Daddy's girl...

To every man who is father… To every woman who is a single parent… to every brother and sister who watches over their siblings… to every teacher and pastor who has mentored a fatherless child…  and, to anyone else who has ever provided fatherly support to another person… Thank you. You make life easier for kids on the bumpy road from newborn to adulthood by giving them a role model to emulate. Adults need fathers too – just to keep them on track and provide understanding and support. Again, thank you… you are very special people.

My father was my Daddy. He wasn’t Father or Pops, he was Daddy. In adulthood, I usually called him Dad when other people were around, but he was really still my Daddy. I was the only girl child in a family of five, so I was the only one who called him that. And he was different with me than he was the boys. Ohhh… don’t say that to him because he will deny it vehemently, but I have proof.

In California in the 1960’s a teen could get their driver’s license at the age of 16. When my day came, I asked Daddy if I could get my license. His answer was “NO”. I was a little surprised because my brother and the cousins that were residents of our home all had their license within hours of their 16^th birthday. My older brother didn’t go to school just so he could go to the DMV. So I was a bit miffed as to why I couldn’t do the same.

“Why?” my tiny voice asked.

“Because your grades will go down if you start driving.” Good answer I thought. But, the boys were always just barely passing. So… if I start failing, maybe I can have my license??? I didn’t say the words out loud. On the other hand, I was proud that Daddy was concerned about me as a student. Arguing with Daddy was never fruitful. So I accepted his answer.

Years later, after I had left home, I found out that Daddy’s statement ended up being an argument between my parents that lasted for years. I got past it. I still didn’t have my license because I had moved to the city where public transportation was excellent. Cars were costly and I didn’t need the expense.

On my 21^st birthday, Daddy surprised me when he came to my house, picked me up and took me to DMV to finally get the coveted privilege to drive. I was married and had a baby by that time. I wasn’t really missing my license. But, he took time from work and that was quite a birthday gift from my work-a-holic father.

We spent the afternoon together and over lunch I asked him why I had to wait five years for him give me permission – which I no longer needed. He looked a little sheepish while the words spilled out…

“Several reasons – first I was afraid you might stop focusing on school and your grades would suffer.

Second, I can’t protect you from other drivers.

Third, I couldn’t let you take the next step in the ladder to growing up.”

I told him about how unfair it was that he treated me differently from the boys. His response was simple –

“But, you ARE different from the boys.” How can you argue with logic like that? I didn’t care. He was my protector. He was my Daddy.

Happy Father’s Day to all Daddys out there!

Do you have a “Daddy” story? Please post it in the comments so we can celebrate fatherhood together.

Immunity...

One of my readers commented on the amount of time her husband spent sleeping. If you’ve been reading my blog, you know that alcoholics sleep more in the daytime than they do at night. It’s just a fact of alcoholism. It has to do with the alcohol saturation in the front lobe.

The reader’s alcoholic husband does not understand why he is sleeping so poorly at night. He was so concerned that he mentioned it to his doctor and the doctor sent over a sleep monitor to try to discover the cause of his sleepless nights.

Of course, the wife was shocked and confused as to “why” the doctor could not figure this out without the assistance of a monitor. She knew the reason he did not sleep at night was because he sleeps all day and is an end-stage alcoholic. It didn’t seem so complicated to figure out. If the doc really wanted to know what was going on – why didn’t he just ask her???

To prove her point, she kept track of her husband’s sleeping hours and came up with a total of 12 snoozing hours every day. It would vary at times – sometimes nine, sometimes 13. But it all seemed to average out to about 12 hours.

Now she started doing the math. If an adult human requires between seven and eight hours of sleep a night and her husband is sleeping 12 hours a day, he would be sleeping 24 hours each day!!

Her response to this discovery was:

“I think when you reach 24 hours of sleep in a 24 hour period, they call that DEAD.”

So now the doctor is going to spend insurance money on trying to figure out the WHY of the sleeplessness?? She could have saved him a lot of time and money, if he had just asked. But, as is most often the case, the doctors don’t ask the person who is the most knowledgeable and clear headed in the household. Caretakers’ opinions are often discounted especially when the alcoholic appears to be relatively cognizant.

I know I often give doctors a bad time on my blog. But, really, come on, would you ask a person who is dying of cancer and on a morphine drip – how they are sleeping? Of course not. The doctor will ask the caretaker for an update. Maybe it’s an extreme comparison – but in my opinion – an end-stage alcoholic is always on a morphine drip called liquor.  The last time any alcoholic can give an accurate description of his/her condition would be the last day of sobriety. After that, things get muddled.

Anyway… this gets better… I was so amused with the e-mail that my reader sent to me, that I was in my office heartily laughing at my computer screen when Riley walked in. He sat down and just watched me for a few minutes. I was typing a response and snickering. Finally, he asked – “Did Georgia sent you another joke?”

