School was canceled, so we stayed in Inverness for a few days Finally, when it resumed, we headed back home The teachers talked to the children about the earthquake and other things that scare people The children wrote about their experiences "I was at the beach," Nic wrote "I was looking down into a sand pit I heard that a person was thrown out of a swimming pool The earthquake made me feel dizzy." At recess, a boy stood on the playground, rocking and swaying When the principal asked if he was OK, the boy nodded and said: "I am moving like the earth, so if there's another earthquake I won't feel it." As I walk around the block crowded with people out on a Saturday night, I remember the little boy and feel the way he felt I navigate through each day like him, on guard, wary of the next upheaval I protect myself the best I can I move like the earth in case there's another earthquake Like now, bracing myself when I flip open the cell phone and call Z., prepared for whatever comes She hands the phone to Nic "So it looks like there's a bed at Hazelden in Oregon You will have to call and speak to a counselor in the morning." "I've been thinking about it I don't have to go I can do it myself." "You tried that and it didn't work." "But now I know." I sigh "Nic " I can hear Z in the background "Nic, you have to go." "I know, I know All right Yeah, I have to go I know." After the initial burst of bravado, Nic seems resigned He also seems mystified "I thought I could stay sober because I wanted to," he says "I thought being in love like this could keep me sober, but it couldn't It freaks me out." After a pause, he says, "I guess this is what it means to be an addict." Moving like the earth so I don't feel this new earthquake—this latest relapse I walk under streetlamps, an austere sky overhead Cars streak by I walk back to the gallery On Monday, Nic speaks to a counselor at Hazelden, and afterward he tells me that he is going to Oregon I book a flight knowing that he may not show up Next I hear from him that he is packed and ready to go Z is driving him to the airport I call Hazelden to be sure that someone will pick him up when he arrives, but the man who answers the phone says that there is no record that Nic is arriving When I protest, I am transferred to a supervising counselor, who explains that Nic was not approved for admission "What do you mean he's not approved for admission? He's on his way." "Why is he on his way? He was not approved." "No one told us." "I'm not certain why, but this is the decision." "But you can't He is on his way to the airport We have to get him into a program while he's willing to go." "I'm sorry, but—" "Can he come tonight and begin detoxing while we figure out where he'll go next?" "I'm sorry." "What am I supposed to do?" "If he flies up here, no one will be meeting him." "What am I supposed to do?" "We have some recommendations of other programs." She gives me the names I hang up and call Jace He says he'll make some calls Jace calls back with the name of a hospital in the San Fernando Valley where Nic can detox I call the doctor who runs it and arrange for Nic to be admitted Then I call Z.'s cell phone again and explain what happened Instead of going to the airport, I say that Nic should go to the hospital I provide the address At least he will be safe in a hospital If he shows up John Lennon sang, "Nobody told me there'd be days like these." Nobody told me there would be days like these How do people survive them? After midnight, Z drops him off at the hospital Nic is given medication to begin detoxing As the nurse explains, he will spend most of the first few days sleeping The alternative to medication is the well-documented hell of cold turkey, which many addicts cannot endure Crawling out of their skin, depressed and distraught, feeling hopeless and in acute pain, they will do anything to feel better—they will find drugs I regularly check in with the nurses on the ward, who assure me that he's doing all right One says: "Given the quantity and variety of drugs in his system, it's a miracle he made it in I don't think his body could have survived another month." His mother and I explore options for where he can go next Once again I ask Dr Rawson for advice, and he queries some friends and colleagues I check on the programs recommended by the supervisor at Hazelden We ask the doctor who is detoxing Nic for his suggestions Over the course of these days, Vicki and I each make dozens of telephone calls We talk to admissions reps and check Web sites We continue to get contradictory advice Some programs charge forty thousand dollars a month, but the experts agree that Nic will need many months in treatment this time We can't afford fortythousand-dollar months Some people we speak to are as pushy as used-car salesmen One place recommended by Hazelden sounds appropriate and is more affordable than many others Then someone tells me that it is a hardcore program in which punishments for breaking rules include cutting the grass with scissors This may be useful therapy for some people, but Nic would go crazy Maybe I'm wrong I have been wrong about so much At least he's safe for the weekend I talk to another nurse attending to Nic His blood pressure has been extremely low, though it is better today He hasn't eaten much since he arrived She asks Nic if he is up for coming to the telephone He walks to the nurses' station and picks up the phone "Hey, Dad." His voice is hardly audible He sounds extremely, extremely depressed "How's it going?" "It's hell." "I know." "But I'm glad to be here Thanks I guess this is what they mean by unconditional love." "Just go through this This is the worst, but it will get better." "What should I do next?" "We'll talk about it when you're feeling a little better Your mom and I are working on it." In fact, Vicki and I are overwhelmed trying to find a place that will give Nic the best chance Dr Rawson continues making calls and sending emails to his colleagues around the country on our behalf He tells me that "this experience in advising you has made me more convinced that making a selection of programs in the mental health/substance abuse service system is like reading tea leaves." Nic calls on the third morning of his detox and asks me to call him ... I hang up and call Jace He says he'll make some calls Jace calls back with the name of a hospital in the San Fernando Valley where Nic can detox I call the doctor who runs it and arrange for Nic to be admitted... Then I call Z.'s cell phone again and explain what happened Instead of going to the airport, I say that Nic should go to the hospital I provide the address At least he will be safe in a hospital If he shows... It freaks me out." After a pause, he says, "I guess this is what it means to be an addict." Moving like the earth so I don't feel this new earthquake—this latest relapse I walk under streetlamps, an austere sky overhead