Shark bites...

Imagine this… you’re on a beautiful, white, sandy beach at the edge of a pristine blue water sea. You really want to go for a swim. Just as you reach the edge of the water you notice a sign saying that the water is “shark infested”. What would you do? You don’t see any visible signs of sharks. There’s no “Sharks” music playing in the background. The water is so inviting and calm and you just want to take a little dip.

This was the scenario I presented to Riley this morning while he was bragging that he had improved in his physical condition and was almost whole again. So I risked the question about going back to drinking. I said, “Do you understand that the reason you have improved so much is mostly because you are not drinking?” His answer was, “Yes.”

I was feeling way too confident or I would not have asked the next question. “Do you think you have learned that you cannot drink and stay healthy?”

“Well, you were wrong. Booze did not kill me and I believe it won’t ever kill me.” He was so matter-of-fact with that little smirky “I’ve proven that you were wrong” smile across his lips. “You don’t seem to understand that I’m addicted to alcohol and because of that you can never expect me to stop drinking.”

My response was that addicted people break the addiction every day and that I didn’t feel that it was impossible for him to stop drinking. After all, it has been almost a year since he had a drink. Why start back now and cause his health to go downhill?

He says he will go back to drinking because he’s an alcoholic. Personally, after everything that has happened over the past six years, it just seems ludicrous to go back to drinking when there is no longer any of the poison in his system.

At that time, I proposed the beach scenario to him. Would he go into the water?

He replied, he’d already been in the water and was still alive. The signs posted were probably more than a year old which meant they were no longer relevant.

Yes, he is still alive, but he has caused his body great stress and there are permanent life-long repercussions to his swim in shark-infested waters. The shark may not have eaten his entire body, he maybe have lost a toe on the first venture out into the water. Well, he lived through that, so let’s go just a bit further out there – and he loses his leg. He heals that then goes back in because, after all, he’s not dead yet. Back into the water and he loses everything up to his waist. And yet – he goes back into the water again and this time he becomes the shark’s dinner.

Riley sees that analogy and believes it just doesn’t apply to him. The sign must be lying, there are no sharks and even if there are sharks, they won’t get him. He was born and raised in Iowa, but I think it should have been Missouri because he has to see and experience those shark bites to believe it will happen. Even then – he really doesn’t think it will kill him.

A few people have asked me how Riley is doing. Why don’t I write so much about him anymore? There isn’t much to write. Riley can maneuverer around the house with the aid of a cane and furniture to give him balance. He can wash the dishes. He can do his own laundry. He can even cook soup in the microwave. He can find his favorite channels on his TV.

In Riley’s mind, that’s really all he needs. He seems to either accept the fact, or is oblivious it, that he can no longer drive, cannot fix a complete dinner, shower without assistance, figure out how to program his TV remote or record a program; play a game of bridge; or do grocery shopping. These used to be things he loved to do. But, he doesn’t seem to connect the dots that the alcohol has robbed him of those abilities.

He proudly announces that as soon as he has the chance he will be drinking again. So why don’t we just have a bottle of wine with dinner? Why don’t we have a cocktail while he watches me cook? Besides, I can keep him from getting drunk if he’s right there with me --- right?

WRONG. He wouldn’t share that bottle of wine with me. I’d have to have one of my own of which I would only drink maybe two glasses and he would finish my bottle too. It isn’t a cocktail while cooking – it would be a bottle which he would be the only one drinking. It would gradually increase to more than one bottle and, WHAM-O!  We are back in the hospital and he’s clinging to his last breath of life wondering where he is and how he got there.

I can’t control everything. Hell… I sometimes can’t even control my own diabetes. But, I will not subject myself to his insanity any sooner than absolutely necessary. I know the day is coming. I know he will find a way. Maybe it will start with my vanilla extract or mouthwash or the cough syrup. Maybe he’ll take a hit of my favorite perfume.

Riley is a smart guy, in spite of his stupidity, he knows that when I catch him drinking things not intended for consumption, I’ll probably give up and go get him a bottle. I truly hope it doesn’t come to that. And, it may not even be me who ends up buying it for him. He can be a very convincing man when he wants to be.

Right now, my waters are shark-free. But if I should see a sign posted, I will not question how long it has been there or if it is true. I’ll just lay on the beach and soak up the sunshine. That is, while I still have sunny days.

I speak!

