Finding God.

On a cold and hellish night in October, I sat at the computer in the cabin. Freezing from the cold, no space heater could get my body temperature to where it needed to be. It was 29 degrees outside. It was 29 degrees inside.

I was also suffering from withdrawal from alcohol. I shivered. I shook. I heaved.

I went to the bedroom and wrapped myself in a comforter and blankets. I was shivering. Shaking. I was convulsing. I could not stop the involuntary muscle contractions that my withdrawal was causing. I could not stop from being so cold.

With the very last bit of consciousness I had, I dialed 911.

I told them where I was. Deep in the woods, in the wilderness.
That I was suffering from hypotermia.

To please come get me.

40 minutes later, an ambulance was there. They took me on a ride. Put warming blankets on me. Took my vital signs. Gave me IV fluids.

It was a 45 minute ride.

I was heading up Route 17, in the dark. From Hancock NY to Binghamton.

A town that had just a month before had been devastated with floods.

The backed me into the hospital ER loading dock. They wheeled me in.

"I have no insurance" I told them.

The wheeled me to a room, in the ER.

The doctors monitored my vital signs, my levels. For many hours.

They informed me they had no detox unit anymore, that it was closed a year ago.

So, they let me sit there.

And go through the rest of it. Alone.

So I heaved, convulsed, shook and fucking died.

For hours.

My vital signs were good.

So, they gave me an Ativan.

Let me try to rest for a bit.

Then at 3AM, said they are discharging me.

"Do you have any way of getting home"

Uh, no.

I rode here from a mountain cabin for 40 miles in an ambulance. It is is now 3AM

"You can stay in our waiting area if you want" they told me.

So I did. For almost 2 hours.

There was a storm coming. A huge snowstorm. The were warning everyone to prepare for over a foot of snow. Starting this very morning.

My 2 dogs, and the last of the things I had, were still at the cabin.

So, I hired a cab.

To drive me in the pitch black. Back to the cabin. I was fortunate to have my wallet and cash, It cost me over 100 dollars.

Still shaking from the DT's, I arrived an hour before sunrise.

I got inside, packed the last of my things.

Waited for the beginning of daylight, because one of my headlights was out.

It was still 29 degrees in there. I kept moving. Kept active. Did all I could.

I got the car packed, somehow. I got the dogs in the back seat.

I got into the car. Praying to God to let me make it home.

With no sleep. Up for over 30 hours. After hours and hours of pure hell. Going through detox, with no aid.

I got behind the wheel.

And drove the 245 miles home.

Safe and sound. Calm and alert.

That is when God was there.

And that is when my faith returned.

I never would have made it. Without Him.

In a few hours, the storm came. And dumped 15 inches of snow at the cabin.

I would have died there.

Were it not for God. And a couple of His angels.

For the record. The hospital I was sent to, was the very same place my mother was born in, 85 years ago. She rode with me to the hospital. Even though she is gone almost 3 years now.