Chapter 1
CHAPTER
ONE
Gretchen, sixteen years later/present day
“Hi, my name is Gretchen, and I am an addict. I have sixteen years clean,” I say as I stand in front of a group of men and women.
This is the part of my job I love, if I’m being completely honest. I started working for Brooks Clinic as a licensed practical nurse, but when Dr. Brooks decided he wanted to provide services for those who were less fortunate in our town, it quickly became apparent that my background with addiction, as well as my education as a social worker and recovery coach could be utilized.
We strictly provide outpatient services since we aren’t set up for in-house care, but we focus on all the things needed to make a person’s recovery successful.
For some, that means we refer them to an in-patient unit, since there are times that medication-assisted recovery doesn’t work.
The reasons behind that are complex and vary from person to person, but it boils down to the fact that some of the medications used don’t allow the individual to go through withdrawal.
Regardless, we’ve had a great deal of success so far.
Yes, there are occasional relapses, but we honestly try to wait to suggest the program to those who were truly ready.
“Hi, Gretchen,” the attendees reply in unison.
“When I was a teenager, I got injured during a sporting event. I had to have surgery for a broken leg as well as an ACL tear. Unfortunately, over the next three years, I had several other surgeries, and each time I was given a prescription for painkillers. While I never bought anything on the street, I would often steal meds that my parents had since my mom never threw anything away. The day I stopped was the day she came home and found me lifeless from an overdose. Thankfully, the paramedics were able to resuscitate me, and I then spent the next three months in a residential program, where I went through the detox part under a medical team, then learned how to cope. That experience changed who I became as an adult because I went to college, got a degree in social work with a focus on addiction and substance abuse recovery. I also got certified as an LPN, or licensed practical nurse. However, despite having sixteen years being clean, I still follow the program I started all those years ago. I no longer chase that feeling with drugs. Instead, I’ve replaced it with hobbies and things I enjoy. ”
I see someone raise their hand and nod to show that they’re okay to speak. “Um, hi, uh, my name is Mel, I mean Melissa, and I was curious about the hobbies?”
Grinning, I reply, “I became a treat maker when I’m not at work.
It started when I came home from rehab. I needed something to focus on and keep my mind occupied.
I know this will sound strange, but reading all day long wasn’t something I could do.
I enjoy it, of course, but growing up, I would do that before I went to bed.
So, while my folks would read or watch television, I scrolled through videos and I came across this kid, a teenager, who was building his own business from the comfort of his home.
I started following him then decided I wanted to give it a try.
It took a lot of practice for me to produce items I was willing to try to sell, but soon, I had my own little cottage business.
It kept me busy, helped me earn some money to offset my tuition and living expenses, and is something I can do virtually everywhere. ”
Chloe, another girl in the meeting, shyly says, “Thanks. I think that’s the worst part, keeping my hands busy.”
I see several heads nod in agreement. “That makes sense. In some ways, I think everyone in the world is chasing a high of some sort. Doing well at work, being successful in an activity, hitting a personal record in a sport or while working out? All of those things release natural hormones in your body that have you instinctively craving more. Unfortunately, when we get hooked on a drug, we replace that natural high with a synthetic one, and if we’re genetically predisposed with addictive behaviors, we play Russian roulette every time we make the choice to use.
And yes, I’m well aware that many of us started down this path because we got a prescription from a doctor, but we can and do recover, each and every single day. ”
Another hand raises and Doug speaks up. “For me, it was the realization that everything in moderation is fine for me. Except drugs. I did a lot of stupid shit while I was in active addiction, and one of the hardest things I had to do when I started my recovery journey was forgive myself. Once I did that, it was a lot easier to humble myself as I made amends to everyone I had hurt. Some people accepted my amends and forgave me, but there are a few who flat-out told me that I’d burned that bridge and there was no chance to rebuild it.
Where that would’ve caused me to relapse in the past, I was finally able to come to terms that for some, I was the villain in the story.
I had to make peace with that in order to get to nine months of being clean. ”
Several others speak up during our hour-long session and once everyone leaves, I spend a few minutes cleaning up the room.
It doesn’t take long; I only have to clean the coffee pot and set it up for the next session.
I’m in the process of carefully counting out the scoops when I hear a masculine voice ask, “You busy?”
Turning, I feel my face heat up as I see Dr. Brooks standing there, looking sinfully delicious in his burgundy scrubs. So many women drool over what they call gray sweatpants season, but give me a man, this man, in a pair of scrubs and I’m a goner. “Hey, Dr. Brooks, can I help you with something?”
“I actually had a question for you. Have you seen Alfie, Louis, or Griffin this week?” he asks.