Turn into www.RMCOnAir.com at 3:45 PM PST (that's 6:45 for the east coasters) to hear the Care for Kids Program founder Dr. Gloria Montgomery when she interviews The Immortal Alcoholic's Wife.

Just go to that web address and click on the "listen" button at the designated time and you're there. Don't miss it.

Binge drinking and kids...

Allison Morris has created and produced this graphic containing information about binge drinking. She asked for me to post this on my blog and I'm happy to oblige. This is great information... Thanks, Allison for your submission.

The Dangers of Binge Drinking

created and produced by Allison Morris

If you're a student, or just around college student age, you're probably all to familiar with the phrase "binge drinking." Whether you partake in a little excessive imbibing yourself, or you just know people who do, the term "binge drinking" tends to be overused and completely saturated in the minds of many of those who are at or around age 21.

While the college student demographic may find the term binge drinking—and all the cautionary tales surrounding the concept—to be almost devoid of meaning now, the fact is that, with more and more kids overusing alcohol at younger ages, even the most seasoned drinkers would do well to learn a little about the phenomenon.

"Binge drinking" really refers to how many drinks someone has consumed over a certain period of time; for women, bingeing is consuming four or more drinks in two hours or less, for men it's five drinks over the same time period. And while the immediate risks, such as blacking out, vomiting, or passing out, are generally known and accepted among binge drinkers, some of the related effects aren't always as apparent. Binge drinkers tend to have higher incidence of drunk driving, STDs, and accidental pregnancies, to name just a few. The attached infographic takes a peek into the world of binge drinking, as well as what some of its lesser known repercussions are.

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THANK YOU, Allison and www.onlineeducation.net for making this graphic available.

TO MY READERS:

Currently, I am involved in the Care for Kids program which is holding a fundraiser June 2nd. The money received as a result of the planned event will be donated to a fund that will provide recovery care for kids between the ages of 11-17 years of age.

When I think of binge drinking I think about the kids in this age range because they are more likely to "party hardy" after a football game or "get wasted" after the prom. Their drinking is sometimes limited to weekends or events, so they have a tendency to drink more alcohol in a short amount of time. It's a dangerous situation for them.

Dr. Gloria Montgomery recently posted on her fundraising site:

---"NATIONWIDE EPIDEMIC! 6 in 10 high schools and 1 in 3 middle schools are now drug-infected. Younger teens now have readier access to prescription drugs than marijuana. Drugs are more popular than cigarettes among high school students. On average, 47% drink alcohol; and 40% percent use drugs, including prescription drugs. In 2012, private schools and public schools weighted equally in these statistics. Treatment centers can cost upwards of $50,000, some more than $100,000 per 30-days treatment."---

 

I am a product of the 60s when everyone was doing something that they shouldn't be doing. Everything was experimental and the children (young adults) seemed to have no fear of the potential consequences. Heck, at that time, no one really knew what the consequences were because it was never talked about or seen on TV or in the newspaper. I never inbibed, but was always observing and protecting those who did. I preferred my wine to drugs, but still had such a need to control that I seldom drank to the point of having that dreaded hangover.

I remember back when my children were teenagers and I suspected them to be smoking a bit of marijuana. It was during the time that Riley was drinking himself out of the Navy, out of his civilian job and out of our house. I was distracted. But that isn't an excuse because I thought -- "It's just a little mari-jo. Thank goodness they aren't drunks." Now I think -- I was so very naive.

My son became a responsible young man who dabbled in drugs like cocaine and meth. But, his love of his job prevented him from taking the white stuff to an extreme. Yet, at the young age of 43, he died as a result of alcohol abuse. He died from the legally obtained liquid poison called booze. Did his early experimentation with marijuana eventually lead to his death? I don't know and will probably never know.

My daughter has also experimented with drugs beyond marijuana. She decided the life was not for her and in her early twenties stopped using any drugs or alcohol at all. She now will have a couple of drinks when out with friends, but prefers to be the designated driver.

They say 20/20 hindsight is flawless. I don't know who "they" are, but I think "they" are right. As a parent, I don't know if I could have done anything that would have stopped my kids from experimenting with drugs. I do know that things could have gone in a much worse direction than they did. I'm just lucky.

If my kids had become addicted to any substances, I would have been extremely grateful for a program such as "Care for Kids."

One year's difference...

This was a post I made about a year ago. I wanted to re-post and show the difference a year can make -- OR that a year and sobriety can mean no change at all.

