They've said he's got 6-12 weeks to live. That was last week.
I'm going back out there end of this month.
It's been hard. Really hard. Verge of tears constantly. Not finding any connection in AA meetings, not picked up a regular sponsor. I'm not interested in drinking - thank god I've been relieved of the craving to drink - but I often wish I had something to take away the pain. I started back on melatonin to get sleepy at night and to sleep the night. And, since I ended "Six Feet Under" I'm now on "Deadwood." I guess those are my "drugs" these days.
I bought a couch - finally. After living in this grown-up's apartment with a bare living room for a year. It should make it here in time for me to need the cozy, curl-up comfort. I've already bought a standing lamp for it and am eyeing some rugs and a matching chair. I like this apartment and the building. I'm looking forward to biking around (bought an air pump and plan to visit a pally who can tweak the gears so they're aligned correctly), and taking walks in the Glover Park forest.
Some days I wish he'd die to relieve himself of the pain and discomfort, but he's got more living to do. It seems some of us die more quickly in the body and slower in the mind, and others (like my grandmother) die more quickly in the mind with the body slowly catching up. My grandfather had the best way out: a heart attack. No lingering long bedside medications, no mirror to see the tufts of hair go, no added surgery or chemo or radiation to give 10% of a chance at one extra week, no dementia to forget who you are or where you are or how to dress, no creaky hips, no broken nothing.
I can't fathom what it will be like without my dad in my life. I don't want to have to whisper to a ghost when I have questions about mechanics, need analysis relayed from Consumer Reports, need a dad hug or hear his pride.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Thursday, March 3, 2011
In the tundra
My dad is snoring softly in his bedroom, wrapped in a red blanket like one of those glow worms kids take to bed. Sometimes the snores are deeper, louder breaths and sometimes they stop in rthym and I hope he isn't disturbed by my typing out here in the living room. My mom always points out that his hearing has diminished from all the flying in the Air Force, but I think he hears some things that are quiet. Although he didn't hear the double-beep this morning at 7:30 when the IV nutrients had done their overnight, 12-hour feeding.
He was nearly dead to us last week.
I came out 3 weeks ago and stayed for 8 days. He had just been admitted to the hospital after 3 weeks of vomiting that built up some ulcers in his stomach and gave him esophagitis. In early January, the test results came back that the chemo trial he was in hadn't been working to diminish the tumor on his kidney. It had grown actually - only slightly, but a rather significant sign that treatment wasn't working. He decided then to take a break from chemo. His other options were to try 2 different combinations of chemo, but if it hadn't been working he wasn't feeling optimistic that it would now. He preferred to get some energy back, some taste buds, and some of his hair. Despite his decision, at the beginning of February, he was referred away from Mayo Clinic (through which he participated in the cancer treatment trial) to a more local doctor and hospital and tried chemo again. It might have been this round of chemo that set him into vomiting, or - we wondered at the time - a flu, or - we guessed later - a spread in the cancer.
Regardless, the 3 weeks of vomiting had dehydrated him, left him malnutritioned, and decreased his weight to a hollow 150lbs. When I came out the first time, we were focused on keeping my mother sane (after 3 weeks of living with and watching a stubborn old man that she loved deteriorate), figuring out if the cancer had spread, and being around him for our own and his comfort. The hospital sucked, really. The main dietitian was clueless about how to help us, and wasn't very offering to do so. The doctor treating him, while liked by my parents for his passion for aviation and long career of treating cancer patients, wasn't wonderfully communicative or helpful in alleviating our concerns: had the cancer spread? should we do an MRI or CT scan? if there's no blockage in his intestines, what's impeding digestion? is cancer causing the motility issues? We went from a liquid diet (broths, popsicles) to soft food diet (cream of chicken soup, mashed potatoes) and back again as the food just sat like a lump in his stomach, caused vomiting, or created discomfort. And because of the chemo treatment earlier in the week and debilitating vomiting, his blood count hadn't risen enough to consider new, aggressive chemo to treat the purported spread of cancer along his intestinal lining near his stomach.
Finally though, his counts were high enough and he got some chemo. But he still wasn't eating enough or getting enough nutrition. He'd been hydrated well through IVs, but there weren't enough calories getting into his system. So, on the day I flew back to DC, a foggy day that impeded me from driving the hour to the hospital or my sister driving the 3-hours to my parents from Minneapolis, he got a feeding tube. It killed me that he was all alone for this procedure. That he and we were stranded. But it went well.
I was back for a week in DC and heard only reports over the phone that the feeding tube was creating discomfort, that he wasn't gaining weight, that he couldn't sleep, that the pain in his lower back (a knot in a muscle from laying in one place for too long? the tumor on the kidney?) caused him more discomfort and he was starting oxycodone, that he would now get IV nutrients (something that we'd heard the insurance company would only cover for patients who could not eat at all - a bad sign). My mother again thought that my sister and I should come back. Sometimes we were convinced this could be the short end to the slow drawn out finality. Sometimes we thought it was just a dip in the rollercoaster. Sometimes we thought days, weeks, or a couple of months, or hours. Sometimes we thought about Uncle Jim who had a tumor in his brain from smoking cigarettes, and who, just 4 hours after he and my aunt had met with the doctor to discuss further chemo treatment, had a heart attack as she bathed him in the hotel bathtub. Sometimes we thought about Christmas this year. Or, was last year the last?
I decided to buy a ticket for Sunday. It would give me the Friday in DC to celebrate my 90-days of sobriety, and a Saturday to pack. I cried in the office on Thursday, told a few co-workers that he'd gotten worse, fantasized darkly about the end, tried to stay strong, and started to plan how to do my Step 9 amends to him. Then, Friday I heard that he was looking better and feeling better, making jokes, and gaining weight. Saturday, I heard he was even better. I started wondering why I was returning. Not that I wanted to pass up a moment with my family, but I would miss more work and would miss meetings, and I wasn't sure that my presence would mean so much.
I arrived Sunday to my parents' house. My mom, sister, and her dogs. I was feeling out of my element. It's kind of like a wolf pack. Me and my mom alone and I know I'm Alpha, take charge, do the adult-required role, lead the decisions. But my sister is also an Alpha - if not more so than I am. I'm more of a collaborative coalition leader. She's more of a power-grabber, disseminating information as needed. I sulked a bit and felt out of the loop. Monday morning I pointed out to her that it would be nice (aka more appropriate) if she would put the speakerphone on when dad called for his morning hello from the hospital so we could all hear. I tried not to be mean, but I know it came out snappy.
....................... as much as I got on that one.
He was nearly dead to us last week.
