NOT GONNA DO IT NO MORE

Anne Lamott is one of my very favorite writers.  She posted another great essay to Facebook today.  As usual, she was both funny and wise and I love that about her.  The part that I thought about the most is the part where she muses what she would do if the world was coming to an end.  I identified with throwing dietary caution to the wind, for sure!  And I agreed that there have been times when I, too, would have taken up smoking again and knocked back a few glasses of wine if humanity was on its way out.  And I agree with her now I wouldn't do either of those things either, no matter that the holocaust was about to befall us.

I "quit smoking" (regularly, habitually) in 1982 after 12 years of thinking smoking made me look cool and expressed some external solidarity with feminism, since I only smoked Virginia Slims.  (Pawn to advertisers, I.)  I grew up with smokers -- everyone except my mom, who never smoked but inhaled enough second-hand smoke over her 87 year lifetime that her neurologist said her brain looked like that of a smoker -- as her gray matter shrunk and dementia settled in.  But even that didn't get my attention; I continued to buy a pack about once or twice a year and over a few days time would sit on my view deck with a glass or two of wine and a cigarette for old time's sake.

Then in 2010 my brother was diagnosed with bladder cancer and now lives without a bladder.  (Tricky, but possible -- modern medicine is a miracle!).  His smoking likely contributed to this reality….all those decades of carcinogens being flushed away through the bladder.  I was stunned (cancer doesn't really run in our family, so it was shocking to me to hear he had it) and I swore, "never again" and I haven't.  I'm through with even the occasional "naughty girl" drag on a Slim.  It's been 4-1/2 years and my only regret is that I can't say it's been 32 years, given my "official" quit date in 1982.  I guess I have to use the "this time I really mean it" date.

And the drinking thing…on July 31st it'll be 3 years since a drop of alcohol has passed through my lips.  I can't tell you how happy this makes me.  Surprisingly happy, actually.  Because of course I was not an alcoholic.  No, of course not.  I quit cold turkey (due to a health issue that could be made worse by using alcohol even a little bit) and I have rarely had a moment of regret or temptation.  But looking back…. I may not have had a physical addiction, but certainly I had maybe a teeny, tiny little problem with alcohol.  

Yet, I told myself I was fine.  I didn't drink every day.  I mostly only drank at night -- night being 5:00 on the dot.  Unless I was out to lunch with a friend (noon or after) or we went to Happy Hour (3:00).  And I only drank Chardonnay.  Classy wine, not cheap stuff.  Rarely hard alcohol, except a Gin and Tonic now and then.  No beer (yuk!)  I did get frustrated with restaurant pours -- 4-6 ounces is NOT a glass of wine.  Why, at home I filled those glasses up -- 8-10 ounces is a glass of wine!  C'mon!

It always amused me to hear people say they would have only one glass.  Really?  The first glass was just a thirst quencher!  Downed like a shot.  The second glass was sipped more slowly and the little fuzzy, buzzy feeling was so sweet and welcome all I could do was smile.  The third glass brought on that gauzy, I-love-the-world-and-everyone-in-it euphoria, until near the bottom of that glass or into the 4th, when a maudlin, self-pitying, tearful, wreck of a person showed up to throw a damper on the whole party.  Time to go to sleep.

There were times when I knew I'd overindulged:  sick to my stomach (rare, but still…); falling down (only a couple of times, but still….); passing out (hmmm…wasn't I just sleepy?  Of course I ignored the warning not to drink while taking anti-depressants…That's advice made to be ignored!)

On several occasions I took the "Do you have a problem with alcohol?" tests and found I had to check off some of the items.  Like drinking more than I intended to; trying to stop and not being able to (only on weekends…starting Thursday, unless there is a special occasion on Tuesday, or there is still wine in the bottle to finish from Sunday.); occasionally not totally remembering everything about the night before.   

But I didn't have to check off the very worst ones:  I never missed work or neglected my family or spent money we didn't have or drive while completely drunk (note the "completely" qualifier…which absolutely terrifies me today).  

But I was concerned enough one sunny afternoon to stop into a local AA bookstore/meeting place to have a look around.  I bought the Big Book and talked to the clerk, who of course asked me to come to a meeting and I said I would, with no intention in the world of actually doing it.  I ran to my car and sat sobbing for a good 20 minutes before I drove home and had a glass of wine.

I don't know what my friends and family thought of me back then.  My guess is that I looked just like every other social drinker who occasionally went one drink over the line.  Not much in my "public" life would have looked off to anyone.  I was super high functioning and responsible.  Still….inside me there was a void, a shame, a sad and lonely woman trying to muddle though with a little assist from a bit 'o the grape.

I've written briefly about this in a post a couple of years ago, but I've never actually written this detailed account before.   I'm a little hesitant to hit "publish" on this one.   But honesty is part of my promise with this blog and my hope is always that my experiences will resonate with you and be helpful in some way.

