1344.

Random celebration!

Nah, its not any particular milestone.

I was just thinking about the past few years and remembering this and that. Pondering how much has shifted, and what remains true. Today is my one thousand, three hundred and forty-fourth day sober.

The day I walked into rehab was one of the worst of my life. It was the first time I had someone look me in the eye and explain, frankly, how serious my alcoholism was. It was when I realized that I had been at serious risk the day before, on March 14th, when I decided to stop drinking as a “Benchmark” to prove I could do it outside of lockdown. I didn’t know alcohol withdrawal kills. I wasn’t aware that I was, yet again, an overachiever. This time, in the drunkard division. My level of consumption was, in the words of the intake nurse “Highly unusual for a female, and someone your age.”

I don’t fuck around.

But you know what? Despite the abysmal odds for someone on their first shot at sobriety, I knew I had no other choice but to stay clear.

I had a vast emotional journey in those 3+ weeks in rehab. But one moment came back to me just now, prompting me to take stock.

The first day I was admitted I was put on a routine of drugs designed to help me detoxify and to avoid the seizures that can cripple of kill severe alcoholics. I was a mess. I was on a routine that had me being shaken awake for vitals every 4 hours. I was sweating through bedsheets at that rate as well, and after the first 5 changes, and my sheepish apologies, the counselor just showed me where the fresh sheets were so I could obtain them myself.

When the night nurse came on, I’d been fitfully acclimating to this new place and space for about half a day. I was in bed, groggy and quite unhappy, feeling more alone than I’d felt in a long, long time.

I was awakened by one of the counselors and advised I needed to shuffle down the hall for my next check. There was a new RN on duty, and her profile was to me when I entered the nurse’s station and slid gratefully into the chair. She finished what she was doing and turned to me, both of is suddenly wide eyed in recognition.

My breath caught in my throat, and she just smiled, somewhat enigmatically. I had nothing witty to say, so I reached out to shake her hand and returned the smile shakily.

“Hi…long time no see. Too bad this is our reunion.”

I was simultaneously ashamed, relieved and yeah, amused by the vagaries of life.

“Hi Mo. Not that it’s good to see you here, but its good to see you here.”

She smiled, took my temperature, BP, asked me a few questions, metered out the 6 or so meds I was on, and shook my hand again. Then leaned over and gave me a quick hug.

As I drifted back to bed, and curled on the damp and now cold sheets, I was humbled by how small a world this was.

The nurse, you see…I knew her. And she knew me. And we knew one another because she was also a part of the Leather Community.

When I say “We are everywhere!” it ain’t a joke.

But her being THERE, THEN, was a small miracle. It inspired me to come out about being in rehab, because her warm acceptance and her help made me feel safe. And my coming out? Well, you can see how that worked for me.

1,344 days after going into rehab, I’m still sober. For today. For right now.

Thank you for listening, and for keeping me sober.