28 Days In Rehab.

This was my experience in 1987. It's also when I wrote the piece. It seems like a lifetime ago but I think the emotions that I experienced are still relevant. I'm pretty sure rehab hasn't changed all that much.

DAY 1

Arriving not late that first day, but almost, I was met at the door bags in hand by a woman about my age with clear eyes and a huge smile.

            “Hi there, my name's Pam, who are you?”

My chemically dependent stomach was doing flip-flops and already I wanted to cry.

Come back Diane! It's all a mistake. I promise I'll never touch another drop. Just please come and take me home.

The smiling woman searched for my name on the roster and asked me to follow her upstairs to what was to be my room for the next 28 days. I was nauseous when we reached the top and my thighs were burning. She laughed, saying in a week I'd be used to it. I smiled weakly, wondering if I'd last that long. I wanted a drink badly, and silently cursed myself for not having a few at lunch an hour ago. I'd figured they would turn me away at the door had they caught even a whiff of booze on my breath. Besides Diane had been with me and I didn't want another fight on my hands.

The room was pleasant enough, though very stark. No pictures and everything in order. It didn't look lived in at all, and I guess it wasn't – not really. She asked me to dump my things out on the bed so she could go through them.

Humiliation number 4,239. Hey, no problem!

I'd sort of known what to expect, not this exactly, but close to it, and still I was freaking inside. Smiley took my astringent saying something about 'for my own protection'. Jesus, did she really think I would drink the contents of a bottle that smelled like a hospital corridor?

Does it really work?

She said that everyone feels like I do on the first day, and she promised me that things would get better.

Sure honey, whatever you say.

She left me alone to put away my clothes, and told me to come downstairs later and meet the others. I was in no hurry to do that. I just wanted some peace and quiet. As I was putting away my P.J.'s I found a note under the pillow left by the last poor occupant of this bed. The first few lines were sweet. She told me I had made the right decision and (that line again) things would get better. Then she started talking about God and she lost me. Forget it. No God crap for me. Thanks, but no thanks – Amen.

As soon as I'd put the note into the trash can a counselor walked in with one of my new roommates. I smiled what I thought was a very encouraging smile and looked into the eyes of someone who was obviously terrified. I could tell this woman was hurting bad. She couldn't have been more than twenty-three, and she had the eyes of a hollowed-out pumpkin. The counselor went through the search routine while my roommate stood shaking in the corner. I had to get out of there so I made my way down to the living room.

There were several women sitting around gabbing as if they were lifelong friends. I sat near the scariest looking person in the room and tried to appear calm.

Oh yeah! I do this all the time don't ya know It's a goddamn vacation, I'm A.O.K. Normal, (and sometimes I want to die).

They were talking in small groups about their kids and husbands and drug of choice and forty-ouncers of Southern Comfort and shooting speed, and I realised they were just as nervous as I. I wondered who my other roommates were and mentally eliminated most as undesirables. Too talkative, too straight, goddamn lowlife junkies! It wasn't until many days later when the fog had lifted somewhat, that I remembered all the rolled-up dollar bills and razor blades I'd stashed around the apartment left for Diane to find. Junkie see, junkie too!

I don't remember much about our first meal together, except the screaming silence that permeated the room. No one said a word and I stared at my plate.

We had an hour or so to ourselves after supper and then an in-house meeting, attendance mandatory, in the living room.

There were fourteen recovering substance abusers at the meeting with two counselors chairing. We were asked to introduce ourselves and say a bit about why we were there. It was kind of sad but fascinating listening to these women tell perfect strangers about the horrors that preceded treatment. Linda, a forty year old mother of two had come to find the person she had lost years ago. Laurie, a twenty-two year old cocaine addict had a sign in front of her that clearly read KEEP OUT. Anne, a retired school teacher was there to learn about 'the relapse syndrome of alcoholism'. We all had our reasons and we all had our fears, and we all had little hope of finding the happiness we longed for.

I decided to get it out in the open right away and told them I was a lesbian. I expected hostility, rejection, fear and curiosity. Mercifully they kept their feelings to themselves and their mouths shut, at least for the time being. I was prepared to shut down at the slightest indication of contempt. I didn't get it then or at any other time. In fact a few later told me that having a lesbian in their midst forced them to reevaluate their position on homosexuality and women in general.

We were told the house rules, which were basically common sense and the meeting was over.

