Disconnected

A health crisis in the family brought me to Cleveland this past week. The first night we were here, we tucked my brother-in-law into the Cleveland Clinic hospital, checked ourselves into the hotel and promptly fell into bed and asleep.

Early the next morning, being responsible for my health requirements, I gathered up my paraphernalia (love that word!) and headed for the pool. Hands full, I shoved my phone in the top of my swimsuit. Too bad that I didn't remember that before I got into the pool. Surprise, surprise, I ended up with a dead phone. It had my local ETA (every thing anonymous) contact information in it and now that was gone. Or inaccessible. Or something. Doesn't matter really, I couldn't get to those phone numbers. The stirrings of fear at being cut adrift stole into my consciousness. Not to worry, I'd brought my little laptop computer and the hotel had free Internet.

Aware of the sense of unease that I felt way down deep, I reminded the old HP that I was now alone in Cleveland and would need to keep Him close. As the day went on, I became distracted by worldly clamors; talking to doctors, driving around in a strange city, and trying to find stores where we could get replacements for the stuff we forgot to pack in the rush. By the end of the day, I was really wanting contact with the fellowship and the peace of mind that contact would bring so I booted up my computer and discovered that I couldn't connect to the Internet.

The feeling of being alone escalated. I called the service desk hoping they could get me connected. A technician was going to call me back. I waited twenty minutes, feeling more and more panicked. I took my computer down to the service desk. They were no more successful than I had been. By now, I was desperate. I went outside to talk to the old HP. Seemed like my connection to Him was broken, too. Tears filled my eyes. I went back inside.

To my left was the bar where people were talking and laughing. It looked inviting. I hesitated. Standing there in the hotel lobby, I felt like Bill W. that fateful day in Akron. That Akron was only about 45 minutes away from where I stood did not escape me. Like Bill, I knew that I was facing my own mortality and the choice I made now would be life or death for me. The monster of addiction that resides within me awoke and started urging me into the bar. Then it started with the lies it always told me: I wasn't really alcoholic, I could just have one, nobody would know, go ahead, Go! Go! Hurry!!

I've been told that there would come a time where the only thing standing between me and a drink would be my connection to the old HP. The monster reminded me that the old HP hadn't answered when I'd just been outside calling on Him. (When they say "cunning baffling and powerful" they are not kidding!) By the grace of the old HP I knew that was bullshit and was able to turn sharply to the right and head for the front desk to ask if we could call the technician.

We could and we did. He was able to walk me through the process and I got connected to the Internet. I was sweating and shaking on the elevator up to my room. I have 11 years of continuous sobriety and am overwhelmed with gratitude that I've spent quite a bit of those 11 years developing and maintaining my relationship to the old HP. I did the footwork and, thankfully, left the outcome to Him. Thank you, thank you, my dearest, loving old HP. For keeping contact with me even when I don't feel connected to You. A wireless connection that has no glitches or technical difficulties. Available 24/7. All I have to do is call.

As an added bonus, the old HP sent me a member of the hotel staff who is also in the ETA program. We have mini meetings which keeps me grounded in reality. Kind of like the old HP covering my ass when I'm in danger of showing it. How comforting.

Have a good and sober day.