I felt compelled to tell him, but I assessed his state of mind first. He seemed pretty clear at the moment – it was early morning and he was usually at his most sane during that time. So I told him about the alcoholic husband who sleeps the entire day and doesn’t know why he can’t sleep at night.

I should have known better than to share. This was a mistake.

We had a little discussion and it seemed harmless enough. But, when he went to take his first nap of the day he asked me to write down the time so I could keep track of how much time he spends sleeping.

WHAT??? Why would I want to do that??? He angrily stated that if I was going to accuse him of sleeping 16 hours a day – he wanted to prove that I was wrong. He continued by saying he was 70 years old and it was OK for him to nap during the day.

I guess he wasn’t as clear as I thought he was. I quickly replied that I NEVER said he slept 16 hours a day. I told him I wasn’t talking about him – I was talking about my reader’s husband. Then I went on to explain that alcoholics sleep more during the day and alcohol often prevents alcoholics from sleeping at night. It was a fact that I did not manufacture.

Again he protested with something about being 70 years old and taking naps when he was sober… blah… blah… blah…

I asked if he considered himself to be an alcoholic. His answer was YES.

So why did he think that he would not have the some symptoms and conditions that were common to an alcoholic, such as, the inability to sleep at night? His answer was MAYBE THERE IS SOMETHING ELSE GOING ON LIKE DEPRESSION.

I agreed, but depression combined with alcohol only makes the sleep factor worse. Alcohol is a depressant when consumed by someone who is already depressed it can be extremely dangerous. In my opinion, most alcoholics have underlying depression. But, that doesn’t eliminate the fact that alcoholics have sleep issues. I reiterated – he is not immune to these issues.

At that he turned around and went to his room for a nap.

Thank you...

I want to thank each of you who commented on my last post. Your support and stories touched my heart. I wish I could take away everyone's pain... but all I can do is thank you for sharing.

I AM NOT ALONE. WE ARE NOT ALONE. We are a strong group when we stick together and help each other.

Please keep reading and please keep commenting.

Linda

Alone in a crowd...

When I started this blog I felt that I must be the only one going through this and that the writing would help me get my thoughts and feelings down on paper – well – computer screen – it is the 21^st Century after all. I was angry at myself, Riley, everyone around me because no one person really understood my dilemma.

Before Riley came back, I was happy. I was in a relationship. I had a great job, a cat, and lots of friends who were not related to me by blood. It was a good life. I had my share of trials, but nothing seemed to be able to keep me down for long.

When I made that long drive up north to move Riley back to my home, I knew things would change. I wasn’t really sure how they would change, but change was certain. I was no stranger to Riley’s drunkenness. I listened as his roommates told me of some of the bizarre behavior exhibited over the past few months. What they described didn’t sound like the drunken Riley I had shared my home with previously. I was in for a very rude awakening.

At first, I just treated him like I had before. But, I quickly realized that I needed to change my approach. As the changes took place in how I treated Riley, changes were also taking place in my personal life. There was no time for a relationship and no time for social gatherings with my friends. I still had my job – telecommuting was my lifesaver there. With the exception of a few friends and family, who I now communicated with via e-mail and phone calls, I was alone with Riley. None of my friends wanted to be in the presence of a man who has a tendency to ogle, make rude comments, pee on myself, and unable to string three words into an understandable sentence. Well… my cat didn’t care – I still had my Jax Cat.

Alone with Riley.  Hmmmm… I remember days when that phrase would have put a twinkle of delight in my eye and make me tingle with anticipation. I would have had visions of a romantic dinner and a walk around the lake. But now… it sounded like a prison sentence. I had to remind myself over and over that my reasons for doing this were to save my daughter from this very same sentence. Just like a criminal who knows there’s a possibly that he may have to do time for the crime – I knew for a very long time the possibly of having to be Riley’s caretaker. I knew I would have the support of my family and a few friends – but that in the end – this would be MY prison term and I would have to serve it ALONE.

Riley’s behavior was so outrageous that I was certain no one on the face of the earth was experiencing anything like it. I went to Al-Anon, but the other attendees’ stories just weren’t relatable to mine. Everyone thought they knew what I needed to do but none of them ever once described anything like what was transpiring in my house.

Al-Anon is a good source for support. I recommend it. But, I find that the issues of end-stage are very different from that of alcoholics who have not encountered extreme physical dysfunction or near fatal detox. The physiological changes magnify the amount of effort needed to maintain a clean and healthy household – avoiding such things as salmonella. The personality changes make it seem that there is a stranger in the house. I believe in the principals of Al-Anon, but I think it may be difficult to really relate them to actual experiences – especially at end-stage. Sometimes, we end-stage caretakers must go against what is taught at Al-Anon meetings.

