How I Almost Died,But Didn't, Pt.4

SAT : I wake up in a strange, stainless world. I'm staring at a rectangular checkerboard of mostly white squares. It must be a checkerboard, because these red discs keep jumping each other. Some tiny yellow comets fly around the edge of the board. I think these count for extra points if you can catch them, but I can't move my hands. I go back to sleep. I dream of comets and rainy houses.
When I wake again, I realize I'm staring up at the backlit grille of a fluorescent ceiling light. The comets and discs are gone. There's a clock on the wall. 4'oclock. AM or PM? This room is all blinking machines and stainless steel fixtures. It's not the sort of room that accommodates windows and sunlight. Serious shit happens in this place, you can tell just from the number of different beeping devices and the frequent and urgent-sounded PA calls.
Yes, they really do say "Code Blue". They're saying it now, but it's not for me. I go back to sleep.

Some Bald Guy wakes me up. He looks a lot like me. He needs my blood. Check my temp. Blood Pressure.
There are great many tubes in my arms. The hoses lead to something behind me, but I can't turn to see what. More IV's I guess. What day is it?
Bald Nurse tells me it's early Saturday morning. I've had two more endoscopic operations, for a total of three in 48 hours. That's a lot. He tells me that if I hadn't got to the ER when I did, I probably would've died, but the docs found all the holes in my guts and "clipped" 'em shut. They'll explain it to me soon. I should get some rest.
I rest in 45-minute intervals. Every 45 minutes someone checks my vitals. Sometimes they stab me. Sometimes they squeeze me. They always poke me. Stab. Poke. Squeeze. Does this hurt? Deep breath. Say ...aaahhh. Scream aaarrrgghhh!!!
I should get some rest.
I should get some rest.
I am forced to request Valium. Amazingly, the Doc oks it , no problem. Comin' right up. Straight into the ol' IV. That's a kick-ass delivery system. I finally get some rest.

For lunch, I get chicken broth, jello and a lecture on alcoholism from an earnest intern. Blah, blah, support system, blah,twelve steps, blah blah, groups and meetings, blah blah, etc.
I feel like hitting this intern with my juice box, but lack the strength. The cliches continue. I promise I'll be a good boy.

I mean it. I threw up enough blood to die. I was sober when it happened, so I remember exactly what it was like. It was horrible. I was looking straight into Death and it scared the shit out of me. It scared me because I wasn't sure if I cared enough to even bother trying to save myself at the time. I really did consider just letting myself bleed out on my bathroom floor. I didn't consider for it long, though, which I guess proves that I'm not as depressed as my friends think I am.

I've quit drinking before, but never because the next beer will kill me. That should serve as suitable incentive.
No AA meetings for me. I hate those things. Dark , smoky basements with desperate coffee and recycled horror stories that are just a little bit too bad to be good and too good to be true.

The Other Doc has a much better sales pitch. He tells me that if I never drink again, I'll probably live to be 100. If I drink again , I'll die. Painfully and without dignity.
My choice.

I only need one step for my recovery program.