I mentally think back over the patients we’ve seen in the clinic and start shaking my head. “They’re due for their monthly visit,” I murmur and watch as he nods. “They’ve never missed one, especially once they all committed to recovery. Are you positive they haven’t called in to reschedule?”
“I’ll double check with Luna, but when I looked at the computer, their names all showed as no-show/no-call,” he replies.
“I’ll try calling them,” I say.
“Well, I know you’re off the next few days, so it can wait until you get back if you want,” he tells me.
I shrug. “It won’t take long and I’ll let you know if I reach them. Maybe they’re sick or something.”
“Yeah, maybe so,” he murmurs but doesn’t sound convinced. He raps his knuckles against the door jamb then turns to go. “By the way, I can’t wait to see your tattoo when you get back.”
Since the man is covered in them, I smile. “It’s not fancy,” I caution. “But I’m getting a sobriety tattoo done at Anarchy Ink.”
“Abyss will do a good job,” he states.
“I think a girl named Shelly is the one who’s doing it for me,” I reply.
“She’s good as well. You’ll be in good hands over there, no matter who does the work.”
I wish I knew how to convey to Dr. Brooks that I was interested in him. Sadly, I’m what you would call an extroverted introvert. When I’m in front of a room talking about strategies and techniques regarding dealing with addiction, I’m engaging, outgoing, and able to speak in coherent sentences.
But when that man is in my space? I find myself painfully shy and somewhat tongue-tied. I think he’s interested in me as well, because he always seeks me out to talk to me, he just hasn’t made any move in my direction.
Maybe I’ll ask Gina. She’s more of an acquaintance than a close friend, but I could get her perspective on things and go from there.
Happy with the decision I’ve made, I decide it’s time to clean up and head out.
I’m ready to enjoy a few days off after the hellish week we just went through.
It seemed like every single person had some kind of a GI issue, and despite the numerous showers I’ve personally taken, I still feel like I smell like vomit.
“Why did I think coming to Walmart tonight was a good idea?” I grumble to myself as I push my cart into a checkout line.
“Oh yeah, I need almond bark, pretzel rods, and Rice Krispie treats.” Sometimes, I make the Rice Krispie treats from scratch, but others, I buy them and then cover them in melted chocolate before I decorate them based on the person’s order.
Normally, I restock my supplies on the weekend, but my plan is to make up a small batch to take to the tattoo shop as a thank you for them doing these tattoos for free.
One of my friends, Gina, told me about it, and after a lot of thought, I decided it was something I wanted to do for myself.
I confirmed with Shelly earlier today, and I’m excited to see what she’s created.
It takes forever to get through the line then out to my car.
The parking lot was so full, I parked further out than I’m comfortable with, especially since I have shitty situational awareness at the best of times.
Still, I don’t sense anything wrong as I load my bags into the back hatch of my SUV, so when I get a whiff of nail polish, I turn only to be met with a rag pressed against my nose and mouth.
Then it’s lights out for Gretchen.
I groan as I wake up, my mouth tasting awful, but when I try to reach up to wipe my lips, I realize my hands are restrained.
“What the hell?” I whisper as I pry my eyes completely open.
I’m in a room full of cots and there are people lying there, unmoving.
“Hello?” I call out, my voice raspy from whatever was pressed against my face. “Can anyone hear me?”
“Shhh, he’ll hear you and come back downstairs,” a voice hisses. Turning my head, I see… Alfie? What in the fuck is happening?
“Alfie! Are… are you okay?”
He waves his arm and I see an IV in it, and after following the tubing, I spot a bag of something hanging there. He looks terrible, his eyes are sunken in and he’s disheveled and unkempt. “What do you think, Gretchen?” he asks. “Nine months. Nine months flushed down the fucking drain.”
“Oh, Alfie,” I cry out. “Whatever’s going on, it’s not your fault.”
“I mean, you’re not wrong, it’s definitely not my fault, but the monster is back, Gretchen,” he replies as I watch tears drip down his face. “I knew I’d always have to fight it, of course, but I never expected to be forced to do so like this.”
Gazing around again, I want to ask, but HIPAA prevents me from finding out if Louis or Gordon are here as well. Then it dawns on me how I can check and I question, “Do you know anyone else here?”
“Some of them are familiar from group,” he admits. “I don’t know everyone’s names and since we can’t let him know we’re trying to figure out what’s going on, we don’t talk all that much. If you were across the room, we wouldn’t be speaking, Gretchen.”
“So, we need to be quiet and keep our voices down,” I reply.
“Yeah, unless you want them to hook you up like they did to us,” he retorts.
Not. Fucking. Happening. I’ve worked too hard for my recovery, and no two-bit asshole is gonna make me break it. If that means biting my lips until they bleed, so be it.