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When I share this story the common reaction I get is pity and more often than not, “I bet Costa Rica is a place you will never go back to.” I wouldn’t say that though. This was an experience, neither negative or positive- it is simply an experience- another chapter in my life that has lead me to where I am today. Travelling is a beautiful thing- I consider it one of my most important attributes to accomplish in life. I think it is worth the mention before I begin that I am now 540 days sober and a proud, active member of alcoholics anonymous. In this travel experience I most definitely made a local connection outside of the tourist realm that the common traveller typically experiences. An eternity ago, well technically 3 years ago, my boyfriend brought me on a vacation to Costa Rica. During our trip I had taken my drinking too far once again and all of a sudden I was awake, strapped down with strange men surrounded around me and loud motor noises. I was confused, afraid and when I started screaming I felt a needle poking into my arm and slowly started losing consciousness again. The second time I remember waking up I was once again screaming and I was calling out for my boyfriend. I thought I was going crazy, I could have sworn I was in a helicopter but how could that possibly be true, it was official, I had lost my sanity. Then I slipped out of consciousness again. I woke up again and was in an empty room with dirt floors. I was laid down and kept fighting to get up. I then heard my boyfriend’s voice, he told me I need to relax because they could not give me any more sedatives. He told me my head was bleeding and they needed to make an emergency stop to stitch it up because we would not make it to the hospital. I could not process what was happening. I wanted to cry or scream but I was so numb. I was so scared but didn’t know what to do. I heard someone say they were going to give me one more dose because they needed to get the stitches in. I fought so hard to stay awake but again I drifted off. The next time I woke up I was in a hospital. It was far from a hospital in Toronto but I could tell it was a hospital. My boyfriend was standing next to me, tears running down his face staring at me eyes wide open. I told him I needed to pee and he said I was wearing a diaper and he had been changing them for me. On a mushy side note- this was the moment I knew I had met the man I was going to marry. I learned that in Tamarindo I had fallen outside our hotel room and when my boyfriend laid me in the bed, blood was soaking into the white sheets. He carried me to the lobby and that’s when we were brought to a helicopter which was going to take us to San Jose - the “closest full working hospital”. At the hospital both me and Bronson were treated like rabid animals, they grabbed at me with force and would never answer our questions as if they couldn’t understand but then would communicate with each other in English. My boyfriend told me later that while I was on the “bed” at the emergency stop he was crying, pleading for them to do something as I was noticeably bleeding out but they stood there stern refusing until he handed over any form of payment. At 3AM we were thrown out of the hospital as if it was last call at a bar. We asked if we could call a cab and wait in the lobby but they physically pushed us out while shoving a receipt for $10,000 into my boyfriend’s hand. We stood in the dark streets of San Jose , me with no shoes, wearing only a hospital gown, trying to figure out our next move.