Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Peer support coaching...


As many of you may remember, I recently went back to working a real job. It’s only part-time, but it is brain-demanding. I find it a struggle to devote my attention to something that simply provides me an income. To top it off, my Immortal Alcoholic in-box continues to bulge over with more and more requests for help. I often spend three hours a day just on answering e-mails and I would spend more if I had the time available. How can I focus on my paying job when what I really want to do is help others who find them in my situation?

My journey has taken me down many different paths along my walk of life. I tried to count how many “careers” I've had. I've been an apricot cutter, baby-sitter, mother, receptionist, waitress, marketing assistant, sales administrator, executive assistant, word processing manager, liaison, administration manager, reporter, event planner, author, and title examiner. The longest time I've spent at any one thing was 15 years. Considering that I started working at the ripe old age of 14 that means I've been in the workforce for 50 years. So my longest tenure is just a drop in the bucket. Looks like I've been a bit of a “job jumper.” But, in the grand scheme of things, that’s OK because I believe I can use all my past experience to embark on my next career adventure.

I have always said that I wished I could actually make money at writing this blog or by having the support groups. The reality is I can’t make money at doing those things. Any money I receive through donations goes directly to supporting the OARS Group and helping it grow into a non-profit organization. I have grand visions of OARS becoming the next Al-Anon. Wouldn't that be great? A non-12-step alternative for friends and families of alcoholics just gives me a smile too large for my face. It’s one of the reasons I went back to work after retiring. I needed the money to support my dreams.

I've become gung-ho about getting the OARS meeting up and running as live, face-to-face group meetings. To do that, I contacted the local substance abuse facility and asked for their support. They were interested and asked if I was a peer support coach. They gave me some phone numbers and names of people that were “in the biz.” Over the next few days, I googled, phoned, talked, and reached out to anyone who might give me ideas or help me get started.

Recovery Innovations hires peer coaches for the purpose of providing support to addicted persons by recovering addicts. They also have a training program for people interested in coaching. The big “but” was that it was not for friends or family – just substance abuse addicts. The criterion for their program was set out by North Carolina’s Health and Human Services Department and they did not have anything in place for collaterally damaged people. My contact encouraged me to rattle the chain of that government entity and bring attention to the need.

(If you are an addicted person and the idea of a peer support coach is appealing to you, go this website:
www.recoveryinnovations.com.)

I asked the contact if I need to be certified before I could start offering my services as a peer support coach. The response was that I had already been doing coaching for several years simply by extending my hand of support to others through my blog, e-mail and support group formations. I just wasn’t being paid to do it. He knew of no reason why I couldn't become an official peer coach without any certification. Besides, there’s no certification offered in our state and therefore the job doesn't exist. If I issue a disclaimer about not being a professional counselor or therapist, in his opinion, that was all I needed.

My next stop was the SAMHSA (Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration) site which is a part of the federal government’s Health and Human Services Department. I found a grant for the creation of peer-to-peer support. I thought this must be a divine sign that I was on the right path. I called the contacts and after many attempts (it is the FEDERAL government, after all) I finally reached someone who told me that she didn't think the intent of the Grant was for anyone other than the addicted. However, she told me that I should apply, but I would have to be a non-profit organization in order for the application to be accepted.  However, she again, encouraged me to apply. Nothing worth having is ever easy.

Well, I would like that $250,000 grant to set up the OARS Group, but I must take those baby steps. I believe I've already taken a few of them. This month I will file for non-profit status in the State of North Carolina for the OARS Group. If I can get it done quickly, I can apply for the federal grant.

While I’m doing that, I will officially hang out my shingle as a Peer Support Coach. I have a website that I have neglected for a while (I apologize to everyone who has been there) and is now being re-vamped and renewed. It will have my rates and how to schedule an appointment to meet with me via the telephone or Skype or Instant Messaging. When I am ready for clients, I’ll post it on the blog with a link to the website. If I can make enough money at doing that, I can quit my day job and focus on doing what my heart is telling is the right thing to do.

As part of the coaching, I have a plan to start offering myself as a public speaker. I’m not exactly sure how to do this, but I've been told in the past that being a speaker is the most profitable way to go. Talking to an audience is not frightful for me and I’m looking forward to the opportunity.

I wish I could win the lottery and not have to worry about paying rent or buying little things like food and electricity. The reality is I haven’t found the winning ticket yet – I guess I have to buy a ticket before I can win which is something I only seldom do. Anyway, if I did have that ticket, I would be able to devote my time, money and efforts solely on supporting people who have walked in my shoes. Unfortunately, the reality is that I MUST pay the rent, buy food and electricity and that takes both time and money.

