SRD10 Through the looking glass

The CDRP is discreetly located on the second floor above a discount restaurant supply on a major downtown thoroughfare. My husband and I arrived around 9:30 AM.

When I returned my completed forms to the receptionist, he told me one of the "facilitators" would be with me right after the current group meeting.

The spacious, sunny waiting area filled with participants when the meeting broke up a few minutes later. A man and woman, each wearing staff badges, conferred briefly in the hallway. Then the woman approached me.

I'm thinking, "Ah, they decided I should talk to the female counselor because I'm a woman."

By previous agreement, I kissed my husband goodbye and followed "Wendy" to her office. It was a good size room, filled with sunlight from tall windows overlooking the street below. We sat in side chairs facing each other in front of the windows.

"So," Wendy began, "I've taken a look at your paperwork. It looks like you're here because of Percoset."

I feel a great weight lifted from my shoulders. I'm talking to someone who actually knows something about Percoset withdrawal. I can finally get the help I need.

I proceed to fill Wendy in on the last eight weeks of my life--breaking my shoulder, flying home, the first surgery, the second surgery, and my recent realization that I'm hooked on the pills. I told her how it had been pulling teeth to get a referral to the CDRP. It was only when I finished my story that I noticed Wendy looked uncomfortable.

"I'm not sure how to tell you this," she said, shifting her position in the chair. "We're really not set up to serve people like you. The CDRP is for addicts. You're not addicted to Percoset. You're physically dependent, but you didn't take it to get high, you only took it for pain. To treat you here you'd have to do the whole program. That means coming here for most of the day, everyday for a couple weeks. Can you do that?"

I felt like the floor had just dropped out from under me. Like Alice, I was falling down the rabbit hole. The lovely Victorian office building was just a stage set for the absurdist play of my life.

"The system failed," she continued. "Your regular doctor should have been able to help you handle this problem."

Tomorrow: hitting bottom