May 14th, 2011

One of my very first needlecraft projects was to embroider a set of kitchen towels. My mother bought seven blank “flour sack” towels and ironed a transfer onto each one (do they even make those anymore?). The lines were to be stitched using brightly colored embroidery thread in several different stitch styles.

There were seven towels – one for each day of the week and each day had a specific task: Monday-Sweep; Tuesday-Dust; Wednesday-Laundry; Thursday-Ironing; Friday-Mend; Saturday-Shop; Sunday-Rest. It took me a while to get them completed, but I was sooooooo proud of them when they were all done and neatly hung on the handle of the oven. For months I changed them daily so they matched the appropriate day of the week.

My little girl mind would often drift into believing that maybe this is how life was supposed to be lived. Was there a time for each chore and was always to be done consistently each and every week? I wondered if this was the way life was suppose to be lived and the fact that my family didn’t operate in that manner meant that we were somehow not living the “right” way.

After a few months, I forgot about putting the right towel out for the day and just grabbed one when needed for drying the dishes without concern for what day of the week it was. But, I did, however, carry over a bit of “neatish” behavior through my teen years. While other teens had rooms resembling the city dump, mine was neat and clean. My closet was divided by dresses, skirts, tops and pants and in each section the clothes were organized by color. For a teenager – I was definitely not normal.

As I have gotten older, I have digressed… Fast forward 40+ years… left to my own devices, I would have a house that was livably clean but not spotless. You might find yesterdays coffee cup still on my desk and the newspaper might be thrown about the sofa. In my room there is a stack of clothes that needs to be hung up or put away. If I lie down during the day, I do not re-make the bed. My toothbrush doesn’t always make it back into the holder. My bedroom slippers never make it into the closet.

I know I have a point here somewhere in the clutter of my mind… In Riley World there would be a kitchen towel for every day of the week and each would have a list of tasks. He would adhere to those tasks as though they were the holy grail itself. The towels would be changed at 12:01 A.M. every single day. They would be clearly hung on some special hanger in view for all to see. There would be no deviation.

Imagine the frustration he must feel when comforted with the fact that the pile of things… *#!% ...as he calls it… accumulates on my desk and my attitude is “I’ll get a round to it this week.” It must cause extreme stress for him when he gives me a grocery list and I come home with only seven of the ten items. Riley lives in an absolute black and white world. I live with approximations and shades of gray with an occasional absolute thrown in.

Riley says he has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder – I’m not so sure. The absolute routine of Riley’s world has a purpose. He has told me that if he gets everything done that needs to be done, his time then becomes his own do to with as he pleases. And what he pleases is alcohol related. In his mind, it’s OK to be drunk to the point of peeing your pants, if the kitchen counter is spotless. It is OK to be oblivious to the end table having rings from his beer cans if he vacuumed the floor this morning. That doesn’t sound like OCD to me. It sounds more like alcoholic behavior.

There is a jagged sort of logic in his thinking. It’s not one I agree with – but it belongs to him and I have no right to try to take away his thought process. As he – again – progresses towards end-stage, he needs those daily reminder towels to keep him on task because he sometimes confuses Monday with Wednesday. He has difficulty remembering his self-assigned tasks and when he is to do them or even if he has already done them.

I know that part of it is the memory loss from the stroke. But I am also acutely aware that most of it is that his frontal lobe is saturated with ammonia and therefore not truly able to agree to anything for a long period of time. I also know that he finds some kind of “pay back” in creating minor difficulties for me. If he is not happy in the living arrangement, he will not let me be happy either. Or, if he makes me miserable enough, I’ll send him away.

Whatever… I just want to give fair warning… if I see that Tuesday Towel around here, I will promptly burn it and then claim no knowledge.

March 10, 2013

Now that Riley has been sober for almost a year it would be easy to assume that the Tuesday Towel scenario would be in the past. But, that is far from reality. I still don't like living in a sterile environment and Riley is even more determined to drive me crazy with his little cleanliness endeavors.

When I have my morning coffee, the spoon I use to stir in the cream and sugar is washed, dried and put away before I finish my first cup. And evidently I have a two cup requirment because Riley asks me every morning "Have you had your second cup yet?" The question is really "Can I clean up the coffeemaker now?" It has nothing to do with me getting my fill of caffiene. So not only is my spoon no longer on the counter, the coffee pot is no longer holding coffee. That's all before I finish my first cup.

