Delirium Tremens: The most severe form of ethanol withdrawal manifested by altered mental status (global confusion) and sympathetic overdrive (autonomic hyperactivity), which can progress to cardiovascular collapse.
Alcoholism is no respecter of anything.
I've had coffee a couple of times with a man who came into The Fellowship in his mid-50s. There are plenty of cases of alcoholics who have managed to control the consequences of their drinking for a long time - we're pretty crafty about fitting the alcohol in when we want to drink. My friend had a long career as a school teacher, dancing in and out of trouble, until the music stopped and he was asked to go somewhere else. At this point he really couldn't pretend that his drinking wasn't a problem and he began showing up at our morning meeting on a daily basis. He was active in The Fellowship but not really working The Steps. As we know, this is very popular. Working The Steps is a big pain in the ass.
But here's the deal: alcohol is hard on the body. That's why you don't see a ton of old alcoholics still practicing their craft. It messes you up after a while. It kills your ass eventually. When my friend finally stopped drinking he had to be hospitalized and put on anti-seizure medication. A fun fact to know and share about alcoholism and drug addiction is that you can kick most drugs on your own, all by your lonesome, without any serious medical warnings, although I do understand that you may wish that you would just die; weaning off alcohol dependence is another thing altogether.
Ten days ago I received a text from my friend's wife: his medication wasn't doing the trick; he had a series of seizures and his heart began to fail; the staff had to put him into a medical coma. Intubation, IV drip, the whole bit. He developed infections in his heart and lungs and there was no clear sign that he hadn't suffered neurological damage for the brain, you see, is most adamant about receiving a steady supply of blood. It is not a compromiser, the brain.
I'm happy to report that he seems to be on the mend. I'm always grateful for the lessons.
Wednesday, March 14, 2018
Tuesday, March 13, 2018
Highly Stimulated
Excited: Having great enthusiasm; being in a state of higher energy (Physics).
Alcoholism is very stimulating. Many of us are drawn to the chaos that drunkenness engenders although we'll often deny that this is so, preferring to believe that the alcohol calms everything down. It is, in fact, not unusual to see people in recovery continue to make questionable life decisions for a few years after they've stopped drinking; not willfully, I don't think, but subconsciously. We're used to an out-of-control life lived on a razor's edge. The sports car owners among us talk about The Line: the spot on the track where you can go as fast as possible without losing control. Real life, lived as an adult, can be so . . . boring. Mundane, pedestrian. Anyone can do it. I don't think I'm getting away with something anymore. I'm usually doing what I'm supposed to be doing and I remember doing it. What's the fun in that? Who among us wants to say: "Man, yesterday was wild - I went to work and got there on time, cut the grass when I got home, had a good dinner with the family, and went to bed early."
A few years back I visited Ecuador. My buddy had a passport problem and missed the flight - being a good friend I waved buh-bye as I was boarding the plane. My trip started out in the capital of Quito, a typical South American big city: not prosperous, pockets of real crime encroaching on the central core, yet full of relentlessly cheerful people who were eager to help and be of service. As this was my first trip to a Third World country I had taken to heart the dire warnings about crime and safety; justifiably so, I might add, but to an unreasonable degree.
On my first morning I walked into the old section of the city. I was on my toes, wary, tense, my backpack strapped backwards so I looked like I was carrying a kidnapped baby, head on a swivel, looking out for all those bad people who wanted my $22 Timex. Needless to say I didn't have a great time, what with jet lag occupying the part of my brain not consumed with worrying about all of the murderers who were cleverly hidden in the crowds of polite, neatly dressed Ecuadorean families - no doubt murderous - picnicking on a Sunday afternoon in the main square. I had a great exchange with a policeman who explained where I could go safely and where things got dicey. I was hoping to go to a meeting but he waved me off, apparently another clubhouse in a dicey part of town.
After a bit I got hungry and wandered into a small open-air restaurant. The owner and I fumbled a bit with broken English and broken Spanish before he took me over to a tiny table already occupied by a little old couple, dressed in their church finery, eating their lunch. This was not what I wanted to happen. I wanted my own table, American-style, off to the side where I could watch the show and not have to interact with a murderous little old couple. There was a TV on showing a soccer match. I was still trying to get a menu when the food started to show up: soup, bottled water, a relish tray for the table, then a plate with chicken and rice and beans and salad, and dessert. My attempts to explain to the water that this wasn't my food, that I hadn't ordered yet went awry. The food was excellent.
