This post is another in a series of occasional installments describing my early recovery and treatment for alcoholism. The most recent prior post is Alcoholism rehab pt IV: Long train ride home. Others may be found in the “My Links” section on the left side of my blog.
Every time I post one of these stories I hear from a number of people struggling with alcoholism/addiction – either theirs or someone in their family, or a friend. I am grateful for that as my primary purpose in telling my story is to carry a message of hope to others who are dealing with this killer disease. It also makes me humble and grateful for my sober life and recovery program. I mention AA periodically, as that is what works for me. I am neither a spokesperson nor do I represent AA in any manner. There are many ways to get clean and sober and it doesn’t matter to me how one achieves this.
Simply put, this is my story. I appreciate you taking time to read it.
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I left that AA meeting feeling so good and so confused. How could I feel so low and bad about myself, and have a former student say such affirming things? My nine year old son asked me to come upstairs and say goodnight to him. He offered that he was excited about me coming home soon “for good”. I didn’t bother to explain that I would be moving into a halfway house/group home – I was just too choked up by feeling wanted by someone.
It was hard being home that weekend because I was afraid I would see people and have to talk to them. I just felt so much shame and guilt and embarrassment and sadness. Sure enough, the next door neighbors came over to say hello. They were the ones that that helped to persuade the paramedics and sheriff to bring me home when I passed out in my car at the school bus stop waiting for my son (the details are buried in a previous post somewhere). Later another neighbor stopped over. At the train station the next day I ran into a teacher from the school that I had been fired from. She was overwhelmingly friendly and upbeat. She said that a lot of the faculty were asking about me, missed me, and wished me well. This just simply didn’t fit with how I felt about myself, and everything that had happened. My diary entry reads “It seems as if I have run into people everywhere all weekend. Thanked (wife) for a ‘pleasant weekend.’ I don’t understand all of this – hurts so deeply that I can’t live at home, but I’ll deal with it.”
It is now December 1, 2000 and I have just been discharged (as planned) from 90 days in a rehab program. I am once again riding the southbound Carolinian. Events of the past week are flashing in my head. Lots of meetings…goodbyes…session with entire treatment team and feedback for me…relationships ending and starting…picked up a 90 day chip…dinner with new rehab friends…reviewing relapse prevention plan…gave my therapist a lighted poinsettia plant that she actually liked…hugs and tears and hugs and tears…scared and anxious. I just don’t want to continue life as it was. The thought that I need to change my behavior in order to change my thinking, and not vice versa, is running around upstairs.
The last hour of the train ride I start feeling nauseous. The abdominal pain is severe. I am actually getting frightened. I get off the train doubled over with cramps and pain. I’m thinking maybe appendicitis, maybe something I ate, clearly more than just nervousness and anxiousness (which is pretty high.) Wife wants to go straight to the ER, and I insist on going home. To the ER it is. On the way she asks “Have you been drinking?” I didn’t see that one coming. I actually forgot the pain for a second. Police car flagged over and he says he’s not allowed to escort a car but he will call an ambulance. I insist on just driving and so he says he’ll follow us to the hospital.
I am now doubled over in pain in the ER and actually moaning because it hurts so much. I don’t care what it is – just make it stop. I am seen quickly and asked a few questions and they explain that a CAT scan is needed before they give me any medication for pain. They try to make me see that they need to have a working diagnosis before the symptoms are masked. I am not interested in the reasons at this point. Through all the pain I am thinking that they probably have reviewed my chart and figure I’m lying about something. My last trip here nine months earlier involved a 16-stitch gash on my forehead, a BAC of 0.28, and me lying the entire time that I’d had nothing to drink.
“We think it’s a kidney stone” says a nurse or PA or doctor or someone “and we’re just waiting for the pictures.” I am writhing on the gurney just like in the movies. After some 45 minutes of hell the ER doctor calmly says “kidney stone” and he directs the nurse to give me 75 mg of Demerol IV. I immediately feel it and the sharpness subsides a little.
“Doc, you’re not going to believe me. I’m an alcoholic and I just got out of a 90-day treatment program today. They taught us to tell our doctors the truth about our alcoholism. I never expected I’d be doing it so soon. The Demerol you gave me really isn’t enough. The pain is still pretty intense.”
“Gottchya” is all he says and then he directs the nurse to “add another 75 mg Demerol.”
I immediately feel better – quickly somewhat high and euphoric. It’s almost scary how good. I remain there for about two hours. The doc comes in and asks everyone to leave. He asks how I’m doing and tells me what’s up with the kidney stone. He finishes by wishing me well with my alcoholism recovery, and softly says “I understand completely. Been sober 22 years. Go to meetings.” He patted me on the shoulder and left the room. Maybe there are recovery angels.
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Note: I am just going to keep writing and posting these for awhile until I run out of story to tell. Thanks for stopping by.TIP:
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Comments
Thanks, Grif.
janie - I understand the pain all around. My favorite teacher in the whole world was my 5th grade teacher Mr. Reynolds. He was an alcoholic and died in his fifties. I loved that man at a time where adult men were scarce in my life.
In so many ways these posts are helpful to you and the people that you have touched, and what a wonderful way of turning something so tragic into experience that creates a positive purpose and help others. Kudos. R
R~~
Keep sharing, I'll keep reading -- and I'm going back to read your previous posts, too.
scanner – good to see you again. There are a million ways to get sober, and stay sober. It only matters that we do it. You know what I mean.
Sally – I had heard that about childbirth and kidney stones. The thing about the stones is that once they’re passed you’re through with them. :-) Either way, the Demerol sure helped that night.
wendyo – nice to meet you. That doctor event was just right for me at that time.
Owl – thanks for the continuing support. I very much appreciate it.
skel – glad to hear sobriety works for you too. And the behavior changes thinking stuff is the exact opposite of how I used to live.
Melissa – I always appreciate your support and kind words. Thanks for taking the time to comment.
-Off to a middle school faculty meeting and will check back later. Thank you all.
I had a kidney stone in the same location as yours. Agony begins. It took a double tap of morphine to knock it (and me) down.
Boanerges1 – I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your encouragement with these posts. Thanks.
Lunchlady2 – take your time. I appreciate the visit.
rita – thanks for your kind words. The loneliness actually got worse in the months following discharge. And yes, I felt a lot of embarrassment and shame. Years later I went back to my former employer and to many of the faculty and made amends. That changed everything for me.
Rated.