I wish I could get to the bottom of this one. I was recently a patient at the Frankston psych ward. If you haven’t read my nightmare account of that experience, see my previous post. Essentially I had been admitted to the hospital’s ICU ward for 1 week. I underwent daily blood tests, bladder ultrasounds and echocardiograms, and spent hours talking with doctors and nurses. I had a catheter and endured Delirium Tremens (DTs). Rather than write a ten‑page blog explaining exactly what DTs are, I’ll leave the detailed medical descriptions to Doctor Google. There’s so much more to DTs than just shakes and sweats.
I hadn’t had a drink two days prior to my admission, but I wasn’t expecting the DTs that kicked in on my first night. What an absolute trip—utterly overwhelming. I’ve had plenty of experience with hallucinations, yet this felt like taking ten acid hits without any warning. When I looked at the nurses’ and doctors’ they're faces seemed to melt, and I couldn’t tell whether they were really standing in front of me or if I was entirely lost in a hallucination. For more detail, see my earlier blog post about the events of that night.
I never thought I would be coming down. I thought that this was who I now am. I’m a big boy and, as terrifying as these were, I could manage them — just. There was one brief chat I had with a doctor; once again, I’m not entirely sure if it happened or not. It felt more vivid than reality itself. During our discussion he mentioned something I’ll never forget: he told me that if I had one more drink I would die. He was completely serious, and I listened with the utmost gravity. The next moment he was gone. Regardless of whether he was real or not, and whether I truly couldn’t have another drink, I’d be foolish not to heed the warning I was given.
I’ve got it into my head that my drinking days are over now. For good, but this felt like the push I needed to quit the grog. I needed a push, and this served as it. The whole ordeal hasn’t fazed me too much; in one sense it has, because I won’t drink anymore, but I’m not well. Only two percent of my kidneys are working, and I was told I could die, yet life goes on. All I can do is not drink, take my medication, and leave the rest up to God. It hasn’t stressed me much. Most people would be devastated to learn they have kidney disease, but I haven’t even let it dominate my thoughts.