I came out 3 weeks ago and stayed for 8 days. He had just been admitted to the hospital after 3 weeks of vomiting that built up some ulcers in his stomach and gave him esophagitis. In early January, the test results came back that the chemo trial he was in hadn't been working to diminish the tumor on his kidney. It had grown actually - only slightly, but a rather significant sign that treatment wasn't working. He decided then to take a break from chemo. His other options were to try 2 different combinations of chemo, but if it hadn't been working he wasn't feeling optimistic that it would now. He preferred to get some energy back, some taste buds, and some of his hair. Despite his decision, at the beginning of February, he was referred away from Mayo Clinic (through which he participated in the cancer treatment trial) to a more local doctor and hospital and tried chemo again. It might have been this round of chemo that set him into vomiting, or - we wondered at the time - a flu, or - we guessed later - a spread in the cancer.
Regardless, the 3 weeks of vomiting had dehydrated him, left him malnutritioned, and decreased his weight to a hollow 150lbs. When I came out the first time, we were focused on keeping my mother sane (after 3 weeks of living with and watching a stubborn old man that she loved deteriorate), figuring out if the cancer had spread, and being around him for our own and his comfort. The hospital sucked, really. The main dietitian was clueless about how to help us, and wasn't very offering to do so. The doctor treating him, while liked by my parents for his passion for aviation and long career of treating cancer patients, wasn't wonderfully communicative or helpful in alleviating our concerns: had the cancer spread? should we do an MRI or CT scan? if there's no blockage in his intestines, what's impeding digestion? is cancer causing the motility issues? We went from a liquid diet (broths, popsicles) to soft food diet (cream of chicken soup, mashed potatoes) and back again as the food just sat like a lump in his stomach, caused vomiting, or created discomfort. And because of the chemo treatment earlier in the week and debilitating vomiting, his blood count hadn't risen enough to consider new, aggressive chemo to treat the purported spread of cancer along his intestinal lining near his stomach.
Finally though, his counts were high enough and he got some chemo. But he still wasn't eating enough or getting enough nutrition. He'd been hydrated well through IVs, but there weren't enough calories getting into his system. So, on the day I flew back to DC, a foggy day that impeded me from driving the hour to the hospital or my sister driving the 3-hours to my parents from Minneapolis, he got a feeding tube. It killed me that he was all alone for this procedure. That he and we were stranded. But it went well.
I was back for a week in DC and heard only reports over the phone that the feeding tube was creating discomfort, that he wasn't gaining weight, that he couldn't sleep, that the pain in his lower back (a knot in a muscle from laying in one place for too long? the tumor on the kidney?) caused him more discomfort and he was starting oxycodone, that he would now get IV nutrients (something that we'd heard the insurance company would only cover for patients who could not eat at all - a bad sign). My mother again thought that my sister and I should come back. Sometimes we were convinced this could be the short end to the slow drawn out finality. Sometimes we thought it was just a dip in the rollercoaster. Sometimes we thought days, weeks, or a couple of months, or hours. Sometimes we thought about Uncle Jim who had a tumor in his brain from smoking cigarettes, and who, just 4 hours after he and my aunt had met with the doctor to discuss further chemo treatment, had a heart attack as she bathed him in the hotel bathtub. Sometimes we thought about Christmas this year. Or, was last year the last?
I decided to buy a ticket for Sunday. It would give me the Friday in DC to celebrate my 90-days of sobriety, and a Saturday to pack. I cried in the office on Thursday, told a few co-workers that he'd gotten worse, fantasized darkly about the end, tried to stay strong, and started to plan how to do my Step 9 amends to him. Then, Friday I heard that he was looking better and feeling better, making jokes, and gaining weight. Saturday, I heard he was even better. I started wondering why I was returning. Not that I wanted to pass up a moment with my family, but I would miss more work and would miss meetings, and I wasn't sure that my presence would mean so much.
I arrived Sunday to my parents' house. My mom, sister, and her dogs. I was feeling out of my element. It's kind of like a wolf pack. Me and my mom alone and I know I'm Alpha, take charge, do the adult-required role, lead the decisions. But my sister is also an Alpha - if not more so than I am. I'm more of a collaborative coalition leader. She's more of a power-grabber, disseminating information as needed. I sulked a bit and felt out of the loop. Monday morning I pointed out to her that it would be nice (aka more appropriate) if she would put the speakerphone on when dad called for his morning hello from the hospital so we could all hear. I tried not to be mean, but I know it came out snappy.
....................... as much as I got on that one.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Ask, and sometimes you get
Interesting how prayer works. Sure, one can chalk it up to neurological responses, or mind-tricks that, once said/thought aloud, enable actions to happen. One of the (many) slogans in AA is: Don't Think. I'm trying not to think too hard about things - just letting the brainwash happen. Opening up and accepting. Letting myself be curious and open to new ideas, like a Higher Power, prayer, humility, the power of people, the possibility of brain surgery through thought-rearranging (not an AA slogan), etc.
So, on Monday or Sunday of the week of January 16, I did what I was suggested to do. I've often heard people in groups say they get down on their knees and pray. The knee-part resembling the act of humility and powerlessness - a symbol. The praying part the communication of realizing one is not the greatest power in the world and that help can be sought - another symbol. So, that night I got on my knees. The floor felt hard. I felt silly. But I knew that I'd been thinking about Step One quite a bit and wondering if I really truly was powerless to alcohol. The part of my life becoming unmanageable seemed more tangible to agree to: the cycle of drinking too much, going to work and shaking, unable to write anything with a pen without my hand cramping to form legible letters, the paranoia coming with thinking that everyone could tell I was a horrible drinker, the flush of my face after a night of drinking, the terrible feelings that drove me to drink as soon I got home from work, my history dotted with financial instability and blackouts.
So, I got on my knees and asked my HP to help me know and understand if I was truly powerless to alcohol. (Of course, the prayer was a bit longer, but not so long that I felt Catholic.) Then, I went to bed.
Now, I prefaced this blog entry with the fact that prayer could be dismissed as self-brain-washing, convincing the brain to create false connections, and perhaps even an act to induce certain actions that later are dismissed as coincidence or fate or a prayer being answered. But that following Tuesday, I was on the bus, put my cell phone in my jacket pocket, and walked home realizing it had fallen out on the bus. The first time I've ever lost a cell phone. What a state of panic! Luckily, I had my work phone and called the bus depot repeatedly but no one answered. I went back to the bus stop, got on the other side of the street thinking I could catch the same bus coming back through town the opposite way. I waited an hour in the freezing cold and began to realize I was, indeed, powerless - to more than alcohol. I had no control over (presumably) dropping my cell phone on the bus, and no control or power to bring it back. All I could do was hope that I'd be reunited (and I say it so dramatically because anyone who has lost theirs understands the desperate connection: I don't memorize or write down phone numbers anywhere, including my sponsor's).