From the very beginning, I did research on end-stage alcoholism. There wasn’t much out there, but I kept digging. I learned about different alcohol-related illnesses and what I could expect if Riley had one. I’m a firm believer in knowing what you’re up against – and the internet was very helpful in educating me on alcoholism in general. Finding out about end-stage issues was a long and circuitous route. But… the good news… it kept me busy and between Riley, research and my real job… I didn’t have time to focus on how alone I felt.

I wrote in my blog, but there weren’t many comments. That is – until – I heard from a woman who was going through exactly the same thing I was. She wrote that her alcoholic husband had the same traits as Riley. He even watched similar TV programs and made the same demands. I was elated – I’d found a kindred spirit. I felt a distinct bond with this person.

To stay informed and understand Riley better, I continued with my research and I shared what I learned on my blog. After that, I started getting more comments and e-mail began to arrive in my virtual mailbox. Many people were uncomfortable with posting a public comment and preferred the anonymity of e-mail. I was OK with that. I try to answer each one personally and try to be there to listen (or read) and provide support. I can feel the pain and isolation in each note and I wanted to reach out and say – you’re NOT alone. That’s when it hit me – I am NOT alone.

For every note I receive, I imagine that there are thousands more that have been enduring the life that I find myself living with Riley. And I wonder how many have no support system at all? I have my daughter and family and a few friends, but who do they have? I wish I could visit each and every one and give them the comfort of a giant size hug, a bowl of macaroni and cheese, some homemade chicken soup, and, a plate of freshly baked cookies. But, instead, I just keep writing in my blog and answering e-mails. I hope that they feel my support being transported over the invisible waves of virtual reality.

I no longer feel the loneliness of being alone in this prison. Because of that, it doesn’t feel so much like a prison anymore. I have a life, happiness, and last but not least – my cat.

End-stage definition...

Most alcoholics never reach end-stage. They drink and they fall victim to an alcohol related death such as a car accident, a fall down the stairs, foul play, accidental drug/alcohol combination overdose, undiagnosed conditions, or many other situations. An end-stage alcoholic is one that has the advantage of avoiding the previous mentioned downfalls either by luck or a very astute caretaker.

An end-stage alcoholic is an alcoholic whose body and mind have degenerated to the point where the detox process is just as dangerous as continuing to drink. That’s a quick and simple answer to a complicated question that is asked frequently. If a medical professional tells you to continue to give the alcoholic booze because to be without it, outside a hospital environment, would mean certain death – that’s end-stage. Here are other factors in making the determination.

Most end-stage alcoholics have already been through the detox and rehab process several times. The end result is often a return to the bottle within a short time – sometimes just days after discharge. On the good side, sometimes the alcoholic will wait months before getting drunk. That is good – the longer the time between detox and drinking the more of a chance the body has had to recover. But even then, a return to an end-stage condition, after post-detox drinking, will happen at a more rapid rate than it did previously.

I want to stress here that some end-stage alcoholics never get into detox or rehab. They are so adamant about drinking that they never entertain the thought of a possible better life. They like things the way they are and refuse to change. Riley, even after numerous rehab and detox, has stated that if he has to choose between sober or dead – he chooses dead.  

I’ve written before about the Child/Pugh and MELD score which is determined by using information from a blood test. The two tests are designed for ranking the status of people who are waiting a liver transplant. (See my post Information please... in March 2011) A Child-Pugh score of Class C and/or a MELD score higher than 30 would make the alcoholic at end-stage.

There are a host of alcohol related diseases that also contribute to the determination. How far advanced these diseases are can give you an idea of how much time an alcoholic has left. But, in true end-stage, that really doesn’t matter because the only way to recover from any of the diseases is to quit drinking. That is not likely with end-stage alcoholics.

An end-stage alcoholic will drink anything containing alcohol if traditional sources are not available. This can include, Listerine, vanilla extract, cough syrup or even perfume. Anything else that contains the word alcohol in the list of ingredients is a potential beverage for the end-stage alcoholic.

Because of the amount of alcohol saturating the frontal lobe of the brain, the end-stage alcoholic personality, most often, is not the same as the personality of the same person without the alcohol. Some traits may include: easily angered; unrealistic demands; lack of determining appropriateness of actions; loss of short-term memory; highly emotional; easily confused, and; inability to determine night from day. Alcoholics are subjective – what’s important to them revolves around drinking. At end-stage this is magnified and the end-stage truly wants everyone to “mind their own business” and let him/her do whatever they want – even if it impacts on other people’s lives.

