Love At First Class

Love At First Class.

Tranquilized and Certified

On the cold tiles of my bathroom floor I lay covered in my own blood. My husband Charlie has just called 911. I am beyond intoxicated and have self mutilated every limb with hundreds of little cuts made from a slightly rusty razor blade I have saved and used over the years. I begin to mumble something to Charlie who’s waiting by the front door for the EMT’s. But with his bad hearing and my inability to form sentences, my words get lost in translation. I attempt to say something along the lines of not wanting to go to the hospital. Maybe I should have thought of that before I started drinking.

I hear some commotion by the entrance of my house. The ambulance has arrived. Charlie leads two very strong looking EMT’s into the bathroom. One of the men gets down to my level. “What seems to be going on tonight?” He asks me. With a very slurred spoken tongue I answer, “I think I drank too much” and admit, “I’m a stupid alcoholic too!”. The one thing I have learned: never admit anything to someone unless you are prepared for the consequences. From my experience, sometimes, but not all the time, telling someone you’re an alcoholic whose in the medical field will make them possibly assume you’re hard to handle and will treat you as such. Though, their judgment may be clear and sometimes a boozer does need a stern person to keep everyone safe. Without order chaos ensues.

Meanwhile, the EMT’s gather me up and put me on a stretcher. As I am wheeled out of the bathroom I look at Charlie and say tearfully, “I’m so sorry honey. I’m sorry.” Charlie, with his eyes slightly watering mouths quietly, “its okay. It’s okay.” I’m in the ambulance and the EMT’s are working hard to get things situated. As I’m getting my I.V. in my arm, the EMT named Mike starts talking to me. “Why did you do this to yourself?” He questions. I sobered up a little and respond, “I’m just so sad. My mind, it always thinks of the terrible things I’ve done in my life. I can’t shut it off…I can’t control my brain. So I cut because I’m bad, I cut because I want to feel something other than what my heads making me feel.” Mike nods, “you know what Kara? That makes complete sense. I never understood why people cut themselves. But …I wish you didn’t. You seem to be a very nice person. “I give a quick thank you and lay my head back down on the gurney.

I must’ve fallen asleep because I awake to find a nurse standing next to me. “Hi I’m Julie. I’ll be your nurse. We have to move you onto a different stretcher that’s padded. You told the EMT’s you have epilepsy so, we want to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.” Great, instead of a padded room I get a padded stretcher. I am left in the hall because there are no rooms available. This does not make me happy.

Two hours go by and I’m still in the hallway of the hospital. I have not seen a doctor and just saw my nurse Julie once. The rage is filtering inside of me. “Hello! Anybody? I want to call my husband” I yell as it echoes down the hall. A security guard comes over, “you better settle down. I’ll find your nurse. Just be a good girl.” A good girl? You just sparked the bomb in me buddy. Instead of finding my nurse, the security guard goes and flirts with a different nurse by the front desk. The two look in my direction and laugh. Are they laughing at me? All hell then breaks loose. “Keep laughing motherfucker! Get my husband on the phone. I want my husband!” I scream. The security guard and nurse walk towards me. With unbounded rage I ask them “You want something to laugh at? I’ll give you something to laugh at” and without a second thought I rip my I.V straight out of my left arm. Bad move Kara.

Five nurses come charging at me. Two have needles in their hands. “Calm down Kara” they insist. I thrash around, fighting off their grasps. They finally get a hold of me, pull my pants down and give me shots in both my thighs. I feel like an animal that’s had a tranquilizer. I pass right out. And awake the next day. I’m in a room now alone with a security guard watching me sitting by the door. Out of my haze of being drugged up, I ask the guard, “Can I go home?” Reluctantly the guard confirms I have been certified to stay in the hospital involuntarily. Now I can’t leave. I just hope I can talk to Charlie…I need him now.

 

The Chaos Begins

I am standing in front of the kitchen sink. My hands hold on to the counter, grasping as if I am hanging off a cliff. My body shakes and my palms are sweating. To say I am nauseous would be an understatement. I have already thrown up this morning which is the usual. I glance at the clock on the kitchen stove. The time says 6:10 a.m. I have 50 minutes to get my shit together. Opening the cabinet I grab a coffee mug. No coffee for me though. with an unsteady hand, I grab the half filled bottle of Red Zinfandel. I pour myself a hefty amount. I bring the drink to my lips. I can not smell it. Doing so would only make me vomit and I need to keep my booze down. I hold my breath and begin quickly gulping up the bitter red liquid. I keep holding my breath until I feel the warmth of the alcohol in my belly. I exhale. The warmth from my stomach spreads throughout my body. The shaking stops. The nausea has disappeared. “Thank god…thank god…” I whisper to myself. It is 6:22 a.m. I got a little buzz. Now my day begins. Time for a cigarette.

My son Jonah wakes up a 6:30 a.m. he’s always been an early bird. The pitter patter of his 3 year old feet echoes throughout the house. I have a sick sense of pride that I managed to subdue my alcohol withdrawals before my son arose. From the kitchen I make my way to the living room. Jonah is laying on the couch, rubbing his teal blankie against his sleepy face. Adorable. I feel a sense of shame as I approach him, recalling what I have just done. Yet, I reassure myself that I am a better mother when I drink. An alcoholic always makes excuses for our drinking but when you’re withdrawing, drinking no longer needs excuses. Drinking becomes either life or death. I bend down and lightly touch Jonah’s face. “You know how much mommy loves you?” Jonah looks at me with his soulful hazel eyes. I am at the brink of tears.”I know you love me Mama. Up to the moon and stars…can I have some cocoa?”. The ache in my heart ceases in that moment. “Cocoa it is my little bubbler.”