Detox: Day 2, 25/04/13

ANZAC day.

A proper night's sleep! Well, with the help of valium.

Woken promptly at 7:30 AM, I figured I'd hit the showers before anyone else, which proved to be premature, as no one else has bothered getting up. Everything in the communal bathroom is designed to be as non-lethal as possible. The shower head is a little nub sticking out of the wall, the basin has a small hole where water dribbles out; even the taps are just little knobs. I'd never really though of a spout as a weapon, but one of the guys in here, Chris, who is an ice and heroin addict, looks like he's stab someone with a frozen dog turd if thats all that was close to hand.

I'm first into the medication room for my anti-depressants, multi-vitamins and more valium. I have no idea how the nurse who tended to me, Kirsten, fits an ass of that magnitude into the jeans she is wearing. It just doesn't seem feasible.

***

A slow morning drifts into a slower afternoon. I watch the dawn service from Gallipoli, followed by the service at Villers-Brettoneux. The memories of Floppy and I wandering around the village trying to find the memorial come flooding back, and I am at once comforted and saddened.

Then: FUCKIN' FOOTY, CUNT!

A decent match until the final quarter, and then Essendon surge ahead. I picture Dan B being a happy man.

Baked potatoes with something resembling bacon for dinner, and then back into the medication room for my final ass injection.

***

The initiated (those who have attended detox before) are blessed with the knowledge that the most important item to bring with you is a comfortable pair of shoes, as footwear must be worn at all times due to H&S regulations. I don't relish the thought of wearing jogging shoes from 7:30 to 11:00.

Detox: Day 1, 24/04/13

I was afraid that I wouldn't have a window.
Thankfully, there is one at the foot of my bed. Directly outside is a tree, granting me some privacy, and beyond, bushes and brush, mercifully hiding a hideous grey building.
My room is small and nondescript; a small, uncomfortable hospital bed with numerous sheets, a desk and a cupboard.
The nurse, Trudy, was kind as she searched my suitcase for contraband, but I wonder if that look in he eyes is pity, or something else.

***

After having my blood pressure checked, it was time for something new, which turned out to be a needle in the ass. Thiamine ahoy!

Then, straight into the first group session with a social worker named Chris. A very jovial and kindly seeming fellow, who wasn't shy talking about his past addictions, of which there must have been many, as his speech is rather slurred. He talked to us about getting clean, and the problem of relapse. Why we feel the way we feel when we get our hands on our drug of choice, and how we feel when we cannot.

Someone in the unit just informed me that "they" have bombed the French embassy in Libya. Sadly, I didn't have to ask who "they" are. Whether or not this information is true is another matter.

***

Turns out that the guy who informed me about the bombing is named Chris. He seems to be in his mid 50's, and is a fellow alcoholic. though I dare say he may have a slightly deeper problem than myself. I only say this because he was talking to me about his affectation for methylated spirits mixed with lemon juice.

***

Dinner is crumbed fish with what appear to be wedges. They could be potato, but that's a gamble.Valium!