Getting the check was beyond my capabilities. Finally, I nodded to my table-mates, they nodded back, and I made my way to the door where I encountered the owner. I tried to pantomime what I had for lunch, making clucking noises to simulate a chicken and lying down on the floor, pulling a small rug over me, to show that I'd eaten potatoes, and so on and so forth.
"Un dolar," he said. One dollar.
I'd be happier if I could say that I tipped him 500% but my recollection is that I fished out two dollars and forked them over. He, of course, took quite a while trying to give me one of the dollars back, as tipping is not common. He did appear quite pleased when I finally managed to explain that the money was for his staff.
This is why I travel. This is why.
Alcoholism is very stimulating. Many of us are drawn to the chaos that drunkenness engenders although we'll often deny that this is so, preferring to believe that the alcohol calms everything down. It is, in fact, not unusual to see people in recovery continue to make questionable life decisions for a few years after they've stopped drinking; not willfully, I don't think, but subconsciously. We're used to an out-of-control life lived on a razor's edge. The sports car owners among us talk about The Line: the spot on the track where you can go as fast as possible without losing control. Real life, lived as an adult, can be so . . . boring. Mundane, pedestrian. Anyone can do it. I don't think I'm getting away with something anymore. I'm usually doing what I'm supposed to be doing and I remember doing it. What's the fun in that? Who among us wants to say: "Man, yesterday was wild - I went to work and got there on time, cut the grass when I got home, had a good dinner with the family, and went to bed early."
A few years back I visited Ecuador. My buddy had a passport problem and missed the flight - being a good friend I waved buh-bye as I was boarding the plane. My trip started out in the capital of Quito, a typical South American big city: not prosperous, pockets of real crime encroaching on the central core, yet full of relentlessly cheerful people who were eager to help and be of service. As this was my first trip to a Third World country I had taken to heart the dire warnings about crime and safety; justifiably so, I might add, but to an unreasonable degree.
On my first morning I walked into the old section of the city. I was on my toes, wary, tense, my backpack strapped backwards so I looked like I was carrying a kidnapped baby, head on a swivel, looking out for all those bad people who wanted my $22 Timex. Needless to say I didn't have a great time, what with jet lag occupying the part of my brain not consumed with worrying about all of the murderers who were cleverly hidden in the crowds of polite, neatly dressed Ecuadorean families - no doubt murderous - picnicking on a Sunday afternoon in the main square. I had a great exchange with a policeman who explained where I could go safely and where things got dicey. I was hoping to go to a meeting but he waved me off, apparently another clubhouse in a dicey part of town.
After a bit I got hungry and wandered into a small open-air restaurant. The owner and I fumbled a bit with broken English and broken Spanish before he took me over to a tiny table already occupied by a little old couple, dressed in their church finery, eating their lunch. This was not what I wanted to happen. I wanted my own table, American-style, off to the side where I could watch the show and not have to interact with a murderous little old couple. There was a TV on showing a soccer match. I was still trying to get a menu when the food started to show up: soup, bottled water, a relish tray for the table, then a plate with chicken and rice and beans and salad, and dessert. My attempts to explain to the water that this wasn't my food, that I hadn't ordered yet went awry. The food was excellent.
Getting the check was beyond my capabilities. Finally, I nodded to my table-mates, they nodded back, and I made my way to the door where I encountered the owner. I tried to pantomime what I had for lunch, making clucking noises to simulate a chicken and lying down on the floor, pulling a small rug over me, to show that I'd eaten potatoes, and so on and so forth.
"Un dolar," he said. One dollar.
I'd be happier if I could say that I tipped him 500% but my recollection is that I fished out two dollars and forked them over. He, of course, took quite a while trying to give me one of the dollars back, as tipping is not common. He did appear quite pleased when I finally managed to explain that the money was for his staff.
This is why I travel. This is why.
Monday, March 12, 2018
Getting the Flu
Sick: Having an urge to vomit (Ed Note: I am not making this up - first definition); in poor health.
You can probably surmise that I got the flu this year. I'd like to say that I've just been normal sick but I've been sick. Sick sick. Fucking sick. And while I realize that getting the flu shot is no guarantee that you're not going to get the flu I'm miffed that I got the flu shot and got the flu anyhow. It's not like I enjoy having my skin punctured with needles. I don't black out anymore but please, go puncture someone else's skin unneccessarily.