DAY 3

That weekend was a killer, we were all getting cabin fever. The adjustment of living with thirteen other women was harder on some than others. The guts of the program didn't start until Monday, so we had three days to go for walks (never alone), talk, read or sit and contemplate our miserable lives. I didn't know anyone well enough or want to know anyone well enough to have an in-depth conversation and besides, I had never learned how to talk without at least half a bottle of wine for starters.

I called Diane. She missed me, my cat missed me, my whole world missed me, but mostly I missed me, and so I stay put. If I had any chance at a normal life, I had the wherewithal to realise the tools were within these four walls although my gut told me to run.

DAY 5

Monday morning finally came and after breakfast and chores we bustled over to Cottage 2 eager to learn what was ahead of us, and anxious to get on with it. We were all bored silly after no much relaxation when usually our lives were frenetic. We residents met the day patients and suddenly became a group of twenty-two. At 9:30 sharp we were ushered into the meeting room where I found a seat and had just got settled when SHE walked into the room. I nearly fell off my chair. Not only did I find this woman incredibly, amazingly attractive, but she was so cool! Cool like a '56 Valiant Convertible, cool like a leather dyke pool hot-shot, and as cool as I had ever wanted to be. Let me tell you, hero worship is still alive and kicking in me at thirty!

Joanne introduced herself, and from that moment on she had my full attention. I hung on to every word she spoke for the rest of my stay at The Jean Tweed Centre in Toronto. She told us that morning some startling facts about the disease of alcoholism. That was interesting. I had a disease - a disease that was killing me. She told us that 10% of us would drop out before the end of the cycle. Only one third of the remaining graduates would get their first year medallion in AA, and that in the total scheme of things only 1% of women alcoholics ever recover. I shivered; the odds weren't exactly in my favor. Her lopsided grin disappeared when she said that we could all sit around and talk about the weather for four weeks, but we had a fatal disease and this was a do or die situation. We weren't bad people, we were sick people and it would be in our best interest to pay attention and get serious. She was right. This woman had not come here from the ranks of the social drinker. It was written in the lines on her face and in the scars on her arms.

I looked around trying to guess who would statistically drop out. Something told me it wouldn't be me, not with Joanne there. I knew I was going to learn something valuable from her, and I wanted to stick around to hear it. It was scary though, realising that we all weren't going to make it. As it turned out, five of us either quit or were discharged before the end of treatment.

DAY 6

After lunch I was feeling depressed and I figured a walk would clear my head. I wanted to be alone but the rules wouldn't permit that. They said, that too, was for our own protection. Personally I think it had more to do with us getting used to talking without the aid of drugs or alcohol. I asked Scary Laura to join me. She was the woman I had chosen to sit next to on the first day and I was curious.

It was late May and the weather was improving. We chose the path to the lake hoping to find a breeze. I needn't have worried about what to say because once Laura opened her mouth there was no getting her to stop. She was from the north, married with two kids. By the sound of it she hated her husband and there wasn't much left of her marriage. She didn't drink much, but got zonked on about ten joints a day. It was the first time I had heard that you could ruin your life on hash. Laura was desperate to get better. She adored her kids and could see the effects her drug use was having on them. She said she had never been around so many women before and found it very exciting. No bull, those were her words! Two weeks later Laura came out to the group.

We made it back to Cottage 2 for the afternoon session where we were to be assigned our primary counselor. Supposedly someone we could talk to at any time one-on-one. I scanned the list looking for a JG beside my name. Call it what you will, but someone up there was definitely looking out for me. This day was turning out to be alright.

DAY 12

The days were starting to zip by. I don't remember everything that was said to me, but some key points stuck in my fuddled brain. Joanne told me that we were only as sick as our secrets, and after much soul-searching, I concluded that was true. She told me that in order for me to get better I had to be willing to go to any lengths. I thought about that carefully. It meant changing my whole life. Not just putting the cork in the bottle but changing my thinking and the attitudes that went with it. I didn't think that would be easy but I had no choice. I had to start at the beginning and go from there.

For fifteen years I had carried a secret that I thought would go to the grave with me. I was deeply ashamed of something I had done when I was little more than a child and it weighed heavily on my mind. Joanne made me see that it had to come out but I was frightened. Feelings came to the surface that I never knew existed. I felt them alright, but I couldn't name them. Joanne patiently and caringly explained everything to me. She asked me questions and listened to me ramble – really listened. She gave me the wisdom of her years of sobriety and I believed her (a minor miracle in itself). Slowly we were assembling a whole new person. She called it rebirth which is different than being reborn!

