Today I was granted a great gift. I was able to share in my friends successful return to his home and family. My friend came to us a few months ago, with the help of our supporters at Celebrate Recovery. Upon his arrival here, he had been at it for quite some time. His condition was, in the real sense of the word, critical. I was able to get him comfortable in his room and talk with him about how he was doing. Even with a B.A.C. of .40, he was coherent and spoke without slurring his speech. A sure sign of tolerance and trouble yet to come. I knew we had to keep him safe and watch him closely as his life would be at risk during his detox.
Fear of the horror during detox takes a great deal of courage to face and tremendous willingness to endure. I held him close, and shared with him that, “drunks likes us don’t get to do this unless God’s on their side with them”. This was his first step in recovery -one drunk talking to another. The hideous “four horsemen” have nothing in their arsenal that will ever defeat the love of this alcoholic for the other still suffering. The night and early morning went as planned. The alcohol in his system was slowly dispersed through his badly damaged liver. In this case, time takes time. Both his skin and eyes had the mysterious color that jaundice brings. I don’t know how to call it yellow, but more of a sick dead mix between a ripe banana and old style custard. Some purple and blue shading to boot.
Today, his health is back to par for someone who was ravished by alcohol. During the time when his B.A.C. was coming down close to .04, he started to become afraid and worried, so we talked about how it would be best for him to go to the hospital for medical detox. He agreed and was admitted to our locale hospital for a couple weeks. The prognosis was ok, considering liver failure and other maladies he had acquired during his spree to end all sprees. I am convinced that if he had not received the help that he did , when he did , he death was certain.
As my friend loaded his belongings into his fathers truck, he turned to shake my hand and thank me for all we had done. I felt that it should be me thanking him for allowing me the privilege to be of service to him, for that is the one thing in my life that gives me purpose and meaning. It is an honor and I am humbled to have him in my life today. Thanks goes to the program of A.A. and the men of the Power House Recovery Center ,of which,if not for them, I would surly be lost to my own addiction.