I woke up suddenly, consciousness coming on abruptly and at top volume. I was in a hospital bed.

That was the first shock. The second came a little later when I found out it was Wednesday. I couldn’t remember anything after I picked up that third drink Sunday night.

I’d had occasional blackouts for years. Sometimes I’d lose the last half hour of the night. Sometimes I’d lose a few hours.

I’d never lost two whole days before.

They didn’t want to let me go. I’d been admitted late the previous night and they wanted to keep me in detox for a full five days.

An intern said, “The booze isn’t even out of your system yet. You’ll walk around the corner and pick up a drink five minutes after you get out of here.”

“No I won’t.”

“You just went through detox here a couple of weeks ago. It’s on your chart. We cleaned you up and how long did you last?”

I didn’t say anything.

“You know how you got here last night? You had a convulsion, a full-scale grand mal seizure. Ever have one of those before?”

“No.”

“Well, you’ll have them again. If you keep on drinking you can pretty much count on it. Not every time, but sooner or later. And sooner or later you’ll die of it. If you don’t die of something else first.”

“Stop it.”

He grabbed me by the shoulder. “No, I won’t stop it,” he said. “Why the hell should I stop it? I can’t be polite and considerate of your feelings and expect to cut through all your bullshit at the same time. Look at me. Listen to me. You’re an alcoholic. If you drink you’ll die.”

I didn’t say anything.

He had it all figured out. I would spend ten days in detox. Then I’d go to Smithers for twenty-eight days of alcoholic rehabilitation. He let up on that part when he found out I didn’t have medical insurance or the couple of thousand dollars rehab would cost, but he was still holding out for a five-day stay in the detox ward.

“I don’t have to stay,” I said. “I’m not going to drink.”

“Everybody says that.”

“In my case it’s true. And you can’t keep me here if I don’t agree to stay. You have to let me sign out.”

“If you do you’ll be signing out AMA. Against Medical Advice.”

“Than that’s what I’ll do.”

He looked angry for a moment. Then he shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said cheerfully. “Next time maybe you’ll listen to advice.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“Oh, there’ll be a next time, all right,” he said. “Unless you fall on your face closer to some other hospital. Or die before you get here.”

* * *