ADDICTION

Once a Secret – “So shameful. Don’t tell anyone.”

Then a Whisper – “Too bad about so-in-so.”

Now a Statement – “Addiction is a disease.”

Future Announcement – “We have the cure.”

            As a teenager in 1955, growing up in Detroit Michigan, there were specific rules. Family conversations were focused around school, homework, sports, projects, and of course good grades. We did not ask questions or talk about alcoholism.

            My parents told me alcoholics were the guys who lived in the downtown area, (Skid Row), drank all the time from the bottle that was hidden in a brown paper bag; They wore dirty clothes, begged for money to get more booze and they slept in the street next to the curb. Alcoholics were bad people.

            In College I saw many guys at parties, especially Frat parties, that were totally drunk, and most of us just laughed at their behavior. This excessive drinking was pretty normal, certainly not any indication of a problem; it’s just stupid guys who are just trying to show off.

            After graduation I taught kindergarten for 2 years, got married, moved to California, and raised 4 children. Television became THE source of entertainment and new knowledge. There were many shows, especially police dramas that included the typical drunk, the word alcoholic was rare; Again, the image of the GUY in the dirty clothes, a looser, who sleeps in the gutter. In the 60’s the typical drunk had competition. A new negative image emerged. This image included poor hygiene, pale skin, track marks, shaking and more. The alcoholic became more invisible as drug addiction became the biggest concern. The Junkie was prevalent in the police dramas and became a familiar part of the current news reports. Television told everyone that a Junkie was dangerous, bad and insane. They live in a flop houses and were most likely to be found in San Francisco or New York.   

            My children grew and time passed quickly.  All was well. It was during this time span that I was filled with pride and confidence that all my children would succeed in life.  I had no idea that soon I would feel sad, helpless, stupid, and guilty. It was the time I learned what my parents and the media taught me, was totally wrong. Now I was about to learn and accept what addiction is all about.    

            I did not become enlightened by the many articles confirming alcoholism and drug addiction as a disease. I did not accept this bold statement because I heard an inspirational speech, watched a documented program presented by a neurologist, or saw the increase of TV ad’s promoting treatment centers. I know this disease all too well.

Once I had four children, now I have two.

            In 1989, our Karen was finishing up her Interior Design degree at Cal Poly. Mike was at Cal State Fullerton working on his BS in engineering; John and Kim were at Saddleback Community College getting the basic classes completed before transferring over to a 4 year university. It was during this time something seemed off. Money was missing from my purse on several occasions. John seemed different. He was more in and out and not much conversation. His behavior was irrational. He came home one evening when Tom was at a business meeting. I was out with friends. My daughter Kim called and said that John was out of his mind, ranting and raving, and totally drunk. He had put his fist through the wall in the entrance. I headed for home.  I had to calm him down, let him sleep it off.

            The following morning he did not remember anything. Four days later, we got a call from a very nice policewoman who told us they arrested John at a gas station. He was drunk and out of control, yelling and screaming and waving his arms. He was deemed totally irresponsible for himself and others. He was taken to Santa Ana Psych Center for a 30 day hold and evaluation. He called home several times. “Come get me Mom. I don’t belong here.”

            We held a family meeting and John finally admitted that alcohol was the common denominator. He needed help. We researched and found Starting Point, a highly rated recovery center about 25 minutes from our home. We dare not find one further away because we are the only one who can determine if the staff is really fixing him. We knew what is best and besides, what if he needs something. They better treat him right. After all, our son is not like the others in that place. Then when he is fixed we can get our lives back to normal. We were college graduates, so we knew everything.

            Our first family meeting at Starting Point consisted of 40 adults or co-dependents (a term we soon learned.). The chairs were arranged in a large circle. Everyone got a chance to speak on issues regarding their feelings, concerns, ask questions regarding the program and even how to help children in the family to understand this disease. Our primary instruction was focused on the fact that addiction was a disease and enabling was not nurturing but harmful. During these sessions we wept, shook our head in agreement, and even laughed. We all had what we thought was a loving way of helping our addicted family member. We heard different enabling techniques, like the father who bought his son a condo so he could live comfortably; (I take good care of my boy); the mother who every day leaves a few peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cookies and juice in a brown bag out on the porch (My boy needs to eat); The father who pays all his daughters bills. (She can’t lose her car or house).and so on. Even though our son was 20, we let him stay with us until he got on his feet (our enabling wasn’t that bad).

