Gina: An ER Recovery Coach made all the difference

It was September 2020, and the fluorescent lights of Norwalk Hospital’s ER were giving me a splitting headache. I lay on a gurney, cold despite the thin blanket, back again for what felt like the millionth time. My dad sat quietly in the corner, looking both worried and disappointed. I was at the hospital to detox from pills and alcohol. I never wanted to move back to Connecticut, yet here I was.

I knew how I got here. I had lost my job nine months earlier, was filing for bankruptcy with over $100,000 in debt, and was on probation. I had lost my apartment, my marriage—and most of all, myself. I didn’t recognize the person I had become, but I was finally willing to try and find out who I could be.

The ER doctor told me I didn’t meet the medical criteria to be admitted to the hospital. I was furious—finally ready to ask for help after a nine-year relapse, and once again, the system was shutting me out. That’s when a man named Dimitri walked in. He didn’t look like the other hospital staff—he was covered in tattoos and wore jeans, not scrubs. He introduced himself as a recovery coach from a nonprofit that helps people struggling with addiction.

Dimitri told me he was in recovery himself. That alone gave me a flicker of hope. He tried to find me a detox bed, but it was nighttime, and there wasn’t one available for a woman. The hospital discharged me, but Dimitri promised he wouldn’t give up. For the first time, I didn’t feel completely alone.

The next day, he called to tell me he’d found a bed in Bridgeport. I was used to luxury rehabs in rural Connecticut—this was not that. It was bare-bones, gritty, and in the middle of the city. But it was the only option I had—and soon, I realized it was exactly what I needed.

Two days into my detox, a counselor told me there was a problem. My state insurance only covered COVID-related care. I was uninsured. But they didn’t kick me out. “We’ll keep you on a scholarship,” they said. It was a relief—but I was scared. I needed more help, and I had no way to pay for it.

Then came another miracle. The counselors helped me apply for a scholarship at a private facility in Florida. I begged them to let me go. Chris, the admissions coordinator, approved it. All I needed was a plane ticket. My mom paid for the flight and packed my bag. My parents drove me straight from detox to the airport. I boarded the flight with ten days sober and a small, growing spark of hope.

After treatment, I moved back to Connecticut and did everything differently. My parents supported me while I lived in a sober house and looked for work. I stayed in sober housing for three years, building a new foundation. I went to meetings every day, made healthy friendships, rebuilt trust with my family, and—most importantly—learned how to show up for myself.

I started volunteering at the same organization that sent Dimitri to help me that night in the ER. That volunteer role turned into a full-time job as an Emergency Department Recovery Coach. Now, I get to be the person Dimitri was for me. I walk into hospitals across Connecticut and offer hope to people who feel as broken and lost as I once did. Doctors from Norwalk Hospital call me to help them! Since I began this work, I’ve coached more than a thousand individuals struggling with substance use disorder. My goal is always to plant the seeds of hope and possibility.

Today, my life is full. I attend meetings, sponsor women, do yoga, and spend time with people I love. I’m in a healthy relationship with someone in recovery. My family trusts me again. I can pay my bills, show up for work, and keep the promises I make.

I’ll never forget what it felt like when strangers believed in me more than I believed in myself. When my parents and people like Dimitri offered support without judgment, they gave me the courage to try. Back then, my only goal was to make it to three months sober—my record at the time. Today, as I approach September 30, I’m proud to say I’ll be celebrating five years.  Thank you.

NOTE: To view the video of Gina, with her father Gregg’s introduction, just CLICK HERE.