you're sitting there in your gutted farmhouse, wasted at 10:15 in the morning watching hoda and kathy lee. in fact, you've been wasted for the last 4 months. and your 2 brothers and a sister-in-law show up and ask you politely to get in the trunck. you beg your oldest brother please don't make me do this, please, i beg you, please don't make me do this. al, your other brother, says, hey, i'm missing my golf game. get in the truck. your sis-in-law says you need to do this. please, no, please. i can't. just leave me alone, i'll be fine. get in the truck. come on, let's get in the truck. you put your shoes on and get in the truck. you get to the hospital and your brothers have to prop you up because you can't walk on your own. you're admitted. they hook you up to an i.v. because you're dehydrated. you're shaking and the nurse has trouble hitting her mark, but she does, with a smile. the admitting doctor comes in and says they're going to make you better. your brothers and sis say that they're very proud of you. you're shaking, you can't breath right. they take you to your new room for the week, a nurse comes in and puts something in the i.v. it's anti-anxiety medecine. it works almost immediately. you relax. al makes jokes and you laugh as does jess and lisa. they don't leave your side for 5 hours. you get sleepy. they give you more meds and take your blood pressure and check your blood every 3 hours. all the nurses know why you're there, but there's no funny looks, no pity, no... judging; just sympathy and a sincere desire to make you better. your family finally leaves and you fall asleep only to be awakened every 3 hours for vitals. you're humiliated, ashamed, glad your mom and dad are gone so they don't have to see you like this.
then you wake up and hope you've hit bottom.