             Our son spent his 21th birthday at the recovery center - (NOW YOU CAN DRINK) and one of the ongoing reminders to all alcoholics is, “Don’t drink today.”

                        Unfortunately after his 28 days his drinking continued. He had jobs here and there and he also stole from all his employers and the worst part was the fact that they all loved him so they never pressed charges. John went to Las Vegas, his favorite place where he was totally free and had no responsibilities. When the phone rang at night, it was always a panic moment. Someone would call to say John was in the hospital, or he was in a motel and his nose was bleeding, or something else that would cause my hubby to grab a suitcase and his keys and head out the door.

            Often we brought him home and convinced him to go back to rehab. He did, but he would disappear. He called us every now and then. Eventually he found his own care unit – 8 different ones and checked himself in. He really wanted to be sober. The 8th recovery unit was a repeat. Again he completed the program, but this time he continued in the 90 day in the sober living program... The director asked him if he would consider becoming one of the staff. He could pass out the meds, answer the phone at certain times and other responsibilities, and they would cover his rent. He was pleased and accepted the opportunity. John was allowed to go back to school. . He enrolled at Chapman University and stayed sober for 4 years. He was in the accounting school and had a job offer from Arthur Anderson. With only 6 units to go….John left and ended up in his favorite place, downtown Las Vegas. He didn’t gamble but a dollar goes a long way when you play nickel slots and of course free drinks.  

            John loved his independence. He connected with a real community of alcoholics who lived in the motels away from the casinos on Freemont, but close enough to conduct business. He was hired (like many others) to conduct a card game scam on various corners. His employer, a 45 year old seasoned criminal set it up. There were the dealers, shills, and the tourists. At the end of the day the money was taken to the boss and each person received a share.  

            One evening, our John did not turn in the money. The boss told one of the crew to find him and tell him to meet at one of the motels pool. John went, said he was sorry but that didn’t matter. The boss pulled out his Mac flashlight and beat him. One of the blows hit his temple. Twenty four hours later we got the call from the Las Vegas Coroner.

            He left his family on his own two legs. We brought him home in a box.

            I realized that during all of the ups and downs John and I were going through the same process. Basically this process was the 7 stages of grief.

1. Denial (NO not me – I’m not an addict))

                             (Not my son – It’s just a binge)

1. Shock – (OMG, I can’t stop drinking)

(It’s true, he is an alcoholic)

1. Blame   (Why me God?)

(It’s from my husband’s side of the family – his fault)

1. Anger (Ok God, if you take this curse away, I’ll go back to church.)

(God, help my son and I will donate my time to help others, give money to the poor, whatever you want.)

1. Depression – (So sad – can’t have fun with friends – can’t do anything)

(Our poor son – we will probably have to watch him the rest ofour lives. He will need our help)

1. New Acceptance (Guess I will make new friends. People understand )

(He looks healthy, happy, and ready to succeed)

1. Hope       (I will get to the meetings. Stay fit; I can do this.)

(I will concentrate on me Lord; the rest is up to you.)..

            Our recovery was filled with “if only?” and “Why didn’t we go get him?” and other questions. Even though you know you didn’t cause it, can’t control it, and can’t cure it, somehow human nature still clings to maybe I could have done something.  As time passed the healing continued. The questions faded.

            Three years after his death, our oldest daughter, who was raising our granddaughter since her divorce, was in a car accident. Coming home from work she exited the freeway and failed to stop behind the row of cars ahead of her. Karen’s car was totaled and her insurance took care of the vehicles. No one was hurt, but just talking with her, something wasn’t right. We also got a few calls from the day care center that she was either late or possibly tipsy.

            The tipsy comment became evident. She was drinking. She took a leave of absence from work. We became our granddaughters care givers. Almost a year later, we convinced her to get help. She went to Hoag recovery center and completed the program. Unfortunately, she went back to drinking and soon after we could see the white of her eyes had a yellow hue. Cirrhosis of the liver, 3 nursing hospitals and several hospital emergency stays, and her battle was over. Our granddaughter was only 10.

Our beautiful daughter entered Hoag hospital in a wheelchair. We brought her home in an urn.

Believe it or not, I am in a good place. I realize that I never had the power to fix anyone. Addiction was not the result of a one parent home, or that dad or mom neglected you. Your child, mother, wife, husband or other family member never woke up one morning and thought, “Guess I’ll be an alcoholic/addict.”  No one asks for this disease. No one deserves this disease, but until we have the cure we need to hang on in and remind ourselves and others that addiction is a disease.