I Don’t Want Another Shot.
I had a cold tray of food waiting for me when I woke up in detox. I didn’t want it. I could hardly lift my head off the flat pillow. I was barely hungover and somewhat thirsty, but I felt dizzy and weak and fuzzy, like I was still on drugs.
I hadn’t done any drugs in days, so this confused me. I felt higher in detox than I’d been on the streets.
I wandered out the door and down the hospital hallway, to a communal room with couches. I was hoping something would be happening, that I could find someone to talk to, that the group schedule would start soon. But no.
Two men were sitting there, staring blankly at whatever blathered on the television. They didn’t look up when I walked in, so I walked back out. The hallways were bare. Other than the TV, there was no noise. I went back into my room and stared out into the very gray world. I felt beaten, exhausted, desperately bored.
I had no idea how long I’d been there, what day it was, what time it was, or what I was supposed to do. I nibbled on the crackers from my tray, staring dazed through the window.
I’d been awake for maybe an hour when the nurse came back. “Drop your pants,” she said.
“I don’t want another shot,” I said. “It knocked me out!”
“It’s supposed to knock you out,” she said. “It keeps you from going into DTs.”
“But I want to be awake,” I said. “I was sober for almost three years and I only had six beers before I came here. I want to get better.”
“Drop your pants,” she said again. “You can get better while you’re sleeping.”
I did as I was told. It hurt like heck, again. And within minutes, I was asleep. Again.
When I woke up the next time, who-knows-how-long later, it was mid-afternoon. I had no idea how long I’d been there, no idea how long yet to go, but my head was spinning from whatever horse tranquilizer they kept giving me. I did not want another shot.
I walked to the nurse’s station and begged: “I am awake. I’d like to stay awake and not get any more shots in the butt. I’ve already had two of them and they just make me dizzy and tired.”
“How long have you been here?” asked a nurse.
“I have no idea!” I wailed. “I’ve been asleep the whole time!”
“Well if you’ve had two shots, you’ve probably been here two days. That means you’re due for another shot.”
“I DON’T WANT ANOTHER SHOT,” I said loudly. “What other options do I have?”
“You don’t have any other options,” she said. “If you are detoxing here, you will get another shot.”
Exasperated, I tried begging. “I am detoxed. I am fine. Please, please, please don’t give me another shot.”
“You don’t have a choice,” said the nurse. “Go back to your room and wait for the nurse.”
“No!” I said. “I’m not doing this again! What else can I do?”
“You could leave AMA,” she said.
“What’s AMA?”
“Against Medical Advice,” she said.
“Then I guess I will do that,” I spat. “I can’t fucking stay here if I have to get another shot!”
I looked around at the very blank faces behind the nurses station, ignoring my pleas, not hearing me. And then I looked for an exit sign.
I didn’t bother with an elevator. I went straight for the exit sign and pounded into the stairwell, leaving detox behind.