Seeing Red Read Free Page A

so I know I had about twelve drinks, two shots of whiskey, some . . . chicken wings. . . .”
    Now I have his attention. He closes the folder and leans toward me. “This is a typical night for you?”
    â€œYeah. It’s never been a problem before.”
    â€œHow long have you been drinking like this?”
    â€œSince I was seventeen.”
    â€œHow often?”
    â€œAlmost every day.”
    â€œAnd how old are you now?”
    â€œTwenty-four.”
    He nods and stares down at the floor before continuing: “Well, severe amnesia can occur when there’s a deficiency of Vitamin B 1 in the brain caused by excessive alcohol consumption. We had a guy in here one time who had what’s called ‘Korsakoff’s Syndrome.’ He couldn’t remember a thing. You wouldn’t be at that stage yet. You’re far too young. I think it’s more likely that your body is simply getting older, wearing down. It can’t process as much as it used to.”
    â€œIsn’t there anything I can do? I mean, sometimes I run into people on the street and they recognize me and talk to me, like they know everything about me, but I have absolutely no idea who they are. Or I wake up and there’s blood on my hands. One time, I got out of bed and the furniture in my apartment had been completely rearranged. Badly, too. No feng shui involved whatsoever—”
    I could go on, but he stops me. “Let’s take a look at you.” I move from the chair to the exam table and he does a full body checkup: first the ears, then the throat and the eyes. Spends a lot of time on the eyes. “No signs of jaundice,” he explains. Then he stops for a moment while examining my face. “When did you break your nose?”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œYou have a slightly deviated septum.”
    â€œOh. Probably from getting punched in the face. Can they fix that?”
    â€œNo, not without surgery. And that’s movie star stuff. I wouldn’t recommend it unless it’s obstructing your breathing.”
    My shirt comes off and the stethoscope comes out. I lie down on the table and he listens to my heart, my lungs and my abdomen while telling me to breathe in and out several times. Satisfied, he puts the stethoscope away. “You seem fine. Healthy as a horse.”
    â€œI do take a lot of vitamins.”
    â€œHmm. It doesn’t seem like there’s anything physically wrong with you, at least not at this point. We’ll have to do a blood test to see if there’s any cirrhosis of the liver. In the meantime, the only thing I can recommend is that you abstain from alcohol for a little while. Perhaps look into counseling.”
    Granted, there are some things in my life I’d rather forget, but the notion of completely losing control on a nightly basis is a tad unnerving. I was hoping for a prescription, a pill, something that would allow me to maintain my current lifestyle without the blackouts. Drink less? That’s his answer? Get fucking real. And counseling? I don’t have the time or the patience to lie on a couch and field questions from some old prick who doesn’t know what it’s like. Maybe I should just buy some Vitamin B 1 and see if that helps.
    â€œIf the problem persists, make an appointment and we’ll do some more testing. But I should warn you: if you keep drinking like this, your body is eventually going to break down. Not only your brain, but your liver, your kidneys, everything.”
    â€œHow long do I have?” I ask cryptically.
    He pauses and stares at me blankly. “If you don’t stop? I’d say another twenty, thirty years.”
    â€œ Fuck ,” I whisper.
    â€œWhy don’t you try taking a week off and see how you feel?”
    The doctor flashes me a phony smile and pats me on the shoulder as he hands me a business card. He tells me to call him if I run into any trouble and says he’ll recommend a