And then I realized that this powerlessness extended beyond the cell phone lost. (An hour at a bus stop with infrequently passing buses offers a lot of time to think.) Even if I tell my dad over Christmas that he needs to not just make a chart of the exercises he does to strengthen his previously broken ankle, but that he DO them - it doesn't mean he'll do them. (Although he did.) No matter if I try to order my life or control the chaos, life will unfold the way it's going to unfold: I could get fired from my job, my father will die someday, I can slip and break a hip, political chaos will break out in countries all over the world, people will say things that hurt me, I will think nasty thoughts, I will run late to the bus, natural disasters will wipe out whole cities, etc... I can't control everything, in fact, I can only pretend to myself that I have an ounce of control and power over life. It doesn't mean I stop trying to make it on time to the bus, stop harassing my dad to do his exercises and eat well, stop trying to reduce my carbon footprint, stop encouraging world peace, or stop losing my cell phone. But it means that I can be and am powerless over alcohol. I can't control my drinking. I can't stop at one in a night and I can't drink like a normal person.
After an hour, a bus came by, the driver gave me the number to call, I called and they said they'd look around at the buses that had returned to the depot. A few minutes later, they called to say they'd found it. Luck had it that I have a membership to Zipcar and one was available. I cruised out to the depot, picked it up, tipped a $20, and drove home. On the way, to console myself, or to do a bad thing to my body, or whatever it was, I bought some Mickey Dees for dinner. (Who knows why. I eat it maybe once every two years. It's the juicy fries!)
The next day, perhaps due to the horrible food, or the stress of the cell phone incident, or grasping the idea that my dad's losing the battle with cancer, or PMS, or the full moon, or life just is life, I broke down crying at work. Thankfully, I have my own office, and gratefully, I had 2 women I could turn to from the program. I couldn't stop crying. It came out of nowhere and I just couldn't stop. Both the women concurred that I should leave work, but that as soon as I left I needed to go to a meeting. So, I came home, dropped my stuff off, and made it to the 4pm. It was a packed meeting (with the doors to the meeting open and people sitting in the hallway), but I spotted an open space where a chair was missing, grabbed a chair from the other room, and plunked it down. It seemed like serendipity, fate, perfect timing. Like, I was supposed to be there and the cosmos opened up for that possibility.
I sat down and cried through the whole meeting. It was a regular old speaker's meeting, where some old guy was telling his story of how it was, how he came to AA, and how it is now; and those in the room spoke about their own stories or checked in with the group. All I did was cry. I stayed for my regular 6pm meeting and stopped crying, got a hug from a girl I had previously found a bit annoying but felt perfect in her friendship, and even laughed several times.
The next day, I felt better, made it through the full work day, and went to a meeting. We were reading Step Three: Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
Aside:
Again, people have asked me how I feel about the religious aspect of AA. It's not religious, it's spiritual - in as much as alcoholics need to be reduced to human beings, not the cocksure self-gods that we become, and need to have some firm belief in something greater than themselves: the fellowship, a deity, nature, an idea, or, hell, even an object like a doorknob. Something that an alcoholic can turn to when they're faced with a craving, a temptation, an accidental drink that is handed to them. -- Someone told me of how a group of AAs went out after a meeting to have dinner together. The table next to them were celebrating a birthday and downing shots of tequila, they bought the AA table a round. The waiter put the shots down in front of them and they froze. Luckily, someone's "normal" boyfriend was there, and when all the AAs were frozen in what to do, he stepped up, gathered up the shots and told the waiter that they don't drink. --
It's not that AA is recruiting for a local church or trying to make Christians out of the helpless. It's that there fundamentally needs to be a way for alcoholics to not depend on their own minds in times of crisis. We're encouraged to learn how to make phone calls to other people in the program, because for some of us, after years of drinking into deeper isolation, we have forgetten how to connect with other people. It's why, when I was newly sober and a friend in the program invited me to her house for dinner, I panicked and cried. Every social event of my life since age 18 has been infused with alcohol. I don't know how to interact with people without drinking. And, if I'm in a space where I feel like I want to take a drink, or I feel confused/depressed/happy and think that drinking will be a great remedy or addition, I have a network of people who I can rely on to help stop that first drink. And, if the fellowship can't help, that I can turn to a HP and a way of life that avails me of the tools to face whatever event I'm facing. For, if I am left to my own sobriety - without a life program, without a fellowship, without an idea greater than myself - I will fail for sure. I'm not strong enough to quiet the weird neurosis in my brain that encourages me toward drinking or other behavior. And, so far, there's no medicinal cure for this disability.
Oh, and AA was pioneered in the '30s, so it's pretty fucking cool that they even considered that people (Americans for that matter) could not believe in a Christian god. Granted, the program has worked successfully since then, so they don't consider re-writing the original text, which can be very annoying - as a woman and a non-Christian. Regardless, they left room for those of us who don't believe in that type of god, by qualifying "God" with "as we understood Him".
/Aside
So there we were reading Step Three (link - opens in PDF), and I know that sharing - speaking up in the meeting - is good for my growth. It not only helps me to get shit out of my mind, but helps those in the room if they're suffering the same problem, sharing the same joy, need to be reminded of back when they started sobriety, etc. And I really wanted to tell my journey to realizing powerlessness, but I absolutely hate speaking in public. (Lots of alcoholics suffer horribly low self-esteem.) So, I was thinking about sharing, and I asked my HP to give me the courage to do so. And then, it struck me, instead of asking for the courage or the right words or not to cry or not to blush, maybe I should just turn it over. Not as in, let me become a doormat to an invisible HP, or I can't do anything on my own, or I won't manage my own life. More like, if I should share, if it benefits the greater good of the group, if it should be, then HP, help me to do it. And, I raised my hand and told the story, including that recent decision.
And, it felt damn good. I was able to laugh about the cause and effect - pray, but look out, never know what you're gonna get! Able to relieve some of the pressure of the day-long crying. Able to admit that I cried, that I lost power and control, that I was humbled, that I was struggling with life circumstances, and that I needed help.
So, on Monday or Sunday of the week of January 16, I did what I was suggested to do. I've often heard people in groups say they get down on their knees and pray. The knee-part resembling the act of humility and powerlessness - a symbol. The praying part the communication of realizing one is not the greatest power in the world and that help can be sought - another symbol. So, that night I got on my knees. The floor felt hard. I felt silly. But I knew that I'd been thinking about Step One quite a bit and wondering if I really truly was powerless to alcohol. The part of my life becoming unmanageable seemed more tangible to agree to: the cycle of drinking too much, going to work and shaking, unable to write anything with a pen without my hand cramping to form legible letters, the paranoia coming with thinking that everyone could tell I was a horrible drinker, the flush of my face after a night of drinking, the terrible feelings that drove me to drink as soon I got home from work, my history dotted with financial instability and blackouts.
So, I got on my knees and asked my HP to help me know and understand if I was truly powerless to alcohol. (Of course, the prayer was a bit longer, but not so long that I felt Catholic.) Then, I went to bed.