Stomach issues are very common at end-stage. The end-stage alcoholic may demand dinner at a certain time, but will probably not eat much, if any. Often, whatever is eaten will be vomited. Because of that the alcoholic becomes malnourished and will often become very thin. But, this isn’t always true because sometimes the alcoholic will appear to gain weight. Unfortunately the weight gain is usually a result of advancing cirrhosis.

At end-stage the alcoholic has worn away large amounts of the mucus membrane lining the esophagus as well as the entire digestive system. The esophagus will split and bleeding will occur. Sometimes the esophagus will actually “blow out” and can cause almost immediate death. The force of vomiting alone is enough to cause a bleed in the esophagus or stomach. Alcohol is a natural blood-thinner. At end-stage the blood doesn’t coagulate. I’ve seen a bleeding cut or sore on Riley’s last for hours and even a whole day before the bleeding stops. Anything bleeding becomes a potential life-threatening occurrence.

The stomach may develop bleeding ulcers – a painful hole in the tummy. Imagine having a cut finger and pouring isopropyl alcohol directly onto it. It would be the same thing for an alcoholic to drink when he has a bleeding ulcer. And that condition, added to the lack of food and proper nutrients, as well as the inability to coagulate, can be fatal. Diarrhea occurs almost daily and the further along the alcoholic the more explosive the pooping.

Some physical traits of the alcoholic are the yellowing of the eyes and spider-like veins in the fact. At end-stage the skin may turn a fluorescent yellow/green, the nose becomes something like Rudolph’s, the scalp is itchy and flaky, and fingernails have a tendency to split.

If you are afraid to leave the alcoholic in your house alone because you don’t know what he will do – you’re probably in end-stage. The loss of memory can mean leaving a stove burner on under an empty pot. The lack of judgment could mean lighting a candle and placing it next to the curtain. The loss of balance can mean a fall and combined with a hit on the head – the results can be fatal.

Determining whether or not an alcoholic is end-stage is often easier for the caretaker than it is for the medical professional. That’s because the determination is based on what happens in daily activities and bodily functions. The caretaker can TELL the doctor, but to see it and live it gives a better perspective on reality.

Detach...

With very few exceptions, as parents we want our children to grow into loving, caring, responsible, productive adults. We teach them right from wrong. We encourage education. We convey our spiritual beliefs. We teach them to help those who are less fortunate. We instill a sense of compassion and understanding. And, in my family, we took care of those who were ill and unable to take care of themselves.

Our development is furthered from outside sources – mainly the entertainment industry. We see moral values defeat evil doings. We watch lovers overcome such malady such as cancer or life-altering accidents. Romance is everywhere and implies that it is something that MUST be attained in order to have a full productive life. We’re left with the idea that marriage/partnership is the primary goal. And, once found, that it should last forever and ever until death we do part. Well – that’s the plan anyway.

For the most part, it is possible. But, when one of the partners has an addictive personality, things get complicated. Our first instinctive action comes from all our moral value teachings – we must help the person who is the Ying to our Yang. It’s reasonable. It’s expected. It’s perfectly normal. Sometimes it even helps.

As time goes on, the addiction becomes the third party in the relationship. The alcohol becomes the mistress with a locked-on hold over the couple. The alcoholic begins to change in personality and values. There comes a point in time when the alcoholic is no longer recognizable to the non-alcoholic spouse. Now there are four people in the group – the two spouses, the alcohol mistress, and the alter ego of the alcoholic. That’s too much and no one is having any fun.

You’ve tried everything and don’t know what else to do. There is really only one thing to do. Most people consider that the title alone could be classified as obscene. Detachment. Just the word alone implies that you should stop having any compassion or concern for the alcoholic. Many people think that it means not caring. This is far from the truth.

When you think about detachment, try thinking about the detachment only being for the alcoholic’s alter ego. You still love and care for your spouse. That’s undeniable. But that other person – the insulting one who embarrasses you and complicates your life – that is the person from which you must detach. If you can do that, you will be much more at ease and able to cope with whatever is taking place around you.

If you are at the stage in the alcoholism where the spouse is so consumed in the disease of alcoholism that they become totally unrecognizable – it is time for drastic measures. The spouse you loved, the one you promised your heart to forever and vowed to support until death – is now dead. Even though he/she may be walking around and breathing the air in your space – that person is lost to you forever. It’s time to grieve. Allow yourself this. Go to a grief support group (I wish there were ones specifically for loved ones of alcoholics – but there is not) and tell it like it is. Cry. Get angry. Eat gallons of Ben & Jerry’s. Cry and then cry some more. And then you may find that you can accept the fact that your beloved no longer lives in your house even though the alter ego is still present.

