Rock Bottom - Part 1
In the furthest reach of my imagination, I did not see myself winding up here. On December 2nd, I finally drank myself almost to death. After 4 years of consistent nightly beer binges, my pancreas had had enough. On Saturday, I was at a Toyota dealership trading my car in for a 2018 Prius C that I drove once. On Sunday, I was screaming in agony on my bedroom floor, begging my wife to bring me to the emergency room. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. This was not ulcers again, nor was it probably ever ulcers.
I remember the car ride - each bump in the road sending ricochets of pain through my abdomen. I remember being brought down for a CT scan of my stomach. I remember getting loaded into an ambulance, where the bumps screamed even louder inside my body on the way to a more equipped hospital. But everything after that is a blur. All I remember is pain, shrieking at me with every inhale and exhale. I heard voices and felt cold hands touching me, needles piercing my skin and liquids entering my veins. But the last thing I remember before letting my body take over my mind was the words alcohol induced necrotic pancreatitis.
