Of course I didn’t deserve a second chance. I was a lying, criming, worthless whore. I had just lost the only person who would have understood why I did what I’d done. And the only person good and kind enough to forgive me.
I was all alone now. No one could help me. I couldn’t share myself with anyone, because no one could know what I really was.
And so I sank down into the bath, and I prayed.
CHAPTER 25
I suddenly realized I didn’t want to die.
The timing of this realization was rather unfortunate, because I had just taken twelve Vicodin and I’d likely be dead within the hour.
I was already starting to feel the effect. I was lying on my bed—a beautiful California king with a tufted headboard and sheets from Ralph Lauren—but couldn’t feel any part of my body touching it. My arms, legs, head, and torso all felt like they were floating. It was a very pleasant feeling, how you might feel if you were made entirely out of whipped cream.
I almost laughed at my predicament. Because until fifteen minutes ago, when I swallowed all those pills, I could have easily gone on living without doing anything at all. But now, in order not to die, I was going to have to work very hard to stay alive.
Savannah once asked me what irony was. I remember struggling to explain it. Irony is one of those concepts that is hard to define, except by giving an example of it, and at the time, I couldn’t for the life of me think of one. Discovering I wanted to live right when I was about to die, now there’s irony for you! I made a mental note, in the unlikely event I ever saw Savannah again, to offer this moment as an example.
I don’t know if being so close to death was what made me want to live, or if it was something else entirely. Maybe I suddenly wanted to live because, for the first time in over three months, every cell in my body didn’t hurt like hell. Vicodin will do that for you. Turns out that when you’re not in the choke hold of debilitating pain, being alive doesn’t completely suck. I’d kind of forgotten that. The Vicodin-induced full-body numbness had the unexpected side effect of refreshing my memory.
Riding my opioid raft toward death gave me a brash new perspective on things. I felt a surge of pride. I had been hit by a car and survived. I’d had my kneecap removed with a straw and learned to walk again. I lived in a house nice enough to be in a magazine. I had a luxury SUV, a great new haircut, and an oven that produced the most perfectly crumbly blueberry scones you’ve ever tasted. I had a beautiful, caring daughter who made me proud every day. Why on earth would I want to die? I had a great life. Now all I had to do was figure out how to save it.
In order to not die, I was going to need some medical help. Which meant getting to a hospital. If I’d had my phone, I could’ve called 911. But I’d left it downstairs, because I had planned on being dead—and you don’t need a phone when you don’t have a pulse.
I felt myself start to nod off. I knew if I fell asleep it was game over, so I forced my eyes open. I told myself I had to get up. My legs were numb, but I managed to swing them off the side of the bed. I couldn’t feel my feet, but I could see with my eyes that they had made contact with the floor. Progress!
I tried to stand but wound up in a crumpled heap. OK, so walking is out of the question, but maybe I can crawl?
I maneuvered myself onto hands and knees. I had never seen my carpet so close up, it was really pretty! The vanilla-colored Berber with pebbles of brown looked like pralines and cream. I imagined licking it. Not now, maybe later.
I realized if I was going to go in search of medical help, I needed to wake up a bit. A little cold water on my face might do the trick. And great news! The bathroom was within crawling distance!
Hand, hand, foot, foot—I bear crawled toward the bathroom. My eyesight was getting a little blurry, but I knew I’d reached the bathroom when cool tile replaced scratchy wool under my palms. I didn’t think I could crawl into the tub, but the shower was an option, and that was even closer!
My legs were getting really heavy now, but I was a badass widow and the baker of the world’s best scones, what did I need with legs? I could G. I. Joe crawl my way to the shower! And that’s exactly what I did.
On my knees I was tall enough to reach the faucet handle. I turned it all the way cold, then yanked it as hard as I could.
Water tumbled down on me. I couldn’t really feel it, but I could see it, and I lay back under the spray. It was glorious. But it didn’t wake me up.
I felt my head separate from my body. For several seconds I was hovering above myself. Then I was in a field, with tall grass in every direction. The sky was every color—white, green, blue, yellow. I was riding a rainbow across a sparkly, starry sky. It was absolutely glorious.