Now what?? You’ve cried, etc., etc. and what’s next? Do everything you would do if there were an actual death. This is the practical stuff – let an attorney advise you as to how to handle the finances, etc. Hire a housekeeper (if you can afford it). Do whatever it is you would do if you suddenly found yourself as a single person. I don’t encourage dating – that just further complicates things because the spouse you love is really still there – but just gone on some sort of mental hiatus. When/if that person returns you want to be emotionally available.

The alcoholic alter-ego is now a roommate and not a spouse. You may not like this roommate, but you provide everything necessary for a safe haven. That’s how you fulfill that idea of taking care of those who are sick or unable to care for themselves. It doesn’t mean you lie to his/her boss – that job is not your business – just as any roommates job would not be your business. It is not your responsibility to see to it that the alcoholic stays sober. It is none of your business if the alcoholic seeks treatment or not. While you can be supportive – let things happen as the play out. Don’t answer questions for the roommate or make commitments – it’s not your place. Put those responsibilities squarely back onto the alcoholic’s plate.

Of course, you must consider children – if there are any in the household. That’s a whole other post. See my page Leave or Stay?

Re-discover your own life. Did you like to play golf before you were afraid to leave the alcoholic at home alone? If so – go play some golf. Develop new friendships -- if they are also spouses of alcoholics, that’s even better. You are in there somewhere – you’ve just gotten lost and now it’s time to be found. Stop spending all your time thinking, hoping, and doing for the alcoholic. Focus on your needs and what you want.

So are you thinking… it’s dangerous to leave the alcoholic home alone… what if something happens while I’m gone? If it makes you feel better, find a cooperative friend that can stay with the alcoholic while you are out. But, don’t let that stop you. If you have no support system, try attending some Al-Anon meetings. You may not like everything they say – but there are people there who understand what you are going through.

You’ve grieved over your loss. You’ve found yourself again. It’s time to find some humor in your situation. Let’s face it – as sad as it is there are aspects of alcoholic actions that are funny. Looking for the milk in the oven – putting a jacket on upside down – illogical conversations – all good for a laugh. When you find yourself getting angry with the alcoholic – stop and ask yourself… if this were on a sitcom… would it be funny? If this were not happening in your house – would you laugh or at least chuckle?

I used to get frustrated at Riley when he would insist that a program from season one of NCIS had never been seen on television before. Especially when I knew he had just watched it a few weeks before. I used to try to tell him it was not new… it was a re-run—again. Now I just smile and say… Oh that’s nice. That smile leads me to thinking how fortunate I am to have that program be his big issue of the day.

Instead of thinking of detachment as distasteful… think of it as a life saver – your lifesaver for your life. Not the alcoholic’s because the alcoholic must find his/her own lifesaver.

I’m not saying this whole thing is easy because it most certainly is NOT. I consider that I’m fairly well detached from Riley – but there are days when I have to just get through each minute. I still get angry. I still yell. But I also laugh and always remember – this Riley is not MY Riley.

By the way… I had a friend who was the spouse of an alcoholic. She gave a specific name to her alcoholic’s alter-ego. It helped her keep her perspective about who was with her at any given time – her husband, Henry or the alter ego, Hank.

99 bottles of beer...

I have noticed that Riley has been having a lot of intestinal issues over the last month. They seem to be increasing in frequency -- daily vomiting and explosive diarrhea. During his last drinking session before detox, he had issues, but they were different. Last time he didn’t start vomiting until the very end – just before Alea and I took him to the hospital when we suspected he had had a stroke. He had bowel issues for many months prior to that but not like what he is experiencing now. His alcohol of choice during that time was vodka.

I don’t consider him to be as close to the end right now as he was just before the last detox.  He still has some reasoning capability and although a lot of the symptoms have reappeared, they don’t seem to be as intense. Except – for this intestinal thing which I felt was out of sync with the rest of his issues. This time he is drinking only beer and I have attributed his slower rate of decline to the fact that it has less alcohol content than vodka.

I was concerned so I did some research and discovered that drinking beer in excess creates a whole new set of complications. Beer has been linked to cancer in the large intestine, rectum, and esophagus while other alcohol doesn’t increase the likelihood of these cancers. This is referring to CANCER rather than the normal errosion of the lining of the intestines. I didn’t know that.

What I do know is that beer (also known as liquid bread due to the high yeast content) is high in calories and will cause weight gain. Since any alcohol prevents the burning of fat, once a “beer belly” settles in the mid section it can be difficult to get rid of. This is especially true since the alcoholic is no longer able to exercise and burn off the extra calories. As a result, that belly can quickly turn into a high risk cardiac situation and even diabetes.

There is an increased opportunity for the beer drinker to experience gall stones or gout. Beer contains chemicals that double the uric acid content in the body and promotes gall stones and gout disease. I had heard this before.