I like to lay on the sofa and watch my soaps. During this wintertime season, I cover with a fluffy throw. If I go to the bathroom during a commercial, when I return, my throw is neatly folded and returned to the back of the sofa. He must fold up that throw a dozen times a day.

The cleanliness level feels rather false to me. He goes crazy over sweeping the floor, but refuses to use the vacuum cleaner on the carpet. He pesters me to clean out the fridge, but will leave his chicken out on the counter for several days -- telling me not to put it away. And get this -- he eats it and never gets sick. He keeps his beard neatly trimed and reminds me he needs to get a hair cut, but never takes a shower or washes his hair.

Not all things are resolved with the advent of sobriety. Sometimes the little things that we find exasperating during alcoholic drunkenness become overwhelmingly intolerable in sobriety.
I have to stop writing now because Riley wants to clean out my "to be filed" bin.

All about me, me, me...

I remember back, almost a year ago now, I sat at my dining room table with three hospice workers from the home health care agency. It was our first meeting and we were setting things up for Riley to be treated as a hospice patient rather than just a stubborn old drunk. I had to sign a paper stating that I understood that no measures would be taken to keep Riley alive. For me, I felt I was signing his death warrant. I hovered over the place where the signature was to be, but had difficulty actually putting the pen to paper.

The hospice worker was very patient. She asked me what was holding me back. We talked about my feelings of failure because I had not been able to get Riley to desire a better life. I told her of my need to see things through to the end. And I told her how tired I was in general.

As we talked I came to understand that my hesitation in signing the paper was really not about Riley, but instead it was about ME – my feelings, my needs, my desires, my failures, my anger, my everything. I also began to understand that I was experiencing a form of de-Je-vu from signing papers for removing life support from my son.

I had heard Riley say over and over that he would rather be dead than sober. I asked him if he was sure that this was what he wanted. The answers he gave were vague and reminded me that he was not being realistic. He said alcohol would not kill him. He said he was not dying and wouldn’t die for another 30 years. It was almost as though he was daring me like a challenge in an Olympic match.

I signed the papers and an overwhelming sense of relief came over me. I broke down in the arms of the hospice worker and cried. I didn’t cry because Riley was dying. I cried because whether he died or it was a relift to know it was no longer my responsibility. I cried for my son. I cried for a life that would never know the true potential of living in sanity. Neither my son, nor my husband would die as the people that I knew they could have been, but rather as an empty shell of what was once so very good.

The next day I set about getting Riley moved to the more convenient bedroom down the hall. It would be an easier access for the workers and EMTs. A hospital bed, cabinets and supply storage, a comfy recliner with a side table and reading light, a bedside potty, these were all the necessities of allowing him to die.

A hot pink notice was placed on my refrigerator door and on the door of Riley’s new bedroom. It stated that if the EMTs were called, they were not to take any heroic measures to preserve Riley’s life. Instead they were to call the hospice hotline and they would immediately send out a worker. The hospice nurses would make Riley comfortable and let him pass to another place.

It was less than 24 hours later when I was told that he was a half point off on his albumin panel and therefore, Medicare would not pay for his hospice treatment. I was on my own again. And only hours after that notification, Riley was calling me from his new bedroom because he wanted me to call the EMT’s. He was having a heart attack.

As I held the phone in my hand, I hesitated. I had a little debate inside my head. Call. Don’t call. Who would know if I didn’t call or if I waited too long to call. There was no one in the house but us. Our nearest neighbor was a ways down the road. No one would know.

There was just one little hitch. I would know. I would not only know but I would have to live with that decision for the rest of my life. I dialed 9-1-1 and went to Riley’s bedside. I would know. My conscious would be haunted. It was all about me and not about Riley at all. I wasn’t as interested in saving Riley as much as I wanted to save myself.

When they loaded him onto the helicopter for his ride to Greenville, I was told he would be there in about 15 minutes. It would take me 2 hours to get there by car. I was tired. I wanted to sleep. The sun was starting to come up and I had only slept for a couple of hours. But, I went home, packed a bag and headed off to the hospital.

In the back of my mind I was thinking, “Someone else is watching over him and caring for him. There’s nothing I can do. Nothing will change by me being at the hospital.” I thought about turning the car around and heading home. The peacefulness of a Riley-free country life was calling to me.

Then I started getting phone calls from the hospital. They needed his history, papers signed, information, etc. and needed to know when I would be there. It was a jolt back to reality. As much as I wanted to only think about myself, I knew that this was really about Riley and not me.