Now, I prefaced this blog entry with the fact that prayer could be dismissed as self-brain-washing, convincing the brain to create false connections, and perhaps even an act to induce certain actions that later are dismissed as coincidence or fate or a prayer being answered. But that following Tuesday, I was on the bus, put my cell phone in my jacket pocket, and walked home realizing it had fallen out on the bus. The first time I've ever lost a cell phone. What a state of panic! Luckily, I had my work phone and called the bus depot repeatedly but no one answered. I went back to the bus stop, got on the other side of the street thinking I could catch the same bus coming back through town the opposite way. I waited an hour in the freezing cold and began to realize I was, indeed, powerless - to more than alcohol. I had no control over (presumably) dropping my cell phone on the bus, and no control or power to bring it back. All I could do was hope that I'd be reunited (and I say it so dramatically because anyone who has lost theirs understands the desperate connection: I don't memorize or write down phone numbers anywhere, including my sponsor's).
And then I realized that this powerlessness extended beyond the cell phone lost. (An hour at a bus stop with infrequently passing buses offers a lot of time to think.) Even if I tell my dad over Christmas that he needs to not just make a chart of the exercises he does to strengthen his previously broken ankle, but that he DO them - it doesn't mean he'll do them. (Although he did.) No matter if I try to order my life or control the chaos, life will unfold the way it's going to unfold: I could get fired from my job, my father will die someday, I can slip and break a hip, political chaos will break out in countries all over the world, people will say things that hurt me, I will think nasty thoughts, I will run late to the bus, natural disasters will wipe out whole cities, etc... I can't control everything, in fact, I can only pretend to myself that I have an ounce of control and power over life. It doesn't mean I stop trying to make it on time to the bus, stop harassing my dad to do his exercises and eat well, stop trying to reduce my carbon footprint, stop encouraging world peace, or stop losing my cell phone. But it means that I can be and am powerless over alcohol. I can't control my drinking. I can't stop at one in a night and I can't drink like a normal person.
After an hour, a bus came by, the driver gave me the number to call, I called and they said they'd look around at the buses that had returned to the depot. A few minutes later, they called to say they'd found it. Luck had it that I have a membership to Zipcar and one was available. I cruised out to the depot, picked it up, tipped a $20, and drove home. On the way, to console myself, or to do a bad thing to my body, or whatever it was, I bought some Mickey Dees for dinner. (Who knows why. I eat it maybe once every two years. It's the juicy fries!)
The next day, perhaps due to the horrible food, or the stress of the cell phone incident, or grasping the idea that my dad's losing the battle with cancer, or PMS, or the full moon, or life just is life, I broke down crying at work. Thankfully, I have my own office, and gratefully, I had 2 women I could turn to from the program. I couldn't stop crying. It came out of nowhere and I just couldn't stop. Both the women concurred that I should leave work, but that as soon as I left I needed to go to a meeting. So, I came home, dropped my stuff off, and made it to the 4pm. It was a packed meeting (with the doors to the meeting open and people sitting in the hallway), but I spotted an open space where a chair was missing, grabbed a chair from the other room, and plunked it down. It seemed like serendipity, fate, perfect timing. Like, I was supposed to be there and the cosmos opened up for that possibility.
I sat down and cried through the whole meeting. It was a regular old speaker's meeting, where some old guy was telling his story of how it was, how he came to AA, and how it is now; and those in the room spoke about their own stories or checked in with the group. All I did was cry. I stayed for my regular 6pm meeting and stopped crying, got a hug from a girl I had previously found a bit annoying but felt perfect in her friendship, and even laughed several times.
The next day, I felt better, made it through the full work day, and went to a meeting. We were reading Step Three: Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
Aside:
Again, people have asked me how I feel about the religious aspect of AA. It's not religious, it's spiritual - in as much as alcoholics need to be reduced to human beings, not the cocksure self-gods that we become, and need to have some firm belief in something greater than themselves: the fellowship, a deity, nature, an idea, or, hell, even an object like a doorknob. Something that an alcoholic can turn to when they're faced with a craving, a temptation, an accidental drink that is handed to them. -- Someone told me of how a group of AAs went out after a meeting to have dinner together. The table next to them were celebrating a birthday and downing shots of tequila, they bought the AA table a round. The waiter put the shots down in front of them and they froze. Luckily, someone's "normal" boyfriend was there, and when all the AAs were frozen in what to do, he stepped up, gathered up the shots and told the waiter that they don't drink. --
It's not that AA is recruiting for a local church or trying to make Christians out of the helpless. It's that there fundamentally needs to be a way for alcoholics to not depend on their own minds in times of crisis. We're encouraged to learn how to make phone calls to other people in the program, because for some of us, after years of drinking into deeper isolation, we have forgetten how to connect with other people. It's why, when I was newly sober and a friend in the program invited me to her house for dinner, I panicked and cried. Every social event of my life since age 18 has been infused with alcohol. I don't know how to interact with people without drinking. And, if I'm in a space where I feel like I want to take a drink, or I feel confused/depressed/happy and think that drinking will be a great remedy or addition, I have a network of people who I can rely on to help stop that first drink. And, if the fellowship can't help, that I can turn to a HP and a way of life that avails me of the tools to face whatever event I'm facing. For, if I am left to my own sobriety - without a life program, without a fellowship, without an idea greater than myself - I will fail for sure. I'm not strong enough to quiet the weird neurosis in my brain that encourages me toward drinking or other behavior. And, so far, there's no medicinal cure for this disability.
Oh, and AA was pioneered in the '30s, so it's pretty fucking cool that they even considered that people (Americans for that matter) could not believe in a Christian god. Granted, the program has worked successfully since then, so they don't consider re-writing the original text, which can be very annoying - as a woman and a non-Christian. Regardless, they left room for those of us who don't believe in that type of god, by qualifying "God" with "as we understood Him".
/Aside
So there we were reading Step Three (link - opens in PDF), and I know that sharing - speaking up in the meeting - is good for my growth. It not only helps me to get shit out of my mind, but helps those in the room if they're suffering the same problem, sharing the same joy, need to be reminded of back when they started sobriety, etc. And I really wanted to tell my journey to realizing powerlessness, but I absolutely hate speaking in public. (Lots of alcoholics suffer horribly low self-esteem.) So, I was thinking about sharing, and I asked my HP to give me the courage to do so. And then, it struck me, instead of asking for the courage or the right words or not to cry or not to blush, maybe I should just turn it over. Not as in, let me become a doormat to an invisible HP, or I can't do anything on my own, or I won't manage my own life. More like, if I should share, if it benefits the greater good of the group, if it should be, then HP, help me to do it. And, I raised my hand and told the story, including that recent decision.