The liver can detoxify about 12 ounces of beer per hour. That’s one can of beer per hour. If Riley drinks 12 cans a day it will take 12 hours for his liver to detoxify the alcohol.

There’s as much alcohol in a can of beer as there is in a shot of hard liquor. Beer is no better for the alcoholic than a shot of whisky or vodka. They can get just as drunk and do just as much damage as with any other type of booze.

Something else I found on the internet was that beer brewing material contains lead – which, of course, can cause lead poisoning. In elderly drinkers this can lead to senile dementia. I don’t know about that one. I found this in only one internet article and could not find anything else that would substantiate this theory. If anyone knows anything about this – please post a comment of send an e-mail. This interests me, but I doubt that it is in fact true.

However, the lead poisoning thing would make yesterday’s conversation with Riley more understandable. It went something like this:

1. Riley doesn’t really like the taste of beer.
2. Riley doesn’t get the desired level of float-y-ness as he does with vodka.
3. Riley knows that drinking a beer has the same alcohol content as drinking a shot of vodka.
4.  My question is – considering all three points – why doesn’t he just drink vodka since it is all going to kill him anyway?
5. His answer – he just wants to drink beer right now even though he doesn’t like it and it doesn’t give him the effect he wants.

OK – it’s his choice – I won’t argue the point with him. Maybe that internet article about lead poisoning and dementia is true after all because this just doesn't make any sense to me. I can find no viable reason why someone would kill themselves by overindulging in something they didn’t like. But, I don't have an addictive personality and maybe I just don't get it.

Anyway, I can guarantee you that if I’m going to kill myself with a substance; it will be one that I like and makes me feel warm all over. I think it is Sara Lee that makes a Chocolate Mouuse Pie – give me about 100 of those babies!!

Imagine the headline – Woman dies from overdose of Chocolate Mouuse Pie while in bubble bath, sipping on Benedictine Brandy and reading the latest Janet Evanovich novel while listening to Nora Jones. She was surrounded by pictures of her children and grandchildren while her cat sat on the edge of the tub. What a way to go!!

I feel good...

The store room is all clean and neatly organized!! YEAH!! Riley was very helpful. He made many walks out to the shed. It got very hot yesterday and I was about to tell him to wait until sundown to finish the storage room stuff, but when I looked it was all done!! I am thankful and grateful (do those words mean the same thing?) that the chore is complete and I can move on to finishing my office / sewing / crafts area. Riley can't help me with that.

I've had several e-mails about how cruel it was for me to put the garbage in my son's bed. I think I better explain before someone calls Child Protective Services. Having a social worker show up to check things out would be interesting since I no longer have children in my household.

I simply put the can on top of Brian’s (my son) bed. I did not dump the garbage out. It was a reminder that made an impression. My son was 16 years old -- old enough to be expected to remember the he had this one thing to do once a week. He had three responsibilities -- school, lawn and garbage. That's not too much for a 16 year old to handle.

Brian was a very good kid. I never had a lot of drama with him. He liked things simple and quiet and tended toward living his life in that manner. Ohhh... there were problems... but they were far and few between compared to his sister, Alea. When Brian had a problem it was a big one -- I remember only three in his entire childhood.

While Brian liked things simple, Alea seemed to complicate the simplest things. She preferred chaos to tranquility. Her problems tended to be little ones that were repeated over and over again. She had difficulty learning from her mistakes.

Two completely opposite personalities… both originated in my womb. Sometimes I was sure the hospital had given me the wrong baby. And I always said that if I had had Alea first, there never would have been a Brian.

But there was a Brian and I loved him very much. He died from alcoholism when he was 41 years old. There is so much controversy over why alcoholics become alcoholics..... is it nature or nurture? I don't know. But one thing I do know... Brian did not become an alcoholic because I was a strong disciplinarian.  Alea had the same type of discipline as Brian and she doesn’t have any desire to drink.

Now that I’ve cleared that up… if you hated my punishment for Brian’s garbage duty forgetfulness, you’ll really be sending me hate mail when I tell you what I did in response to discovering that Alea had been smoking.

Alea was 15 when I discovered she was smoking in her bedroom. I was livid. She grew up in a smoke-free house. I touted the dangers of smoking from the time both of my kids could understand my words. So… I told her that if I caught her smoking in her room again… there would be repercussions. I couldn’t control what she did outside our property, but I damn well would make every attempt to make it difficult for her to continue that disgusting habit.

Of course the inevitable happened. I went into her room to change her sheets and there was an ashtray sitting next to her bed. I went into action. I called a friend who owned a bar and asked him to dump the contents of all the ashtrays into a plastic bag and save them for me. (That was back when you could smoke in places like bars and restaurants).  I went to the hardware store and bought sheets of plastic. Three days later, I picked up the bag of ashtray stuff from my friend. It was a large kitchen size bag filled to the top.