My day would come when I could be self-centered and only consider what was best for me. This was not the day. On this day in May, I would do what Riley needed for me to do. After all, I was being told to call the family and let them know that Riley would never be released from the hospital. It didn’t seem like it would be long before my selfishness could begin.

As all my blog followers know, Riley did survive and is still alive today. So he has won this match of the challenge but the game is still in play.

I realize that if Medicare had not stopped the hospice, Riley would not be here today and I could revel in my self-centeredness. The reality is that there will always be something that will prevent me from being as self-involved as I think I would like to be. There are my grand and great-grand kids, blog followers and group members who will always need me in some way or another. I can’t see myself ever turning my back and saying – “Well… I’m just too busy to help you.”

As much as I would like to think this whole hospice thing was about me wanting my peace and aloneness. It really was about Riley and what he needed. Not so much about what he wanted but what he needed. He needed me to sign those papers because he only had two choices – sobriety or death. He chose death. He let me know on a daily basis that he wanted me to let him go. Let him die.

Was signing the hospice papers about me? Of course it was. Was signing the papers about Riley? Absolutely. It was about both of us. It was giving both of us not just what we wanted, but what we needed. If I had it to do again – and eventually I will have to face the situation again – I would sign on the dotted line. Watching Riley be miserable in this Linda-enforced life of sobriety makes it very clear that this is not the life he wants. He truly does mean it when he says he would rather be dead than sober.

They don't have to die...

Since I started this blog, a few years back, I get contacted by people who need or want me to donate to one thing or another all the time. I don’t have the funds to give to everyone who sends me a sweet e-mail. Heck, I have trouble getting donations for my own endeavors, so unless it is something I just can’t resist, I always pass.

A couple of days ago, I got one of those e-mails. The first sentence was “I need your help in fundraising.” I thought – Oh here we go again. But as I read, I realized this isn’t just an opportunity to help a deserving organization, it’s an opportunity for me as well. Not to mention that what was offered sounded like a really, really FUN thing to do. I don’t get a lot of opportunities to just do something outside the box for fun.

Hollywood and Vine Recovery Center in Los Angeles has seen addicts through the recovery process many times. Celebrities have passed through their doors as well as homeless, uninsured people in desperate need of help. Everyone receives a “hand-up” out of the insanity.

I’ve been stomping on my soap box for a long time that rehab centers should be required to do some kind of “pro bono” rehabs. When I found out that the proceeds of this event will be used to pay for rehab treatment for those who could not get it otherwise – well – I was ALL on board. Although the program will focus on the younger addict, it also covers adults. That was even better. Who knows... maybe if this had been available to my son, he might still be alive today.

The event is the Hollywood and Vine Musical Extravaganza and will held on June 2^nd at Club Avalon. There will be many celebrities performers such as the guitarist, Mike Pinera who was a member of the Blues Image Band who had the hit in the 1970’s “Ride Captain Ride”. He was also a member of Iron Butterfly and Alice Cooper.  Members of both groups are on the agenda to perform. If that’s too “old school” for you how about Nick Hawk? Or the Chris Weaver Band? On a more folksy side there’s Ollin Band. The key note speaker will be Craig S. Strong and the cast of Celebrity Rehab.

This event has the potential of making a huge difference for so many people. Unfortunately, it can’t happen without help from others to meet the expenses. Oh! There’s that ugly word again – expenses and here’s another – fundraising. Everyone’s help is needed. Every dollar will count. I’m asking you to part with at least one dollar to help the show to go on. One dollar. 100 cents. That’s less than the cost of your morning sausage biscuit. Of course, more money -- $5 or $10 or $1000 is all welcome.

There is no official website yet – but one is coming soon. On the funding site there is a link to Dr. Montgomery and information about the Hollywood and Vine Recovery Center. Click the link below to go to the events funding page and make your donation. The life saved could that of your child, niece, nephew or a complete stranger.

What’s in it for Linda Jane Riley? My work will be front and center receiving recognition and exposure to the public. My hope is that it will draw people to the blog, encourage people to join the OARS F&F Group, and help with raising funds to keep the support groups going and growing. This could be the a huge step in making OARS F&F Group into a non-profit organization with real live meetings across the country. Making a donation to the musical event, in the long run, could actually be a donation to my endeavors.

Oh! And let's not forget how much fun it will be for me to walk down that red carpet which is something a little old lady like me never dreamed would happen in a million years!

http://www.gofundme.com/HWAVRC-Musical-Event