And, it felt damn good. I was able to laugh about the cause and effect - pray, but look out, never know what you're gonna get! Able to relieve some of the pressure of the day-long crying. Able to admit that I cried, that I lost power and control, that I was humbled, that I was struggling with life circumstances, and that I needed help.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Comments
Heh. Some of you might remember way back, when a religious fanatic from Wisconsin used to comment profusely regarding his pointless observations and bible-thumping. Well, like Jack from The Shining, he's back. Comments for anonymous posters have been turned off. If you'd like to comment and remain anonymous, please consider coming out of your shell, dear friend.
In the meantime, have a lovely day to those who respect me for who I am.
In the meantime, have a lovely day to those who respect me for who I am.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
See saw - day 50
My dad's cancer is getting the better of him. Tests came back last week that the tumor on his kidney is growing and the chemo has maybe only helped to slow the growth, but not to stop it. He decided to take 2 months off from chemo, get some energy back, eat more, get on with some projects, etc.
It was pretty hard to swallow the couple of days after we heard. But I'm lucky. Lucky that we know in advance, that I can spend more time with him while it's available. I can't imagine a sudden death where I wouldn't be able to ask him questions I've still got, still learn things from him, and share things with him.
Sobriety's been okay. Every day I think about alcohol, or drinking. I guess it's something I just have to live with - after hearing people with 2 years or more talk about how they still think about it. I've been working on Step One: We admitted we were powerless over alcohol — that our lives had become unmanageable. It's been difficult because I keep thinking I could try again, try to temper and manage my drinking. But then when I think about attempting that, I end up thinking I should plan it for a weekend night so I can get really shitty. Um, clearly, I can't drink like a normal person if my fantasies are alcoholic. Heh. But the program keeps me sane, keeps me going. There are so many people in AA and so many types of people - it's comforting to know that it affects the professionals like it does the homeless. That it affects mothers, fathers, losers, winners, gay, straight, etc. I feel more at home in a room with alcoholics than I do with anyone else. In fact, I couldn't even cry alone, but in the rooms, where I really feel safe, I could let it out. And no one laughed or balked at my break-downs.
Today's a good day. Tempered, quiet, private, mellow.
It was pretty hard to swallow the couple of days after we heard. But I'm lucky. Lucky that we know in advance, that I can spend more time with him while it's available. I can't imagine a sudden death where I wouldn't be able to ask him questions I've still got, still learn things from him, and share things with him.
Sobriety's been okay. Every day I think about alcohol, or drinking. I guess it's something I just have to live with - after hearing people with 2 years or more talk about how they still think about it. I've been working on Step One: We admitted we were powerless over alcohol — that our lives had become unmanageable. It's been difficult because I keep thinking I could try again, try to temper and manage my drinking. But then when I think about attempting that, I end up thinking I should plan it for a weekend night so I can get really shitty. Um, clearly, I can't drink like a normal person if my fantasies are alcoholic. Heh. But the program keeps me sane, keeps me going. There are so many people in AA and so many types of people - it's comforting to know that it affects the professionals like it does the homeless. That it affects mothers, fathers, losers, winners, gay, straight, etc. I feel more at home in a room with alcoholics than I do with anyone else. In fact, I couldn't even cry alone, but in the rooms, where I really feel safe, I could let it out. And no one laughed or balked at my break-downs.
Today's a good day. Tempered, quiet, private, mellow.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Holidays, continued
So, we unpacked and settled in at my parents' place up in the woods. My sister left the living room and I was alone with my parents. We chatted and I knew it was time to tell them, but I wasn't ready. I basically asked my HP to tell me when it was the right time. And just as I started, my sister came back and borrowed my mother away. So, I started by telling my dad that I'm an alcoholic and have been going to AA meetings. He didn't quite know what to say, but he gave me stoic positive reinforcement and said he was proud of me. I think I had shocked him so that he didn't know what to say or do. My mom came back into the room for a second and I re-started the announcement since I didn't want her to feel left out or like I was telling a secret behind her back, since she's an alcoholic. (We're told in AA not to judge others as being alcoholic, but my immediate family has believed this for forever - with all kinds of proof and examples.) My dad had heard the first confession and started shuffling papers next to him on the couch. My mom looked like a deer in headlights. My sister sat, reassuring, next to the fireplace. (I had told her on the phone about 2 weeks into sobriety.) They took it quite well and told me they loved me and were proud. But they didn't know what else to say or do. And that was fine, because I was aiming to go to a meeting in a small town about 30 miles away, so I put my dad to work helping me map out the directions and decide which meeting would be closer to their house. He prefers action over sentimentality sometimes.
So, I hopped into my sister's car, as dinner was still cooking up. I told them to go ahead and that I'd eat when I got back, because meetings are more important now than anything -- even family. I passed a dog on the dark road and a few cars, and drove really slowly over the snow-covered back roads. I pulled into the small town and found the church that had been advertised online as having a meeting - I had even sent an email ahead of time confirming that the listed dates and times would still hold over the holidays. There were a ton of cars parked outside and I thought, "Man, there are a lot of alcoholics in this small town. Cool!"
I walked in and the church was quiet. The glass door kind of banged behind me. I looked around the foyer. No sign of a meeting. An old man came gently down the stairs and I asked him if there was an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting here. He looked at me strangely and said no, no, he didn't think so and that they were in the middle of the Christmas service. Oh lordy. He apologized and said he was really sorry - for me. Hah! Quite humorous. This desperate city girl in all black in this small town on Christmas Eve. I asked if I could stay for the rest of the service, "What, is there like half an hour left?" (I didn't want to stay for the full-fledged service for crying out loud.) He nodded, "Yeah, about that long. You could take communion if you wanted." Hilarious. The last time I was in a church for an actual service - that wasn't a tourist attraction in a European country - was about 17 years ago. I sat in the back and listened to the pastor finish the story of baby Jesus, surrounded by all the little kids of the town. Watched the folks take communion and the parents bounce around their baby so it wouldn't cry or squeal out too much. We all filed out and I shook the pastor's hand and drove back. I passed a ton of deer eyes glowing out in the fields and drove at a snail's pace so as not to kill anything. When I got home, the family was surprised but laughed over the incident. I called my sponsor to have a mini-meeting (any 2 alcoholics getting together on the basis of discussing AA qualifies as a meeting - and I'm totally striving for the 90 in 90.)
Christmas day was nice - practical presents, warm fire, baking pies and cookies and brownies, and I didn't pursue a meeting because we all figured there wouldn't be any on the holiday.
The next day was the same, relaxing and energetic as my sister, her 2 dogs, and my mom and I trudged through the snow for a good healthy walk. We scared away the huge turkey vultures that had been hanging out in the adjacent corn field. I drove to the bigger city nearby and made a meeting in the morning - welcomed by strangers and given new phone numbers and cheers to continue on the journey of sobriety.
I cried when I had to say good-bye to my parents. My dad's still on chemo pills and has his spirits up but we don't know the progress - negative or positive. Most people with his type of cancer live 18 months at most if the chemo doesn't take. It'll be a year in April.