So, today I feel blessed by the sudden, unexplained episodes of syncope that landed me in the hospital a few times and made me decide that I wouldn't drink anymore.  I feel a sense of freedom, a sense of strength, a sense of confidence that was never there when I drank.  I feel proud and healthy and whole.  And grateful.  Most of all I am grateful that drinking is not part of my life.  And I've acknowledged that should I decide to "cheat",  I'd be back to the Chardonnay Charade in a heartbeat.  And while I don't work the steps, have not gone to any meetings, only skimmed the Big Book, I still know….

 My name is Donna and I have a problem with alcohol.

At least, that's the view from here… ©

BARACK, BOOZE, AND ROCK 'N ROLL

Last night I dreamed I was on a date with Barack Obama.  The most amazing part was that there were no Secret Service guys around at all!  I kept thinking in my dream that was weird, right?  Barack was very sweet.  We held hands at one point...that was all.  A chaste affair.

Anyway....the dream was probably prompted by my reading, again, the Rolling Stone interview with the President in the May 10th edition.  There Barack was, on the cover of Rolling Stone, looking all handsome and debonair and ready to say smart words and demonstrate  his sweet self-deprecating sense of humor, all of which is an aphrodisiac to me.  So, I enjoyed re-reading it before the recycle bin claimed the copy.

I also thumbed through the other stories, which were as depressing as the Obama interview was inspiring.

"Gregg Allman's Memoirs" was mostly a recitation of the events leading to fame, chaos, drug abuse, heroin addiction, jail time, hepatitis C and a liver transplant, death of his brother and, of course, life with Cher.

"Remembering Levon Helm", the renowned drummer/singer of The Band, traced the history of the band including Helm's own descent into herion addiction ("a part of the scene and part of the era" -- as if that is an excuse).

"Boozin' and Cruisin' with...Eric Church" delves into the angry, defiant, violent and hard-drinking lifestyle of "country's rowdiest star".

Then we have Floyd "Money" Mayweather Jr., a young boxer living the high-life story we've heard a million times of a kid coming out of an impoverished childhood to find a version of fame and fortune in the boxing ring, at least when he isn't in jail for domestic assault against his girlfriend.

I came away from this foray, at least in this issue,  into a male-dominated story selection that left me feeling sort of sick and sad.  Really?  Drugs, violence, sexism?  It's enough to drive me back to drink too.

Well.....not really.  Today is my one year anniversary of not drinking alcohol.  If anything, these stories of waste and wantonness only solidify my newfound commitment to sobriety.    The drinking, drugging life ain't pretty.

I was never really a flat-out drunk.   My recreational drug use (abandoned for good over 30 years ago) was relatively tame.  But I did surely enjoy my daily dose of Chardonnay.  And an occasional cigarette, even after I "quit smoking" in 1982.

Two events caused me to quit the smokes and the wine.  My brother, a smoker, was diagnosed with bladder cancer in late 2010.  When he called with the news and after I hung up from talking to him, tears still flowing, I vowed to myself to never have another cigarette.  They killed my dad with emphysema and were now wrecking havoc on my brother.   And how could I even justify my very occasional foray into a pack of Virginia Slims by calling it "party time"?  I only smoked when I was feeling rowdy and carefree.  Yes, by all means, let's party down by not being able to breathe! DUH!

The drinking was harder because I liked it a lot more and did it more often.  Daily.  In the evening over dinner, to relax and socialize with friends, to celebrate a special occasion...it's so much a part of our culture that once I stopped, most people were not quite sure what to do with me.  Sure, I'd given up wine, but "Does that mean Vodka too?" I was asked.  Or "We could go to Happy Hour, but you aren't drinking"...because I guess a soft drink and an appetizer make me less fun to be with?  I started to bring my own club soda or tonic water to have with a lime when we went to friends' homes.  There was a certain look of concern, panic, or uncomfortableness until people got used to the fact that "Ivy isn't drinking."

I'm sure some who knew me less well assumed there was AA involvement.  But no.  Actually, I'd had a few bouts of unexplained (and completely unrelated to any alcohol consumption) syncope -- fainting.  It was weird and sort of terrifying to have this come out of the blue and wake up to find paramedics standing over me.  All the tests in the medical world revealed no specific cause so, of course, I took to the Internet to find a diagnosis.  I came up empty but found a whole bunch of conversational streams populated by others who also have "unexplained syncope" and at least some recommended no alcohol consumption.  That was enough for me.  I was ready to do anything to make the episodes stop.

I had my last drink on July 31, 2011.  I haven't fainted since then, but absolutely no one credits my being "on the wagon" for that.  It would be hard to sort out all of the variables.  I've also started to eat better, exercise, meditate, lose weight, and stay hydrated.   I also noticed I liked not drinking.  I didn't miss it (OK, a couple of times I was tempted) and now I rarely even think of it.

So when Barack and I go out again, we may stop for a FroYo Swirl and I may lament the carbs involved, but driving won't be a problem.  And if there's ever a story about me in Rolling Stone, it will outline the ways in which I have left nearly all my vices behind and become the Saint of Clean Living.  I'm sure that issue will sell out in no time.

At least, that's the view from here....©