same.
“I hope this sinks in…and we haven’t even gotten into legal and insurance costs. This place alone costs fifteen thousand dollars, people. So think about it. Class dismissed.”
Larry Gates disappeared as the mass of patients exited their rows and walked toward the door. My new group and I stood silent, and waited to exit as we added up our own numbers once again.
Jack Jack, Shorty, and Shawn stared at each other, and let out breaths of disbelief.
“So what is everybody doing?” Jack Jack asked as he tried to change the topic. Father Tom passed slowly behind him.
“Matt H., report to the nurses’ station, Matt H., report to the nurses’ station,” the intercom screamed.
“Son of a bitch…again? I’ll see you guys around.”
I grudgingly walked down the hall, passed Father Tom, and turned the corner. I noticed a long line in front of the other nurse’s window, where the detox-free patients still got medication for various reasons. I was quick to pass them all as they laughed, talked, and itched to get next in line, while I, still stuck to the norm, looked down at the green carpet and hoped no one was at the half-door.
“Good,” I whispered. “Only one.”
“Next,” the old nurse barked as I walked up to the door. “I.D. bracelet please.”
I stuck out my arm and, like always, the nurse pulled it in closer for inspection, which forced my waist to hit the half-door. She released and wrote the information in her notebook while she slowly opened the door, where I went to my usual spot without hesitation, and waited for the blood pressure machine. She wrapped the belt around my arm and pushed the start button. Patiently, I waited to hear the words I’d heard so many times before.
“Well, that’s a surprise…it’s actually down, but we still need to keep an eye on it,” she said as she squinted her eyes. “So, a nurse will still check on you throughout the night.”
I was relieved. Could it be the Valium, her eyesight, or the machine? Who cares I thought. I finally heard some good news.
“Okay. Raise your hands.”
I hoped that the tremors had gone, but as I raised my arms I felt my hands start to shake.
“Even the tremors have gone down some. Good for you, Matt,” the nurse said, emotionless.
Maybe I will get this detox band off my wrist and be done with the Valium, but just not today , I thought.
“Here’s your Valium,” she said.
I swallowed the pill with one hand, began to feel a little cocky, and requested that cup of water. But to my embarrassment, it spilled on my jeans and shirt; I lifted my other hand to help.
“Now remember, the nurses will be checking on you
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