I had my 30 day celebration in Minneapolis. Brought my sister with me and we had quite the awesome time. I got my 30 day chip and was asked to comment on how I got here.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
So, I hopped into my sister's car, as dinner was still cooking up. I told them to go ahead and that I'd eat when I got back, because meetings are more important now than anything -- even family. I passed a dog on the dark road and a few cars, and drove really slowly over the snow-covered back roads. I pulled into the small town and found the church that had been advertised online as having a meeting - I had even sent an email ahead of time confirming that the listed dates and times would still hold over the holidays. There were a ton of cars parked outside and I thought, "Man, there are a lot of alcoholics in this small town. Cool!"
I walked in and the church was quiet. The glass door kind of banged behind me. I looked around the foyer. No sign of a meeting. An old man came gently down the stairs and I asked him if there was an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting here. He looked at me strangely and said no, no, he didn't think so and that they were in the middle of the Christmas service. Oh lordy. He apologized and said he was really sorry - for me. Hah! Quite humorous. This desperate city girl in all black in this small town on Christmas Eve. I asked if I could stay for the rest of the service, "What, is there like half an hour left?" (I didn't want to stay for the full-fledged service for crying out loud.) He nodded, "Yeah, about that long. You could take communion if you wanted." Hilarious. The last time I was in a church for an actual service - that wasn't a tourist attraction in a European country - was about 17 years ago. I sat in the back and listened to the pastor finish the story of baby Jesus, surrounded by all the little kids of the town. Watched the folks take communion and the parents bounce around their baby so it wouldn't cry or squeal out too much. We all filed out and I shook the pastor's hand and drove back. I passed a ton of deer eyes glowing out in the fields and drove at a snail's pace so as not to kill anything. When I got home, the family was surprised but laughed over the incident. I called my sponsor to have a mini-meeting (any 2 alcoholics getting together on the basis of discussing AA qualifies as a meeting - and I'm totally striving for the 90 in 90.)
Christmas day was nice - practical presents, warm fire, baking pies and cookies and brownies, and I didn't pursue a meeting because we all figured there wouldn't be any on the holiday.
The next day was the same, relaxing and energetic as my sister, her 2 dogs, and my mom and I trudged through the snow for a good healthy walk. We scared away the huge turkey vultures that had been hanging out in the adjacent corn field. I drove to the bigger city nearby and made a meeting in the morning - welcomed by strangers and given new phone numbers and cheers to continue on the journey of sobriety.
I cried when I had to say good-bye to my parents. My dad's still on chemo pills and has his spirits up but we don't know the progress - negative or positive. Most people with his type of cancer live 18 months at most if the chemo doesn't take. It'll be a year in April.
I had my 30 day celebration in Minneapolis. Brought my sister with me and we had quite the awesome time. I got my 30 day chip and was asked to comment on how I got here.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Monday, January 3, 2011
And then...
I feel like a dreamy mid-March, or a soft mid-October.
I even write that down over and over in my head and decide that the former is probably better.
And then, I go to a meeting with my sponsor, and she shares - about family frustration, finding the ground to stand on, and how she wants to cry but doesn't want to. And it reminds me that I want to cry, but don't want to, and won't. But it doesn't even remind me of that. Nothing does. Nothing. No.
I am sitting in the meeting. So happy to be hanging out with my sponsor again. Somber? Hearing the women share their stories and say their peace. Not thinking. Not thinking about anything. I can't think. I try to process. Wonder what the woman behind me looks like who is speaking. Wonder what the other woman's boyfriend looks like. Look at the girl who is texting. I don't hear the words in the book that's read. I just sit there and sometimes lift the cup of tea to sip. I feel for my sponsor when she speaks. I keep looking down. I look down for so long that I realize that the line of the backs of the chairs in front of me, all covered by black coats, is super dark - compared to the light above, the ceiling, the lamps, the plants. There is a clear, visible line between the darkness of the coats and the lightness of the top of the room.
I don't think.
And when people try to talk to me, I smile, and I have no idea what I'm saying really. It's just smile and sure, exchange numbers, and stories. It's pretend.
She and I go to dinner and I talk and talk and tell this and that, we laugh, she tells this and that, I go deeper and tell something a bit hard - look for the register on her face of disgust or disapproval. There is none. There doesn't seem to be judgment. I talk more and more. We laugh. We walk to the car. We get in the car. We talk more quietly. We turn the corner toward my apartment and I start sobbing. Crying. I can't even remember why or how or what was said. I just start. And I have no idea why. "It's not logical," I tell her. I'm happy all last week and then all of a sudden - out of nowhere? I am sobbing and hiding my face. I am so stuffed up in my nose that it's a wall. My shoulders heave for a split second and I tell her again that is illogical. Why would I be crying right now? It makes no sense.
A storm over the dreamy day in March.
It doesn't have to make sense. It just is what it is. It is release. With no needed trigger. It just is. Maybe it's keeping it together for so long and finally spilling over. It doesn't matter.
&&&&&&&&
I tell her I think I might end up like the woman in our meeting today who had 87 days and drank. I couldn't see her during the meeting, but I guess she was crying. She asks me why I think that. I don't know. Maybe because I need to do an experiment - just to see if I can drink moderately (although I've already told her I know I can't - the thought of planning a drink moderately leads me to think I should plan for a Friday so I can scrap the moderate part and really tear into it). Maybe because I do miss it - miss the warmth, miss having a reason for ice cubes, miss the pop of the cork, miss the idea of a long swig of cold beer, miss sipping or gulping while making dinner.
You try it. You take something you do daily (smoke pot, work out, kiss your kid goodnight, get on the internet - pick one) and then promise you won't do it for 90 days. Just 3 months. You can do anything for 3 months. And then, watch how it consumes your brain. At least five minutes a day I think about it - not like, "Oh, I wish I could have a drink and I miss it and boo hoo hoo." More like, "I should [insert your choice] right now. It seems like I should. I mean, every evening at this time I [insert your choice]. Why am I not [insert your choice]? Oh right, because I said I wouldn't [insert your choice] for 90 days. Dumb ass challenge."
Every day. Five minutes - at least. It's more like 3-5 intervals of 5 minutes a day. And, really, it might have been this irregular holiday season that's thrown me into a loop of high riding happiness and low riding confusion. I need the routine of meetings. I need to see my sponsor once a week at least. I need consistency and I haven't had that of late. I've had staying up late and watching a million episodes of Survivor. Traveling and trying to find a meeting and not knowing anyone at the meetings (although that rarely is a problem, it does cause slight anxiety). Eating way too much chocolate. Feeling dramatically lonely in my free time. Missing sex greatly.
All of this out-of-whack free time schedule that I used to love so much, because I'd fill it with drinking. Now, it's causing chaos.
Maybe that's why I cried.
I don't know.
But today was the tail end to a week of relative high.
