08/10/2025
We see you ๐ป
I know the exact dose it takes to sedate a body trembling from withdrawal. But last Tuesday, I learned how silence can shatter a doctor who thought theyโd seen it all.
His name was Jason. On my intake form, he was โMale, 36, Alcohol Use Disorder, Detox Phase I.โ I spent eight minutes with him that morning. Eight minutes to check his vitals, assess his tremors, prescribe thiamine, and record twenty-three data points in his file. He tried to tell me something โ a slurred, halting story about his daughter. I nodded, said, โWeโll talk when youโre stronger,โ and moved on. Thereโs no billing code for when youโre stronger.
Jason signed himself out the next day and was found unresponsive that evening. He left without taking any of his stuff with. As a nurse packed away his few belongings, she handed me a crumpled drawing from his locker โ a stick figure family under a crooked sun, labeled โDaddy.โ
It hit harder than any emergency Iโve ever worked. I knew his blood alcohol level and liver enzymes. I knew his detox protocol and his history of relapse. But I didnโt know his daughterโs name, or that she still drew pictures for him. I hadnโt treated Jason. I had managed a condition. And in doing so, Iโd forgotten the man inside it.
The next day, I bought a small, black notebook. It felt like defiance.
My first patient was Gloria, mid-40s, benzodiazepine dependence. I did my exam, checked her withdrawal scale, adjusted her taper. Then I stopped at the door.
โGloria,โ I said, โtell me one thing about yourself that isnโt in this file.โ
She blinked, then smiled weakly. โI used to be a florist,โ she said. โI could make any bouquet look like a love letter.โ
I wrote it down. Gloria: Makes flowers speak.
And I kept doing it.
Marcus: Plays guitar to stay sober one more night.
Anne: Bakes bread every Sunday for the neighbors who never knew she drank.
Thabo: Was clean for seven years before his brotherโs overdose broke something in him.
The burnout Iโd carried like armor began to crack. Before each session, Iโd look at my notes. I wasnโt meeting โMethamphetamine Dependence, Room 5.โ I was meeting Thabo โ a man trying to outlive his guilt. And they felt it too. Their eyes met mine more often. They spoke with less shame. They felt seen.
Then came Nate. Twenty-one. He**in. Refusing to attend group. Labeled โresistant.โ In our world, thatโs shorthand for weโve stopped hoping.
I walked in and left my tablet outside. We sat in silence for nearly two minutes. Then I said, โThose sketches on your arm โ yours?โ
He looked up, wary. โYeah.โ
โTheyโre good,โ I said. โYou study art?โ
He shrugged. โUsed to. Before I got hooked.โ
We talked about line work, color, design. Not a word about he**in. When I left, he said, quietly, โIโll go to group tomorrow.โ
That night, I opened my notebook. Nate: Draws what he wants his life to look like.
The system I work in tracks every dose, every symptom, every relapse. It tells the story of how people fall apart.
My notebook tells the story of how theyโre trying to come back.
We are trained to treat addiction as data and leave the connection to the Psychologists and Social Workers, but recovery is built on connection. And in a world drowning in protocols, sometimes the most healing thing you can say isnโt clinical.
Itโs simple.
โI see you.โ
โ For more information:
MyRehab East: +27(0) 72 794 5130โฌ
MyRehab North: โช+27(0) 72 209 8352โฌ
https://myrehab.co.za/private-addiction-centre/kempton-park/rehab-treatment-centres-near-kempton-park-2/