After Alea left for school, I went in and moved her mattress out of her room. (She had a twin bed, so that was easy.) I covered the entire room with the plastic sheeting. Every inch was covered. I closed the central air vents and closed the windows. I dumped the ashtray junk all over her room. It literally covered the floors. Then, just before I knew she would arrive home, I went in and set out a bunch of ashtrays with lit cigarettes. (I was careful that they would not start a fire.) The room became hazy with smoke. I shut the door and waited.

Alea arrived just about 10 minutes after I had lit the cancer sticks. She went straight to her room and the next thing I heard was “Aaahhh!!!! Mom!!!!” After the shock wore off, there was silence. She set about cleaning up the mess and airing out the room. We never spoke about the punishment. There was no need for conversation.

Alea still smokes – much to my dismay – but she has never since smoked in my house or even her own.

I suppose you would say I had an unconventional way of discipline. But, it was my experience that the normal “grounding” and “restricting” never really made much of an impression on my kids. This was before cell phones and computers, so I couldn’t take them away. I always got more compliance when I hit them with an unexpected consequence at an unpredicted time.

As fiercely as I disciplined, I also protected, enjoyed, and loved my two beautiful children. Life couldn’t have been all that bad in our house because my kids’ friends were always there. I loved all of my extra-kids... and I still do. I am still MommaLinda to at least five children who are not blood-related. I am so very blessed to have them.

I count my blessings every time I think of what life could have been like if my alcoholic husband had actually been present more often. Since he was a sailor he was gone 60% of the time and the other 40% was taken up with his mistresses and drinking buddies. Riley was never violent… when he was drunk he was just mentally absent. I am grateful for that.

Looks like I have a lot of gratitude and thankfulness today. Can you see this happy smile? I wish all my readers could feel as good as I do today.

Another word for nap...

SOMNOLENCE – (Noun) Sleepiness; a strong desire for sleep; drowsiness. See the page Alcohol and Biology. This is one of the conditions found when an alcoholic enters into hepatic encephalopathy.

It takes four years for the body to be able to expel all the toxins from the brain and for the brain to resume to a normal level of functionality. If the alcoholic resumes drinking within the four year time frame the new toxins will join with the old toxins and have a little party in the frontal lobe. See my post Sobriety does not mean sanity.

In my case, Riley hasn’t reached the magical four year point in sobriety in 20 years. Each time he starts drinking, it doesn’t take long for him to revert to being the child-like person created by whatever his booze of choice happens to be.

However, Somnolence alone doesn’t necessarily mean hepatic encephalopathy is the culprit. I suppose there are degrees of the condition and maybe that is what I’m dealing with here. But I’ve been through this stage with Riley three times and have never seen it like this before.

Yesterday… I began the task of organizing the store room and unpacking some long overdue boxes. We’ve lived here for six months and I still have packed boxes in both the store room and guest room. I’m fortunate to have a store room at all. We have a laundry room the size of Texas with also contains pantry shelves so I don’t need another pantry. Just inside the back door there is a small room that was once used by the owner as a home office. It’s very small six feet by eight feet but with proper shelving it’s a perfect place for the vacuum cleaner, pet food bins, hammers and tools, canning supplies, etc.

I was having difficulty moving some of the boxes around when it hits me – this is physical labor. There is a man in this house, but he’s too busy napping to help me move these things around. There’s something wrong with this picture.

I know… I know… I know why he is napping… he is in a state of somnolence. Riley takes between four and six naps each day. But, I look at him and think – he’s not that bad yet. I’ve seen him far worse than this. And I start to feel as though I’m being played. That cunning, baffling and powerful alcoholic has conned me into believing that he physically can’t help me – when he’s not that bad yet.

Just to be sure of my suspicions, I watch him. He is able to fix a sandwich and clean up his mess. He takes the trash out. He does a load of his laundry. He naps. So there is still some physical activity that requires brain function. Even if he is at the early stages of hepatic encephalopathy, he is still capable of helping me finish the store room as long as he has supervision and I don’t expect him to do it all alone.

Riley has established a pattern in his life with which he is comfortable. He does only the chores he chooses to do, he eats and sleeps whenever he wants, and doesn’t take responsibility when he screws something up. He imposes himself into my space and no matter how many times I ask for him NOT to do something – he does whatever he wants anyway.

Gosh… wish I could do that. Even without Riley, I would still have to do things I don’t want to do. Like – my real job – I want to retire, but my attorney tells me to wait one more year. I don’t like it – but I’ll do it.

So… I tell it to him straight. We will finish up the store room this morning before I go to church. He will take certain things to the shed and put some things into the trash. We will do it together to be sure that it is done correctly and I’ll help him with the really heavy stuff. When the task is complete… he can nap as long and as many times as he wants.