I even write that down over and over in my head and decide that the former is probably better.
And then, I go to a meeting with my sponsor, and she shares - about family frustration, finding the ground to stand on, and how she wants to cry but doesn't want to. And it reminds me that I want to cry, but don't want to, and won't. But it doesn't even remind me of that. Nothing does. Nothing. No.
I am sitting in the meeting. So happy to be hanging out with my sponsor again. Somber? Hearing the women share their stories and say their peace. Not thinking. Not thinking about anything. I can't think. I try to process. Wonder what the woman behind me looks like who is speaking. Wonder what the other woman's boyfriend looks like. Look at the girl who is texting. I don't hear the words in the book that's read. I just sit there and sometimes lift the cup of tea to sip. I feel for my sponsor when she speaks. I keep looking down. I look down for so long that I realize that the line of the backs of the chairs in front of me, all covered by black coats, is super dark - compared to the light above, the ceiling, the lamps, the plants. There is a clear, visible line between the darkness of the coats and the lightness of the top of the room.
I don't think.
And when people try to talk to me, I smile, and I have no idea what I'm saying really. It's just smile and sure, exchange numbers, and stories. It's pretend.
She and I go to dinner and I talk and talk and tell this and that, we laugh, she tells this and that, I go deeper and tell something a bit hard - look for the register on her face of disgust or disapproval. There is none. There doesn't seem to be judgment. I talk more and more. We laugh. We walk to the car. We get in the car. We talk more quietly. We turn the corner toward my apartment and I start sobbing. Crying. I can't even remember why or how or what was said. I just start. And I have no idea why. "It's not logical," I tell her. I'm happy all last week and then all of a sudden - out of nowhere? I am sobbing and hiding my face. I am so stuffed up in my nose that it's a wall. My shoulders heave for a split second and I tell her again that is illogical. Why would I be crying right now? It makes no sense.
A storm over the dreamy day in March.
It doesn't have to make sense. It just is what it is. It is release. With no needed trigger. It just is. Maybe it's keeping it together for so long and finally spilling over. It doesn't matter.
&&&&&&&&
I tell her I think I might end up like the woman in our meeting today who had 87 days and drank. I couldn't see her during the meeting, but I guess she was crying. She asks me why I think that. I don't know. Maybe because I need to do an experiment - just to see if I can drink moderately (although I've already told her I know I can't - the thought of planning a drink moderately leads me to think I should plan for a Friday so I can scrap the moderate part and really tear into it). Maybe because I do miss it - miss the warmth, miss having a reason for ice cubes, miss the pop of the cork, miss the idea of a long swig of cold beer, miss sipping or gulping while making dinner.
You try it. You take something you do daily (smoke pot, work out, kiss your kid goodnight, get on the internet - pick one) and then promise you won't do it for 90 days. Just 3 months. You can do anything for 3 months. And then, watch how it consumes your brain. At least five minutes a day I think about it - not like, "Oh, I wish I could have a drink and I miss it and boo hoo hoo." More like, "I should [insert your choice] right now. It seems like I should. I mean, every evening at this time I [insert your choice]. Why am I not [insert your choice]? Oh right, because I said I wouldn't [insert your choice] for 90 days. Dumb ass challenge."
Every day. Five minutes - at least. It's more like 3-5 intervals of 5 minutes a day. And, really, it might have been this irregular holiday season that's thrown me into a loop of high riding happiness and low riding confusion. I need the routine of meetings. I need to see my sponsor once a week at least. I need consistency and I haven't had that of late. I've had staying up late and watching a million episodes of Survivor. Traveling and trying to find a meeting and not knowing anyone at the meetings (although that rarely is a problem, it does cause slight anxiety). Eating way too much chocolate. Feeling dramatically lonely in my free time. Missing sex greatly.
All of this out-of-whack free time schedule that I used to love so much, because I'd fill it with drinking. Now, it's causing chaos.
Maybe that's why I cried.
I don't know.
But today was the tail end to a week of relative high.
The holidays
Happy New Year!
As I posted elsewhere:
Last year was tough, it made us stronger. Last year was good, it made us better. Wishing you and yours a Happy New Year to only make us greater!
&&&&&&&&&&
I made a noon meeting before I flew out to the Midwest to visit family for Christmas. It was a well-attended meeting and we spoke about anonymity - principles before personalities. I like this tradition of AA because it boils every meeting down to why we're there, not who we are or how we walk through the doors.
My flight was delayed but there was a bookstore in the Milwaukee airport so I bought The Glass Castle - an incredibly easy memoir read by a woman with a very eclectic family. My sister picked me up in Minneapolis and didn't mind my request to sleep in her upstairs bed with her instead of on the couch in the basement. I wasn't sure how I'd handle booze over this holiday and wasn't eager to sleep in the room adjacent to the liquor storage - plus, she and her fiance have called it quits so he has moved into the guest bedroom.
The next day we drove down to Wisconsin, dropped her dogs off at doggie daycare - which was amusing in its own story, checked into the hotel, visited grandma and hauled her off to my aunt's for dinner, downed some soup with my aunt and my boy cousin, picked up the dogs, cruised to the hotel, and then I took the car to a meeting. This was quite the packed afternoon and I was eager to get into a meeting. My sister always runs late, which can cause me a bit of anxiety, but I was trying to let it all roll. I really love spending time with my extended family and was looking forward to sharing some moments with my Alzheimer grandma - time is precious at her age - as well as with my aunts and cousins. Because we left Minneapolis later than anticipated, all of that special time was squeezed into intense brevity. In a way, I was rather upset with my sister for robbing me of more leisurely interaction, especially since it's not as easy for me to fly out there and get this quality time.
I was also grateful that it was a quick visit. My extended family live in a town where I spent the last two years of high school, 9 months during my drop-out of college, and many booze-soaked holidays. I was nervous about being back there sober and didn't really want a lot of free time to cruise the memory haunts. But the newness of sobriety was weighing heavy regardless. I didn't like seeing my grandmother relying on a walker or wheelchair - this long-time farmer lady with the strength of a bull and independence like 4th of July. It was hard for me to understand her slurs and I felt badly seeing a spark of recognition in her eyes when she saw me - our time too short to hug and touch. My aunt had wine with dinner and I claimed recovery from a cold/antibiotics for not drinking. My boy cousin, her son, and one of my most favorite cousins when growing up also weighed on me. When I reach the 9th Step, I'll have a long letter of amends for him. I have altered our relationship and if I were to regret anything in life, it would be that.
