In late 1981, I was a drunk; a fifth-of-Jim-Beam-a-day drunk.  I’d been seriously at it for six years, and an occasional drinker for many years before that.  I knew it couldn’t go on forever, but I also knew the 12-step program wouldn’t work for me. 

I chanced to meet a Houston physician, Wilfred Packard Bonin, who told me he had developed a cure for alcoholism.  He was a great storyteller, and laid one on me.

I had some reservations about the story, but knew I had to quit.  I took his cure.  And in 30 minutes, he cured me of alcoholism.  I’ve been dry ever since—over 26 years now.

Dr. Bonin, then 75 and since deceased, told me he was a Cajun, originally from Louisiana.  He spoke Cajun French, and thought it would be nice to do an internship in France.  He was accepted at the American Hospital in Paris.  That was in the 1930's.

During the time he was there, he was called in by another physician to consult on a particularly difficult case.  A patient was slowly dying of some infection, and didn’t respond to treatment.  Antibiotics were still in the future.

After examining her and reviewing her chart, Dr. Bonin suggested a last-ditch treatment.  He got approval from the attending physician and from the patient; although he carefully said he wasn’t sure it would help.

The patient quickly recovered, was discharged, and Dr. Bonin forgot all about the incident. 

After his internship, he came back to the U.S., practiced in New Orleans, and was then drafted in World War II.  After the war, he decided to start a practice in Houston.  He was certified in internal medicine, and for years was on the staff of Baylor Medical College in Houston.

In the 1950's, he went to the American Medical Association convention, which was in Denver that year.  He took his wife along.  When he registered at the convention hotel, he was given a letter that had been waiting for his arrival. 

The letter began, “You may not remember me, but you treated me at the American Hospital in Paris years ago.  You saved my life, and I’d like to thank you by inviting you and your wife to my home for dinner.  The convention doesn’t start until tomorrow, so I’ll send my driver to pick you up in front of the hotel at 7 tonight. 

“I found you through the hotel’s reservation department.  I own the hotel.  Please come.”

He was surprised, and curious enough to go.  He asked his wife, and she was also curious.  The lady’s name meant nothing to him.

A limousine picked them up at the appointed time, and drove to nearby Boulder.  It stopped in front of a large mansion.  The lady came out to greet them. Once inside, she offered them cocktails, and then he told her, “Frankly, ma’am, I don’t remember treating you.  What was it you had?”

She said she had some kind of infection, and seemed to be dying.  “Not only did you cure me, but you also cured me of my alcoholism.”

“I did what?” he said.  She repeated that he had cured her of alcoholism.  She explained that the whole time she’d been in the hospital, her friends had been sneaking booze to her.

The Bonins had a fine evening with the lady.  As they left, she said, “Oh, by the way, your money is no good in Denver.  Your hotel suite is taken care of, and if your wife would like to do some shopping, just charge it to the hotel at any downtown store by showing your room key.”

Dr. Bonin racked his brain, but couldn’t recall having met the lady before, nor could he recall what treatment he had prescribed for her.  When he got back to Houston, though, he called the hospital in Paris to ask if they had records that far back.  They said they did, but would have to send someone out to a warehouse where old records were stored.   They promised to send him the lady's file. 

Once the packet came from Paris, he looked through it, and found it hard to believe that the treatment he had prescribed so long before would have cured her of alcoholism.  Nonetheless, he decided to investigate further.  He had a patient that he knew to be an alcoholic, and approached him on this possible cure.  The man agreed to give it a try.

Sure enough, it worked right off.  That led to treatment of several other people.  The treatment involved intra-venous infusion of a formula he had mixed himself.  Subsequently, he learned that an identical formula was available through the American Hospital Supply Corporation, an ethical firm.  It had been approved by the FDA in 1943 for the treatment of delirium tremens.

He told me that it was best to begin treatment on a Monday morning.  I could have all I wanted to drink on Sunday, but must come to his office at 8 on Monday cold sober.  That was the hardest part for me.  Normally, I had bourbon in my morning coffee, and then sipped from a bottle on the way to work.  At the office, I kept a jug in my desk drawer.  I drank my way through the day, sipping until bedtime.  I was able to function and do my job, and luckily was never stopped by a cop.  I was never falling-down drunk, but I had a good buzz on at all times.

I walked in his office on Monday, December 1, 1981 a drunk, and walked out 30 minutes later an ex-alcoholic.  Not a recovering one, but an ex-alcoholic.  No detoxing, no willpower, no preaching.

Truth to tell, although the effect was immediate, I had to go back at 10 that morning for a reinforcing treatment, then twice again the next day, Tuesday.  Then once a day through Friday, off for the weekend, and resuming treatment on Monday, though only once a day through this second week with a decreasing dosage each time.

The best comparison I can make to the effect of the treatment is one we’ve all had—you have a favorite food, and eat it at every opportunity for years.  Then eventually, you decide you don’t like it any more.  No reason, you just don’t.  That’s the way I felt about alcohol, from the first treatment and ever since, a total of 27 years and counting.  Dr. Bonin said it was all right to go to bars with friends, but just to order a soft drink.  “They’ll salute you,” he added.  And they did, even my old drunken buddies.

I still have the bottle of Jim Beam that I was working on when I got this miracle cure.  It’s about half full.  I also have bottles of scotch, vodka and gin that I kept on hand for guests.  We don’t often have anyone over, but when we do, I can mix drinks for them and not be in the least tempted to have one myself.

What is this miracle cure?  You won’t believe the ingredients: 80% distilled water, 10% glucose, and 10% alcohol—that’s right, alcohol.  Apparently, administering it intravenously had a completely different effect than drinking it.  Of course, the quantity infused was small; far less than a single shot of whiskey, and decreasing steadily after the first day.

Where can you get this treatment?  Nowhere that I know.  First, you’d have to talk a physician into giving it to you. 

If you can find someone to administer it to you, remember to start on a Monday morning, with no alcohol in your system.  Here is the dosage schedule:

• Monday — 220 ml at 8 a.m., another 220 ml at 10 a.m.

• Tuesday — 200 ml at 8 a.m., another 200 ml at 10 a.m.

• Wednesday — 200 ml at 8 a.m.

• Thursday — 180 ml at 8 a.m.

• Friday — 160 ml at 8 a.m.

• Skip the weekend.

• Monday — 140 ml at 8 a.m.

• Tuesday — 120 ml at 8 a.m.

• Wednesday — 100 ml at 8 a.m.

• Thursday — 80 ml at 8 a.m.

• Friday — 80 ml at 8 a.m.

Dr. Bonin obtained a U.S. Patent on the treatment shortly before his death.  You can read about it here:

http://www.patentstorm.us/patents/5418255/description.html#cmt_title