This man knows me -- he knows how to manipulate me. Sometimes, he has the power to make me doubt what I see or sense. But it only happens when I allow it to happen.

That slip in my consciousness usually happens when I’ve taken on too many tasks and have become overly tired. This week has been filled with stressful situations and I needed to rest. I got a good night sleep and today he will not be able to fool me into believing that he does not understand or is not physically able to do what I ask. I will not treat him so much like an adult – but like a defiant teen.

I’m a firm believer of having the punishment fit the crime – especially for teens. Our son, Brian, was assigned the chore of taking the trash can to the street on garbage day. It’s a simple thing to roll the can out as he was leaving for school. But, he kept forgetting and to keep from becoming an invitation to critters on the days when he had forgotten, I would do it myself. I warned Brian that if he forgot one more time, I would put the trash can in his bed.

The very next trash day, Brian forgot. But I didn’t. Rolling that can around to the front door and up the steps, through the hall and then hoisting it onto his bed was hard work. It would have been easier if I had just taken it to the street myself. But, where was the lesson in that?? He never forgot again.

If Riley does not comply in helping me finish the store room – well – let’s just say I hope he likes napping without a bed.

An organized mind...

Yesterday, Alea had an issue and needed her Mommy. Of course, I accommodated her. We talked on the phone for a couple of hours going over her issues, feelings, and options and then planned a course of action. I don’t care how long I was on the phone, my child needed me and that was the only important thing in my life at that moment.

I had closed my office door thinking it would keep Riley from disturbing our conversation. I thought that he would understand that the closed door meant that whatever was going on was important and needed my undivided attention. Silly me.

In the mornings, Riley and I sit at my desk and he tells me his plan for the day. Yesterday’s plan was to clean out and reorganize the refrigerator. I wanted to move the shelves and make it easier to find things that get pushed to the back. I told him to take everything out, wash the shelves and then I would come in and put it all back.

I didn’t mean I would jump up from my desk the minute he completed his share of the task. I was dismayed when he opened up my office door and informed me that I had to come out right now and finish the refrigerator. I told him I’d be out when I was done. He returned two more times to let me know that the things that needed refrigeration were getting warm. I repeated that I would be out when I was done talking to Alea.

The phone call was over. I went out to the kitchen and saw everything on the counter. Riley was sitting in his chair, but when he saw me he jumped up and said I had been inconsiderate because now he wanted to take a nap but had to stay up to help me. I told him I didn’t need his help yet and to go lie down if that’s what he wanted.

From there he proceeded to tell me that I shouldn’t be on the phone for three hours talking to someone – anyone. I also shouldn’t be playing computer solitaire when there is work to be done – especially when I have my real job to do. Then he went off into his usual tirade about living in the real world – his personal fav.

I lost my temper and began yelling back. (Never try to come between MommaLinda and one of her kids.)

Then I abruptly stopped.

I shut up.

I looked at him and told him he should go take a nap.

A sober Riley would not have cared how long I talked to Alea. A sober Riley would have realized there was nothing frozen on the counter and nothing was going to spoil in that time frame. A sober Riley would have been impressed that I could talk on the phone and play computer solitaire at the same time. The person I was angry with was not a sober Riley. I lost my temper and began yelling at – who?? No one. No one that could understand or hear what I was trying to convey.

It’s perfectly normal to lose your temper and defend yourself. But, you can’t defend yourself and be successful at protecting yourself when dealing with an alcoholic. There’s really nothing to defend. The angry, defensive words are lost in the haze. It means nothing. The only thing I gained was a raise in my blood pressure. 

Riley mumbled all the way to his room. And I looked around. OK. I needed to fix this. I got the plastic shoe boxes that I bought just for this task. I sorted out the cheese from the lunch meat and the condiments from the leftovers. I put the cheese into a box, and did the same for the lunch meat and condiments that I use most often. The less used condiments are placed into another box. I threw away the very old leftovers. If I had two of something, I consolidated it into one. And the stuff that only had a small amount in the jar got put into a smaller container.

I put the boxes into the refrig, all lined up nice and neat. Now I can slide the boxes in and out and get to what is in the back of the shelf. Everything looked great. I was so proud of myself.

As I was looking at my handiwork, I thought that at one time this could have represented Riley’s brain. All neat and organized with everything having a purpose and place. It was one of the things I had loved and admired about him. Now his brain couldn’t connect to logic and order. He tries, but just doesn’t get there.

Instead of being defensive, I should have said… “I understand you’re upset.” I must remember that I only hurt myself when I become angry. There is nothing to gain by vehemently expressing my point.  In this house, my point is only important to me.