The real irritation is listening to all of the non-scientific, conspiracy-theory types explain why they don't get the flu shot. If you don't believe science, fine - none of my business. But please don't tell me - when I'm sick with the flu - that I wouldn't have gotten the flu if I had dispensed with the flu shot. You are just making shit up. If I get the flu shot and get the flu and you don't get the flu shot and don't get the flu there is absolutely nothing causal there. You have proved nothing except that a virus is a sneaky, tirelessly mutating little fucker.
For a guy who has been depressed and upset about a loss of youth and function getting sick is definitely not the way to go. It is validating all of the worst outcome possibilities that have been lurking and creeping about in my brain. If you want to maintain the illusion of youth and vigor and vitality getting the flu is not going to help things.
When I get sick the first thought that comes into my head is this: "I want to call my mom."
The flu was bad enough - the resulting sinus infection was simply a mucoidal icing on the cake. A colored, thick icing, tinged with blood. And because my mama has abandoned me in my time of need I had no other options except to research my illness on The Internet. You know the drill: you look up your symptoms and match them with the worst possible disease that you can find, and you can find some bad diseases. Internet sites that specialize in disease know that you want to find something bad. They also know that making people think they have contracted a terrible disease drives traffic to their web site so they can sell you all kinds of unnecessary things. If your number one answer to an inquiry from a guy with a sinus infection is "Ah, quit bitching - you'll be OK in a couple of weeks" you're not going to have a lot of page views.
If you get a cold you can take all kinds of medicines and you'll get better in seven days, give or take. Or you can lay low, rest up, and you'll be OK in about a week.
My first inclination when I knew I had a sinus infection was to decide I needed Antibiotics!! The panicky sites confirmed this - the measured, scientific sites were less encouraging. They point out that sinus infections are caused by viruses - not bacteria - which means antibiotics are totally ineffective. They suggest that most infections clear up on their own in a week to two weeks, and that allowing your body to fight off a relatively non-threatening illness can be a good thing as it strengthens your immune system. And there I was, on day three, ready to pull out all of the stops.
I am not a patient man.
Saturday, March 3, 2018
The Power of Baling Wire, Duck Tape, and The Occasional Klaxon
Baling wire: Otherwise known as bale wire, farm wire, or soft wire, is a type of wire used in agriculture and industry for everything from mending fences to manually binding rectangular bales of hay, straw, or cut grass. It is also used to band together corrugated cardboard, paper, textiles, aluminum, and other materials that are processed in the recycling industry.
I'm not sure why I added this definition but I'm glad I did. My favorite word lately has been "klaxon" but I couldn't figure out how to get it in the post. I will say that "duct tape" is an excellent concept as well although none of the three are at all germane to recovery.
I've been asked to "share my story" in a couple of weeks - giving a Lead in front of a group. "What it was like, what happened, and where I am now" in Program parlance. I have been to leads in the past but I don't go to them anymore, haven't for a long time. The thought of sitting in one spot to listen to one person talk about themselves for an hour sends cold shivers down my spine. One of the basic truths that runs my life is this: You are not nearly as interesting to other people as you are to yourself. This is why most memoirs suck - no one cares what you're thinking or what you did. This is why I'm slogging away on an anonymous blog instead of cashing royalty checks from my world-famous memoir of my own life.
Because I had such a traumatic year I decided that I would re-read the journals I filled over that period. There were a number of consistent themes; there were a few that surfaced and held ascendant for a while - sometimes for long periods and sometimes for much shorter periods - before disappearing; and there was junk in there that has been part of my mantra for a long, long time.
I think this has helped me organize my thoughts for The Lead. This preparing in a general way what I'm going to say may or may not be a good thing. Here is what I deemed noteworthy enough to put into my newest journal as sort of a greatest hits recap . . . .
My attempts to moderate sugar and coffee are not impressive.
Balance - I'm getting older but I'm not old.
My body is not going to respond the way it used to. This is an inevitable fact of aging. So I'm not going to be able to rampage physically through the world the way I used to.
I just want to be at peace. Up the pain threshold. I've had so little pain in my life.
Be grateful for my difficulties. This is how I learn. This is the only way I learn.