I pulled up outside the small building that looked like a bar, distinguished from that only by the AA symbol of a triangle inside a circle. I was aiming for a 6pm meeting listed on the website, finished my cigarette outside, and introduced myself to a hick-ish looking woman who was also smoking, missing some teeth, and rather chatty. The 6pm women's meeting hadn't been held in years, she said, but there would be one at 7pm and there was plenty of coffee inside. She was so friendly - as most AA members are, especially to newcomers like myself - and introduced me to all the folks in the "break room." I had a hot chocolate and told everyone how I was visiting from DC. At 7pm a handful of us moved to the meeting room. A very young woman lamented about facing New Years Eve without drinking. The young woman next to her talked about how this was her last chance before being sent off to rehab for 6 months. She had tried to kill herself by swallowing pills, drank too much, and was addicted to pot and other drugs. An older woman was celebrating almost 3 months after a fall off the wagon. A man shared some frustration with his boss. Another man was excited to be a sober father to his 2-year-old son this year. And me, I broke down in tears - a typical reaction in early sobriety as active alcoholics (those drinking) use booze to suppress most every emotion and now, without that valve to drown them, they come surging upward at the drop of a hat.
I knew I had nothing to cry about in comparison to the teenager who was suicidal, but I couldn't control it. I was scared about sobriety with my family, scared about telling them, unsure how to face this holiday, the afternoon of rushing around had taken a toll on me, and I just didn't want to keep my composure - which I've been doing frequently at meetings in DC. Someone brought me the box of tissues, the dad guy asked if I thought I could not drink over the holiday, the leader of the meeting gave me her phone number. And, at the end of the meeting, the suicidal teenager gave me a handful of chocolate kisses, "I hear chocolate helps a lot during recovery." I hugged her and thanked her and told her I expect to see her here next year. And that's how it works. Strangers care for you, despite their own troubles or their own situations. And we're all friends by the end and at the beginning because we have a strong common bond.
I went back to the hotel, hung out with my sister and her ex-step-kids, and then slept like a log.
In the morning we drove by the co-op to pick up some ingredients for baking at my parents' house and I had a mini break-down. It was chaotic, I was unfamiliar with where things were, and I was overwhelmed. So, instead of planning to bake brownies from scratch, I said fuck it and bought a pre-made box. We drove the 3 hours north to my parents and settled into their house for Christmas Eve.
As I posted elsewhere:
Last year was tough, it made us stronger. Last year was good, it made us better. Wishing you and yours a Happy New Year to only make us greater!
&&&&&&&&&&
I made a noon meeting before I flew out to the Midwest to visit family for Christmas. It was a well-attended meeting and we spoke about anonymity - principles before personalities. I like this tradition of AA because it boils every meeting down to why we're there, not who we are or how we walk through the doors.
My flight was delayed but there was a bookstore in the Milwaukee airport so I bought The Glass Castle - an incredibly easy memoir read by a woman with a very eclectic family. My sister picked me up in Minneapolis and didn't mind my request to sleep in her upstairs bed with her instead of on the couch in the basement. I wasn't sure how I'd handle booze over this holiday and wasn't eager to sleep in the room adjacent to the liquor storage - plus, she and her fiance have called it quits so he has moved into the guest bedroom.
The next day we drove down to Wisconsin, dropped her dogs off at doggie daycare - which was amusing in its own story, checked into the hotel, visited grandma and hauled her off to my aunt's for dinner, downed some soup with my aunt and my boy cousin, picked up the dogs, cruised to the hotel, and then I took the car to a meeting. This was quite the packed afternoon and I was eager to get into a meeting. My sister always runs late, which can cause me a bit of anxiety, but I was trying to let it all roll. I really love spending time with my extended family and was looking forward to sharing some moments with my Alzheimer grandma - time is precious at her age - as well as with my aunts and cousins. Because we left Minneapolis later than anticipated, all of that special time was squeezed into intense brevity. In a way, I was rather upset with my sister for robbing me of more leisurely interaction, especially since it's not as easy for me to fly out there and get this quality time.
I was also grateful that it was a quick visit. My extended family live in a town where I spent the last two years of high school, 9 months during my drop-out of college, and many booze-soaked holidays. I was nervous about being back there sober and didn't really want a lot of free time to cruise the memory haunts. But the newness of sobriety was weighing heavy regardless. I didn't like seeing my grandmother relying on a walker or wheelchair - this long-time farmer lady with the strength of a bull and independence like 4th of July. It was hard for me to understand her slurs and I felt badly seeing a spark of recognition in her eyes when she saw me - our time too short to hug and touch. My aunt had wine with dinner and I claimed recovery from a cold/antibiotics for not drinking. My boy cousin, her son, and one of my most favorite cousins when growing up also weighed on me. When I reach the 9th Step, I'll have a long letter of amends for him. I have altered our relationship and if I were to regret anything in life, it would be that.
I pulled up outside the small building that looked like a bar, distinguished from that only by the AA symbol of a triangle inside a circle. I was aiming for a 6pm meeting listed on the website, finished my cigarette outside, and introduced myself to a hick-ish looking woman who was also smoking, missing some teeth, and rather chatty. The 6pm women's meeting hadn't been held in years, she said, but there would be one at 7pm and there was plenty of coffee inside. She was so friendly - as most AA members are, especially to newcomers like myself - and introduced me to all the folks in the "break room." I had a hot chocolate and told everyone how I was visiting from DC. At 7pm a handful of us moved to the meeting room. A very young woman lamented about facing New Years Eve without drinking. The young woman next to her talked about how this was her last chance before being sent off to rehab for 6 months. She had tried to kill herself by swallowing pills, drank too much, and was addicted to pot and other drugs. An older woman was celebrating almost 3 months after a fall off the wagon. A man shared some frustration with his boss. Another man was excited to be a sober father to his 2-year-old son this year. And me, I broke down in tears - a typical reaction in early sobriety as active alcoholics (those drinking) use booze to suppress most every emotion and now, without that valve to drown them, they come surging upward at the drop of a hat.
I knew I had nothing to cry about in comparison to the teenager who was suicidal, but I couldn't control it. I was scared about sobriety with my family, scared about telling them, unsure how to face this holiday, the afternoon of rushing around had taken a toll on me, and I just didn't want to keep my composure - which I've been doing frequently at meetings in DC. Someone brought me the box of tissues, the dad guy asked if I thought I could not drink over the holiday, the leader of the meeting gave me her phone number. And, at the end of the meeting, the suicidal teenager gave me a handful of chocolate kisses, "I hear chocolate helps a lot during recovery." I hugged her and thanked her and told her I expect to see her here next year. And that's how it works. Strangers care for you, despite their own troubles or their own situations. And we're all friends by the end and at the beginning because we have a strong common bond.
I went back to the hotel, hung out with my sister and her ex-step-kids, and then slept like a log.
In the morning we drove by the co-op to pick up some ingredients for baking at my parents' house and I had a mini break-down. It was chaotic, I was unfamiliar with where things were, and I was overwhelmed. So, instead of planning to bake brownies from scratch, I said fuck it and bought a pre-made box. We drove the 3 hours north to my parents and settled into their house for Christmas Eve.
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