Jack and Dave, My Bodyguards

After being discharged to the street from the ER, I joined the ranks of the lost, the adrift, the unhoused. My fall from promising was nothing if not definitive. 

I had called the manager of the SLE from the ER. She was was unequivocal: I was not welcome to return. The lawyers had weighed in. I was a liability. Not alone anyway. I would need sober companions 24/7. 

My next call was to an AA friend who sprang into action. Within the hour, Jack and Dave, two dudes from AA central casting, pulled into the tree-lined circular drive of the toney hospital. They surely knew I was their gal when they marked me as pallid, empty-handed and sleep-deprived. As it turns out, drugged-induced unconsciousness doesn't replenish the soul. 

The risk of addicts, especially suicidal addicts, taking missteps or trying to self-harm after relapse, is acute. The first 30 days are crucial. I was no exception. Jack and Dave, it was explained to me, would be my sober bodyguards for the next month. I would be surveilled around the clock per protocol other than, thankfully, quick trips to the bathroom during which one of them would stand sentinel outside the door.  

One would think having zero time alone would have been a monumental imposition. 

Au contraire!  I never had so much fun! Also bodyguards! I didn't get this kind of attention in LA—or ever. We went sightseeing, drove through the countryside and ate our way through Marin County. 

It was fun. I had forgotten fun. 

​Dave was an ex-con who finally got sober and wanted to help others, especially himself. How much money can I make off these drunken slobs? was his motto. I adored him and his candor. He did the 13th step* of AA by getting somebody pregnant. He never married her and was always thinking of himself first and foremost. Jack's main love, though, was food. Morning noon and night—he never met a food he didn’t like. He must have weighed 500 pounds. I later tried to introduce him to Overeaters Anonymous, but he didn’t want anything to do with it. His other motto was food is my medicine. I couldn't argue with that. 

Dave was a little softer and kinder than Jack. He was a follower, a silent supporter and someone for whom I am eternally grateful. 

After my time at the SLE—and with Jack and Dave—came to an end (read: I needed a "higher level of care"), it was back to rehab again. For this stint, I ventured to Petaluma, California, "the egg basket of the world," where not just chickens but pigs, cows and horses reside. Those animals, it turns out, were much cleaner than my co-residents. 

Just before I was discharged from the SLE, I was informed I had a suspicious lump in my breast. I went in for a biopsy and awaited my results. The nurse shared the news on speaker phone in the car as Jack and Dave were driving me to Petaluma: Negative. They clapped and cheered as I exhaled. I was given yet another pass in life.  A lucky break.  

Or so I thought, until the doors of that rehab center swung open and I walked in... . 




* The 13th step of AA refers to a (prohibited, unethical) situation where a person who is new to AA is targeted for a romantic or sexual relationship by a more experienced member. The term was coined because it occurs informally after the 12-step program and often leads to negative fallout for both would-be romantics. ​