I must have blacked out everything between the third or fourth shot of Skol on Saturday night and waking up in the hospital the next day. Apparently in between then I was brought to my dorm room, whereupon I vomited all over the floor, choked on my own vomit and stopped breathing before an ambulance carried me away. I had a lethal amount in my system and would have died if I had not been treated as quickly. I have an aunt who works as a police-officer who has taken a good many calls of this type, and in not one instance has the person survived.
Perhaps I was lucky to be unconscious during the worst of it. If I actually had died I wouldn’t have experienced the panic of my body trying to stay alive or the fear of impending death. I would have gone out happy. I’m glad I’m alive though. I don’t want to die. I want to graduate in May, I want to see Myth published and there are countless things I haven’t gotten to do that I’d like to.
I could go further and state that I’m lucky this happened at all. I’ve always been sort of out of it and generally unaware. I’ll forget to eat unless it’s at a scheduled time, when I ran track I sometimes didn’t know it was raining until someone mentioned it and two years ago when I was a freshman on Saint Patrick’s Day I shattered my elbow and only though I might have hurt my wrist a little until the next morning. On Saturday night I didn’t feel nauseous or get any other warning signs I ought to that I should stop drinking, so this was probably bound to happen eventually, only I might not have survived some other night. Now I know that I’m not capable of telling myself when to stop and the only solution is to never start again.
Being a teetotaller will certainly have some downsides. I don’t just imagine that I’m a more pleasant person when I drink, I’ve been told so. On the internet I can choose only to talk about the things I find interesting with the people I think are worth talking to, and in meatspace that’s a very small range. I’ll also have to figure out how to get to sleep early enough on Wednesday nights to get up in time for my early classes on Thursday.
A funny thing is that when I was told that people at my church were praying for me and one of the pastors there stopped by (he happened to be dropping his son off) and gave some God-talk and prayer at my hospital bed, it made me feel better. I still haven’t told any of them I’m an atheist, and that would probably have been the worst possible moment. Some people get closer to God after a near-death experience, but that didn’t happen to me. I don’t think there’s any deep reason I survived and so many others don’t, it just happens.
I’ll feel kind of out-of-place at AA, because I’ve never really felt any urge to drink and I don’t do it all that frequently. I just don’t stop when I should when I do drink. Alcoholism runs in both sides of my family, so I’m likely prone to it and would have wound up an alcoholic if I hadn’t stopped early.
I’m at home now with pneumonia and I’m not allowed to return to class until next Monday. I’ll probably be light on the blogging.