 Meanwhile, I started reaching out for support systems. Josh was laid up on crutches recovering from his surgeries. I found an agency that would help me with shopping and cleaning tasks and managed to get some sort of assistance grant temporarily to pay for it. Too sick to drive my car any more at all, I went out each night after dark on foot to the nearby convenience store to buy a half-gallon of cheap wine. The last thing I tried for the pain was to take a cab a few blocks down the street to an acupuncturist, who left me laying alone in a dimmed room with huge gold needles pinning me down and returned to send me home when I began to weep and say the Lord's Prayer out loud. Then one day I called a hospital crisis line and asked if they knew of a therapist who could come to my house for super cheap. Miraculously, they sent someone. She came three times. For the first time in my life I admitted my fear of being an alcoholic and also mentioned the pain pills. At the third visit she told me to call the hotline for Narcotics Anonymous, which I did as soon as she left. I was told they would come to get me for my first meeting. That night I drank the last of the wine, took the last of the pills I had in the house, and climbed into bed holding my big orange cat. As of the next day - December 5, 1984 - I have never used drugs (including alcohol) again. I got the message from that one phone call that somewhere out in the dark winter in Portland there were people who were going to help me and with that hope I took the first step.
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