Perspective: Maybe the lesson is that I've had a pretty good life. Maybe mom and dad and Ken are trying to tell me to be more grateful. Maybe the lesson is that simple.
I do believe that most of the troubles I've had over the past year have been about loss of youth and loss of function, the negative attitude that I'm now on the down-slope of a long, slow decline. At least I hope it's going to be long. This is inevitable but it shouldn't be catastrophic. After all death is coming for all of us.
Talk about worrying over things that are out of my control.
I clearly cannot moderate my coffee consumption. I used to be able to but that time is past. Sugar, too.
Friday, March 2, 2018
Identify Lloyd Braun and Win a Prize
There are a lot of references in our literature about anger.
"If we were to live, we had to be free from anger. The grouch and the brainstorm were not for us. They may be the dubious luxury of normal men . . . . "
Believe it or not, that's the only time the word "anger" is listed in our first 164 pages. Ya learn something every day. I was under the impression that warnings against excess anger were sprinkled liberally through this most sacred text. Goldurn.
Anyway, here in easy-peasey land I wish folks would get bend out of shape from time to time. I don't mean screaming obscenities at someone in a threatening manner but more along the lines of "that isn't right and I'm not happy about it." I've never been thrilled at the interpretation of some people that anger is a bad, terrible thing. Justified anger is bad news. Self-righteous anger unleased at undeserving victims is no good, but experiencing a normal human emotion seems pretty . . . . well . . . . normal to me.
"Serenity Now - Insanity Later." Lloyd Braun
"If we were to live, we had to be free from anger. The grouch and the brainstorm were not for us. They may be the dubious luxury of normal men . . . . "
Believe it or not, that's the only time the word "anger" is listed in our first 164 pages. Ya learn something every day. I was under the impression that warnings against excess anger were sprinkled liberally through this most sacred text. Goldurn.
Anyway, here in easy-peasey land I wish folks would get bend out of shape from time to time. I don't mean screaming obscenities at someone in a threatening manner but more along the lines of "that isn't right and I'm not happy about it." I've never been thrilled at the interpretation of some people that anger is a bad, terrible thing. Justified anger is bad news. Self-righteous anger unleased at undeserving victims is no good, but experiencing a normal human emotion seems pretty . . . . well . . . . normal to me.
"Serenity Now - Insanity Later." Lloyd Braun
Friday, February 16, 2018
The Old is the Best
Relax: To calm down; to make something loose; to make something less severe or tense.
Calm: Peaceful, quiet, especially free from anger and anxiety.
My Quiet Time is a work in progress, always changing, hopefully expanding. There are some tried and true techniques that I rarely change, prayers and mantras and affirmations that I find helpful, that I have always found helpful, and there is a constantly evolving list of Quiet Thoughts du jour. This is as it should be. I find it comforting to repeat something that is meaningful to me while recognizing that these regular touches may lead me to a place where I'm just repeating stale words and not listening to the meaning. There are some things that I should always be grateful for and there should be some new things in the gratitude list, too. Otherwise I'm saying "thank you for giving me good friends blah blah blah" - words with no meaning. Empty sentiment.
I would like to be calm and accepting. I would like to be content with what I have. I would like to see what I have accomplished each day and not focus on things left undone. It's all OK. Take it easy. These are my new additions.
Sad that after 30 years in The Program I have to remind myself of the most basic, elemental concepts - concepts that we tell newcomers to help them get the most tenuous toehold on recovery.
Maybe this is keeping it simple.
Calm: Peaceful, quiet, especially free from anger and anxiety.
My Quiet Time is a work in progress, always changing, hopefully expanding. There are some tried and true techniques that I rarely change, prayers and mantras and affirmations that I find helpful, that I have always found helpful, and there is a constantly evolving list of Quiet Thoughts du jour. This is as it should be. I find it comforting to repeat something that is meaningful to me while recognizing that these regular touches may lead me to a place where I'm just repeating stale words and not listening to the meaning. There are some things that I should always be grateful for and there should be some new things in the gratitude list, too. Otherwise I'm saying "thank you for giving me good friends blah blah blah" - words with no meaning. Empty sentiment.
I would like to be calm and accepting. I would like to be content with what I have. I would like to see what I have accomplished each day and not focus on things left undone. It's all OK. Take it easy. These are my new additions.
