White Line
Abby first person POV set when she was drinking at work after 'Blackout'. Please Read and Review.
Disclaimer: I wish they were mine.
What's the difference between me and all the drunks that we see in here day after day? The only one I can see is that I am wearing the white coat. Other than that we're all the same. I'm slowly losing everything important to me in my life because of alcohol and yet I still can't seem to stop. Here I am standing amid the chaos that is the ER, a million thoughts should be running through my mind right now: labs, patients, CT's, MRIs, tox screens, dispo orders, how slow transport is, where my surgical consult is, and yet the prevailing thought in my head at this moment is that I could really use a drink. It's the middle of the afternoon, I have 9 patients on the board, I'm supposed to be checking on films for my kid in Trauma 1 but what I really want to do is get a drink. Just something to take the edge off. I don't even want to get drunk anymore, that's not what it's about. It's about being numb; alcohol blurs the lines, calms the nerves and anxiety ripping through me at all times. It helps me not worry about Joe falling at the park again, worrying about Luka in Croatia, being mad at Luka for still being in Croatia, being a 'single' mom, spending enough time with Joe, paying the bills, and, right now at least, it keeps me from the incessant stab of guilt and anxiety over what I did, or who I did I guess I should say.
"The damn drunk in Exam 3 ripped out his banana bag again," Sam tears me away from my introspection as she slams a chart down on the desk in front of me. "Can't these people just go sleep it off at home instead of causing a scene and having the cops bring them in?" I shrug my shoulders at her remarks, really what I am going to say? I know 'these people' differently than the rest of the staff do and throughout the years I've come to terms with it. They see 'them' as the scum of the earth: irresponsible, out of control, and hopeless. When I see them it's like looking in a mirror lately, and that's what scares me the most.
"It's part of the job," I say as casually as possible. I am definitely not in the position to judge anyone at the moment. Sam shrugs her shoulders at my lack of commiseration with her, "They need to get help" she states as she hurries off.
Help. Yeah, if only it were that easy to just say the word 'help' and have everything be alright again. Some people are beyond help. Bells can't be un-rung. I'm actually amazed, and dare I say it, proud that I have been able to keep this a secret for so long now. It's the coat. The thin white line that separates me from them; who's going to accuse a respected doctor of being loaded at work? I know people are 'concerned' about me and have noticed some changes in behavior, but I think they've just chocked it up to Luka being gone and me missing him, and really that is a big part of it. Everyone who ever knew about my 'problem' are gone now. I'm on a tightrope without a safety net and I'm teetering and swaying way out of control. In some ways what I'm doing is even worse than what 'those people' are. I'm taking other people's lives in my incapable hands. Damn I could really use a drink. I can tell my buzz is wearing off when I feel my conscience kicking in.