Friday, January 25, 2013

Forget about the alcoholic...


Over the past few months, it seems that my e-mail is over-flowing with letters relating that the alcoholic in their life has died. The mixture of both regret and relief is often the focus of the letter.

I like to call this passing of the alcoholic a “Gift of Freedom.” It is a gift of being able to regain a life without the insanity brought on by the alcoholic’s actions. It is an opportunity to reach for happiness in a new life. I don’t know how many times I have said, “I just want this to be over. If he’s going to die, just let him die.” Letting him die seemed like the most humane thing for everyone concerned. It would be Riley’s final gift to me.

I’m not alone in those thoughts. Almost everyone has used those words even if they were never truly vocalized. When we say/think it, we are only seeking relief from the immediate situation. The truth is that if the alcoholic could die and still leave behind the pre-alcoholic person – all our prayers would be answered. Unfortunately it does not work that way.

Once the loss has happened and we are gathered in a church, graveside, meeting room, or however it happens, we get the opportunity to eulogize our loved one. So what do you say about a person who showed up at your Junior Prom and knocked over the punch bowl? What do you say about a person who lost many jobs and all friends who did not share a penchant for inebriation? What do you say about a child who never really lived a full meaningful life past the age of 14? Instead of standing up and saying you’re happy the alcoholic is dead, what do you say?

While communicating with these people who have shared my experience of losing a loved one, I found that what we say and do is never about the alcoholism. We talk about the person before the alcohol took over. We share funny little anecdotes and memories of a time long ago. We silently put to rest the alcoholic and focus on the person.

In my opinion, it’s about the only thing we can do. No one wants to brow beat the dead. What good would that do? I have an image of a two-part cartoon of a wife shaking her fist at her husband and saying, “If you don’t stop, the drink is gonna kill you!” The husband responds that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. The next frame is the wife standing over her husband’s open grave which is littered with booze bottles. She has a tissue to her eyes and weeps “Do you believe me now?” It’s a sad cartoon, but it’s what we all are thinking. Best it stays as a cartoon.

So how do we handle the grieving process and not harp on our own disappointment?  I’m a firm believer that some things are just best if left private. Publicly, I believe, we should remember the good and relate what a wonderful writer, provider, cook, etc., the person was before. In private with a group of people who understand you and your situation, you let all those negative emotions flow. Weep openly with those who care the most about you. Reach out to them for support in rebuilding your life. The group can be family, Al-Anon, OARS, a therapist, or any other support group. The point is to surround yourself with those who care and can offer direction.

Most caretakers of end-stage alcoholics grieve several times during the course of the alcoholic journey. They grieve every time the alcoholic relapses, every time they go into rehab, every time they cause chaos. The grieving seems to be endless. Then when the alcoholic dies – they grieve some more.

The good news is the “gift” part of the death. Once the survivors have recovered from the initial loss, they are able to move on. A constant state of chaos creates a form of “post-traumatic stress syndrome” and once the chaos stops the opportunity exists for peace and quiet. It is a bittersweet reward.

When Riley dies, I don’t want to be the one to eulogize. I’ll leave that up to others. His daughter will talk about the time he held her all night long when she was very sick. His brother will probably share stories of the time they shared in apartment. A friend from his past may talk about how he could make an electronic technician manual read like a masterpiece novel. A former shipmate may tell the story of how he “supervised” the changing of a flat tire. There’s lots of good stuff to tell. I’m sure the group will not leave with the image of Riley falling down the stairs in a drunken stupor. I’m happy for that.

Whenever someone wrongs me, I always tell myself that the best revenge is living well. So when Riley is gone, my revenge against the alcoholism (not against him) is that I will attempt to live my life well. I will survive and be happy.

WAIT A DARN MINUTE!! Why should I wait until he dies?? I think living your life every day to make it the best it can be is the only way to go. I’m not going to waste one second of potential happiness on allowing the stress of alcoholism to take me to a dark place. It's a tall order for someone who lives inside a craziness bubble. I'll have to remind myself to be happy several times during the day.

My mother used to tell me “This is a day you will never have again. Better make the most of it.” I think my mother was right! Today I will be happy, productive and make lemonade!

Sunday, January 20, 2013

Jury duty...