Sad that after 30 years in The Program I have to remind myself of the most basic, elemental concepts - concepts that we tell newcomers to help them get the most tenuous toehold on recovery.
Maybe this is keeping it simple.
Wednesday, February 14, 2018
Action Jackson
Act: To do something. (Ed. Note: Pithy, that).
I have to laugh every time I recall the words that inevitably came out of the mouths of my Program buddies when they were listening to me talk about how stressful all of the death and dying had been: "Wow. Sounds like you're taking a lot of good action."
This is the experience, strength, and hope that is bandied about as a pillar of our recovery community. Not very profound, is it? I wasn't looking for a vague affirmation that I was on the right track 9 I was looking for The Solution. I wanted answers. I wanted to be told what to do, not listen to guys toss out fairly obvious suggestions.
"This is what you should do, Seaweed." That kind of stuff. Nobody had anything. Nobody had shit. Yeah, what did I expect and as it should be. We're a bunch of amateurs trying to keep movement going in the forward direction. Sometimes my recovery is like trying to drive a fast car really fast on an icy road. I never really feel like I'm in control of the process 9 I'm just trying not to kill myself. A lot of people asked if I was doing a lot of things I was already doing. I was hoping for something revolutionary, some new paradigm of thinking. I got the same old crap. But then again I'm also the guy looking fora new cure every time I get a cold. "Drink plenty of fluids. Get enough sleep. Take two aspirin." 700 years of medicine and this is where we are.
I signed off with my therapist yesterday, and she agreed with this decision. I went every week for a while, eventually tapering off to once a month. I have also discontinued my participation in the biweekly grief group. These two things were pillars of my journey out of the loss depression; that and finally coming clean with my friends in recovery. It wasn't as if I was deliberately trying to hide what was going on - it was that I was oblivious, an occasional pitfall of long-term sobriety.
"I'm handling this OK, I'm still handling this OK, I'm still handling this OK, wow, am I fucked up."
Often I found that I had to sift through a lot of wheat and chaff before I got the nugget of wisdom I needed for that point in time. Often it surprised me. I didn't see it coming. I didn't see how the timbre of the discussion was going to lead to the discovery. Then again I'm the guy who wants to be in control of the process. I want to take a series of discrete, logical steps to get through something in a linear, controlled fashion.
Yeah, good luck with that.
I have to laugh every time I recall the words that inevitably came out of the mouths of my Program buddies when they were listening to me talk about how stressful all of the death and dying had been: "Wow. Sounds like you're taking a lot of good action."
This is the experience, strength, and hope that is bandied about as a pillar of our recovery community. Not very profound, is it? I wasn't looking for a vague affirmation that I was on the right track 9 I was looking for The Solution. I wanted answers. I wanted to be told what to do, not listen to guys toss out fairly obvious suggestions.
"This is what you should do, Seaweed." That kind of stuff. Nobody had anything. Nobody had shit. Yeah, what did I expect and as it should be. We're a bunch of amateurs trying to keep movement going in the forward direction. Sometimes my recovery is like trying to drive a fast car really fast on an icy road. I never really feel like I'm in control of the process 9 I'm just trying not to kill myself. A lot of people asked if I was doing a lot of things I was already doing. I was hoping for something revolutionary, some new paradigm of thinking. I got the same old crap. But then again I'm also the guy looking fora new cure every time I get a cold. "Drink plenty of fluids. Get enough sleep. Take two aspirin." 700 years of medicine and this is where we are.
I signed off with my therapist yesterday, and she agreed with this decision. I went every week for a while, eventually tapering off to once a month. I have also discontinued my participation in the biweekly grief group. These two things were pillars of my journey out of the loss depression; that and finally coming clean with my friends in recovery. It wasn't as if I was deliberately trying to hide what was going on - it was that I was oblivious, an occasional pitfall of long-term sobriety.
"I'm handling this OK, I'm still handling this OK, I'm still handling this OK, wow, am I fucked up."
Often I found that I had to sift through a lot of wheat and chaff before I got the nugget of wisdom I needed for that point in time. Often it surprised me. I didn't see it coming. I didn't see how the timbre of the discussion was going to lead to the discovery. Then again I'm the guy who wants to be in control of the process. I want to take a series of discrete, logical steps to get through something in a linear, controlled fashion.
Yeah, good luck with that.
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