DAY 15

Our group sessions were getting pretty intense. Women were opening up slowly, painfully but surely. There were aggravating times. Some of us wouldn't talk, or couldn't and it was sad to see. I found that a lot of my anger was hiding the fear I felt. I was angry a lot. Some of it was coming from my childhood. I'd felt bad for a long time and had covered it fairly successfully with my substance abuse.

I didn't feel comfortable sharing in group but Joanne told me it played a big part in my recovery, so I tried. Sometimes I would dissolve into tears, but I kept talking, kept taking the risks. I leaned that invariably I felt better if I summed up the courage to get rigorously honest in group sessions.

DAY 19

On Saturday morning just before Joanne was leaving after an all-nighter, I cornered her and asked her to join me for a walk. I'd made up my mind to tell her the big “S”. Well, hell didn't freeze over and the earth didn't swallow me up, but I didn't feel so hot either. When I'd finished I wanted to retract my words. My guts were hanging out there for her to see. I held my breath. How she reacted was crucial and I guess she knew that. She didn't call me horrible names, and she didn't fall to the ground. In fact, she hardly reacted at all. Instead she helped me understand why I'd done it in the first place. She told me that I had to start forgiving myself (start), and then she told me exactly how to go about that. She assumed nothing. I loved her for that. I loved her for being there for me when no one else could. God knows many people had tried.

DAY 21

That weekend I alternated between wanting to lob off Joanne's head with an axe and panicking because she wasn't around. I was one very sick puppy. I learned that what I was feeling was very natural and all part of getting better.

I was getting closer and closer to the people around me. There was so much unconditional love and support that once our emotions thawed we started to have some fun. We talked for hours on end about anything and everything. It was pretty amazing because we were all so different. No two were alike. We were women of color, white, catholic, atheist, married, single, straight and lesbian. Our ages ranged from twenty-one to seventy. The addicts were thin and the alcoholics were fat. We came from all over the country and from every walk in life. The only thing we had in common was our chemical addiction. It was enough. We formed a bond the likes of which I'd never felt before. It was an experience I hope never dims in memory.

I went through the different stages of treatment pretty much like everyone else. The first week everything was no new and foreign and my insides were raw. Emotionally I was on a roller coaster. Many times I wished I was invisible. I wanted a release from the inner turmoil and my body was screaming for alcohol. I had the shakes for days. Then, after what seemed like an eternity I started to feel better physically. Weeks two and three were extremely intense mentally and emotionally. I was exhausted. My roommates, Laurie and Theresa didn`t help the situation with their marathon jogging sessions in the wee hours of the morning!

I was learning so much about myself; about why I react the way I do and how to change myself enough to live in this crazy, mixed-up world and be content with me. I got a lot of garbage out in my group and with Joanne that I didn`t know even bothered me. It was all stuffed way down in my gut, but once I allowed myself to feel the pain it all came to the surface.

The greatest singular change in me was that for the first time in my life I came to believe in a power or force greater than myself. Something was changing me. I had tried for years to quit drinking on my own and couldn't do it. It wasn't until I was completely defeated and willing to do anything to change the way I felt that I opened the door on spirituality. The religion of my childhood alienated me a long time ago, and I couldn't ask for help from a God that scared the living daylights out of me. No, this new spirit is entirely different. It`s a higher power of my understanding. She helps me, nurtures me and is loving me back to wellness. I like the idea that there is someone out there to help me when the going gets rough.

DAY 28

So many feelings all at once, it's hard to describe what was happening to me on that last day. After breakfast I packed, as usual leaving it until the last minute. Once I get comfortable in a place it's hard to uproot me and The Jean Tweed Centre was no exception. I had very mixed feelings about leaving. On the one hand I knew I was ready. Joanne and the others had taught me all they could. It was time to take off the water wings and start swimming for myself. I was scared. Fear of the unknown made me want to crawl back into the womb.

Tearfully we said our goodbyes and clung to each other for the last time. We solemnly promised to e-mail, call or send telepathic hugs whenever one of us was in trouble. Those of us in town vowed to get together at AA meetings. I left with a full address book and a full heart.

As Joanne and I walked arm in arm to the door she welcomed me to the world of healing. She grinned at me and said,

            "See kid, people can and do change".

I didn't turn back as I walked out the door to my new life.