Jury Duty is one of the responsibilities of being a member of our society. It may be inconvenient and feel like an intrusion on our life, but it is necessary. Anyone chosen for the jury duty process of selection should take the event seriously. The following was overheard as I waited for to be granted entrance into the courtroom. People were being screened through the metal detector. There were two bailiffs involved in the procedure.

First Bailiff: “Are you drunk?”
Potential Juror: “No. I’m Ashley.” She held out a very shaky hand to the Bailiff, but he rebuffed the salutation. Ms Ashley’s mother stood next to her with a support hand at the back center of her daughter’s waist. She would have been voted as the best dressed juror in comparison to the other candidates. She wore a beautiful blue knit dress with a leather belt in the same color blue. Her hair looked as though she had just come from the beauty salon. Her makeup was flawlessly applied yet subtle. She could have been a politician’s wife on the campaign trail. But the swaying and shaking of her body told a tell that the togetherness of her exterior did not match her interior.  
Second Bailiff: “What’s in your drinking glass, Ms. Ashley?”

Ms Ashley: “It’s OK. It’s just water.”
Second Bailiff: “You won’t be able to take that glass into the courtroom.”

Ms Ashley: “It’s OK. It’s just water.”
Ms Ashley walked away (with the aide of her mother) tottering on her high heels.

First Bailiff to Second Bailiff: “We’ll have to do a breathalyzer on her. She’s smelly of the stuff.”
Second Bailiff to First Bailiff: “I agree. Let’s get a female officer down here.”

About ten minutes later, a female officer arrived and there was a conversation about what would happen if the results were over the legal limit. She would be arrested. They spoke quietly, but the small lobby made it impossible to carry on a private conversation.
Riley looked up at me and said, “So what if she’s been drinking. It doesn’t mean she wouldn’t be a good juror.” I proceeded to explain to him that jurors in to be in a clear state of mind so that they would understand the facts of the case presented. “It’s not illegal to drink,” he said. “So she’s had a few. It’s OK.” I didn’t respond.

Now that the posse had been assembled and measures / counter-measures were in place, the First Bailiff went outside to find Ms Ashley. She was not there, but her mother was. Her mother explained that she only had that odor because she had been drinking constantly over the past three weeks. But, she had not been drinking that morning and therefore she was not drunk. The First Bailiff explained that she could not be allowed into the courtroom if she was above the legal limit on the test.
Ms Ashley appeared from the ladies room and said she had no idea why they would want to do a breathalyzer on her. Her comment was directed to an innocent, handsome, male by-stander. “Are you kidding me??? You reek of a distillery!” He exclaimed and then walked away from her. She muttered “Asshole” under her breath, but everyone in the lobby could still hear her.

The posse came over to her and said they needed to take the test. Ms Ashley informed them that she did not want to take the test, but would speak to her attorney who just happened to be in court that day. The lawyer came from around the corner where Ms Ashley stopped him and told him she did not want to take the test. The lawyer shared a few words with the bailiffs. It took less than five minutes for the lawyer to turn right back around and tell Ms Ashley to wait an hour or so and then take the test. She left to go outside to have a cigarette.
It was about 30 minutes later when the lawyer came up to the bailiffs and asked if they had gone ahead and taken her into custody. They told him no. He said he could not find Ms Ashley or her mother anywhere on the grounds. Someone in the background said – “She said she was leaving. She said she wasn’t going to stick around for this bull shit, got in her car and drove off. She wouldn’t let her mother drive. They were arguing.” The bailiff’s thakedn the informant and then notified the police of a potential drunk driver by the name of Ashley etc., etc.

I don’t know what happened to the woman and her mother. Shortly after all the drama, we were informed that we could all go home. Well, it was an entertaining morning anyway.
I wonder how many people show up for court appearances while they are still in the midst of foggy-mindedness. I bet it is more than I had ever anticipated. The thought of being a defendant with the question of my freedom on the line – and having my fate determined by someone who obviously is not of sound mind – is more than irritating, it’s downright frightful.

Should all jurors be given a breathalyzer before entering the courtroom? It seems logical to me. On the other hand, it could be construed as a violation of a person’s civil rights.  After all, an occasional drink in the morning doesn’t make you an alcoholic. Or does it?
For me, it’s not so much about determining if a person is an alcoholic. It’s more about having the good sense NOT to drink when you know you will be in a situation of having power over another person’s life. If I were on trial, I would prefer all my jurors be blessed with sound judgment and sober minds.

Thursday, January 3, 2013

Out with the old...

