Off to the hospital.

One of the cops walked back to the cruiser.  The other stayed next to the door.  'Are you OK?  You don't look like you're on your game, buddy.'  'I need help,' I mumbled. 'Yeah, we know.  We're just trying to figure out if we should call an ambulance or just take you over in our ride.'  'I'm OK, I just need help.  I mean, I need help.'  This was tougher than I thought it would be, to get those words out.  'How much have you had to drink today, sir?'  'Three beers. I need help.'  The cop shook his head and walked back to talk to his partner.  They conversed for a second, then came back together.  We're gonna take you to Parkland.  It's only 5 minutes away, they will be waiting for you at the ER.  We're gonna do you a favor and not cuff you.  But, I swear to god, if you throw up in the back of that car, we're going to drag you through it and put you in jail for a couple of days.'  'I need help,' I said.  They helped me out of the car and into the back of the cruiser.  I started to lay down, but one of them said.  'Ya gotta sit up and put on the seat-belt.'  Safety first.  Always been my motto.

The next thing I remember, I was being placed into a wheelchair.  Questions were asked, I answered.  Blood was drawn.  The lights were way too bright and I was cold.  Eventually, I found myself on a gurney, alone, with a few warm blankets over me. Someone had turned out the lights.  No one was bothering me.  I was able to relax for a minute.  I was going to be OK, I thought.  I'm doing the right thing, not only for myself, but for my girlfriend and family.  For a moment I felt courageous.  I turned on my side and tried to get comfortable, to try to maybe get some sleep.  Then it hit me.  In about 4 hours I would be starting to detox, and the next 72 hours of my life were going to be hell.  Where was the nurse with the Librium?  Soon, I thought, soon.  How wrong I was.