I knew that it would be difficult for me to downsize from a very large four bedroom house to a more compact, one bedroom in-law apartment in a house that I now share with my grandson and his family. As I unpack moving boxes and do my best to “get rid of” things I no longer use or want, I am reminded that a generation of youngsters has lost the concept of valuing what you have. My grandkids must walk through the garage portion of our very large house to enter mine and Riley’s living quarters. If I’m out there sorting, opening, organizing, there is almost always a comment of “Why don’t you just throw all this stuff away?”

Throwing away seems to be a theme these days. It’s a theme that I don’t understand. If you drive down the side streets into the residential areas, you will see appliances set out on the curb for either the trash man or a freebie seeker. These appliances may be out there because the owners renovated their home or maybe because it has stopped working for some reason or another. Whatever the reason, they’ve been discarded.
I have a fond admiration for the freebie seeker who will pick up the unwanted appliance, take it home and work on it until it is a productive piece of equipment again. In my day, things were repaired and/or repurposed. My mother could repair almost anything except her car – she left that to Dad. I remember her greased smudged face after she replaced the pump in the washing machine. The point is – we didn’t throw things away when they didn’t work the way they did when they were new.
I don’t work the same way as I did when I was new. I’m slower and things I’ve always been able to do for myself are far more difficult now. I fear I may wake up and find myself in the trash next to the coffee pot that has a clock that doesn’t keep the right time. The pot still makes a good cup of coffee, but the clock portion is no longer programmable. I’m a lot like that coffee pot and I hope that the fact that it takes a bit longer for me to make the coffee will not be of consequence. But I’ve already seen signs of de-valuation. My opinion is no longer listened too with undistracted attention. My suggestions are met with a sigh and roll of the eyes. I’m considered to be “old-fashioned” and sometimes a bother.
When I read that a suggestion to “just get rid” of the alcoholic in a person’s life, I feel it is another way that we simply “throw things away.” In many cases, I believe the best course of action would be to walk away from the alcoholic. But that is not to get rid of something useless, but rather to encourage a change for the better for all parties. Just because you don’t live with someone doesn’t mean you’ve put them in the trash can.
I have always been a bit of a hard-ass bitch that could stand up to almost anyone. I seldom show my fear – if you see it in my face, you should probably run for cover. With Riley remaining sober, even if it is not by his own choice, I feel I may have softened a little. While I may have wanted to “throw him away” many, many times during his drunkenness, I feel less inclined in his present condition. It could be the fact that he knows he needs me to help him manage his life so he is less antagonistic or it could be that he is now taking Prozac. It doesn’t really matter. I think I see in him a slight glimpse of the man I fell in love with back in the 60’s. The glimpses are few and far between, but just enough to be a reminder.
Riley doesn’t work the way he did when our relationship was new. He doesn’t have much to contribute towards any part of sharing a home or being a husband. The truth is, that part of him was gone when he decided he liked life better as a drunk than he did as a husband. I didn’t throw him away even when I separated from him. I may not have been in his life on a daily basis, but I was always there – in the background being silent and watching him choose his own direction.
For the grandkids, Riley is disposable. In the kid’s defense, Riley has made himself become disposable. He doesn’t participate in family activities and is unable to have conversations beyond guttural noises and heavy sighs. He cannot and does not want to relate to them. The result is that the kids have thrown him away and moved on to focus on other family members. I understand.
There are times when I feel sorry for Riley. I see this physically debilitated man who can no longer remember what happened the day before and must take several naps a day. He has no sense of smell and his entire right side is weak and nearly useless. He doesn’t have the strength to carry in the groceries or help me move boxes around the garage. He can’t drive. His life is all contained in his room with re-runs of NCIS. I’m sad for him. That’s where I’ve softened. In spite if it all, Riley still has value. He washes the dishes and puts away the groceries. He cleans the bathroom. Since his memory of the far distant past is better than his ability to remember what happened yesterday, he shares memories of a better time over our morning coffee. I will miss those things when he moves on to his next life.
Those soft episodes of emotion for him aren’t long lasting. I take a step back to remind myself that Riley is in the condition he is in because of his own doing. He created his situation and now must live with the consequences. He denies that alcohol had anything to do with him having a stroke or heart attack. He claims that alcohol isn’t the reason why he can’t drive or live alone. It’s easy for me to go back to being my naturally bitchy self.
Going through the boxes and sorting out the good from the bad, useful from the useless and historical from individual memory… I know to throw things away is not in my nature. It’s hard to make those determinations. I’m not a hoarder, but I’m not a discarder either. I value what I have and see worth where others see none. I can live with that.