Keeping reality real...

After a frustrating week of trying to get help for the stray hound dog, Deputy McArthur arrived and took the sweet boy to SPCA for medical treatment. It was difficult to see him go, but the reality is that I cannot afford another dog. I pray that he gets a good home where he will be fed regularly and played with everyday.

This retirement thing is being a bit difficult to grasp. I still get up before dawn and find myself trying to get things done before my usual clock in time. I’m getting better – I actually took a nap yesterday. I think that these first few weeks may be a bit of a trial. I need to be better at scheduling my time and staying in a quasi routine.

My daughter, Alea, came out to visit for a couple of days. It’s always good to have her here. It started raining just as Alea was getting ready to leave. She made mad dashes to her car with her bags, trying to stay as dry as possible. I was in my office and I heard Riley yell out the back door – “You know it’s raining out there!” and “You’re gonna get wet!” He can’t stand up without holding onto something and he grasped the laundry room sink which is near the door. Still he swayed back and forth, watching his daughter scurry around her car.

It’s not often I see or hear Alea get irritated with her father. But today was different. She raced back up the steps and I heard her yell –“Move!!!” I knew that Riley was standing right in front of the door and she could not get around him. She was getting soaked just trying to get into the house.

The next thing I heard was – “Really, Dad? I’m pretty sure I know that it’s raining and I’m darned sure I know that I’m getting wet!!” There was no humor in her voice. There was no punctuating laughter. She was just disgusted with his statements of the obvious. “I think I know what I’m doing and yelling at me from the door is not helping anything or anyone.” As she entered back into my office, she mumbled “Damn drunks.”

Now, I know, and Alea knows, Riley is not responsible for the rain. He didn’t make it happen and no one blames him for the weather. We live in the south where it rains one minute and there’s clear blue sky the next. We just live with it. It is a fact of life. But somehow when Riley starts in with that little tone in his voice, it almost seems that he thinks someone is definitely responsible for those drops of water falling from the sky. It seemed to Alea and me, that Riley thought she had ordered up the rain and then went out to play in it. The thought of that made us laugh. So as we are speaking out about ridiculous weather scenarios we decided that just before her next visit we’d order up some snow to kill the gnats. Then on the day she arrives, we’ll order up a nice sunny, yet cool, day so we could sit outside and have a bar-be-que. How lovely it would be if that were reality.

Ahhh… reality… how fleeting it is in the house that contains an alcoholic – especially an end-stage alcoholic. For Riley, reality is whatever is on the news at the moment and everything on the news is an urgent matter that somehow needs someone to respond to it at the exact same moment that he hears it. He comes to my office door and makes a statement – then he laughs or grunts or makes some kind of noise and then goes back to the TV as he throws out possible outcomes of the newest bit of information. I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to do about it. Sometimes I comment. Sometimes I ignore. Sometimes I snicker. Sometimes I become irritated.

There are a lot of unrealistic things going on lately. Like, Riley’s need to hang on every phone conversation that I may have. His theory is that he wouldn’t mind if I picked up the phone and eavesdropped on his conversations with his brother, therefore, I should not mind if he does it with my phone conversations. I explain that just because he doesn’t mind me eavesdropping doesn’t mean that I don’t mind.  It’s not a concept that he can grasp. Simple courtesy escapes him because his reality only concerns what he wants at any given time. His reality is not realistic.

After Alea left, I felt a sense of loneliness in the house. My reality is that I need to make some changes. There is no companionship with a man whose world resides in a bottle or a TV set. Conversations are difficult even on his good days. I have been out here in the country for a year and I need to start cultivating some friendships with local ties.

Now that I’m not immersed in a “regular” job, there is no reason why I can’t join that book group that meets on Wednesday mornings. I have no time constraints that prevent me from volunteering at the hospital or library. As the caretaker of an end-stage alcoholic, I must remember that I need other people who are not part of the insanity. Interaction with others will give me insight – a barometer – of how bad things really are with Riley. If I continue to simply live my entire life within these walls, I may become to immune to the insanity and start to view it as not so unusual. It’s like placing a box in the corner of a room the day you move into a new house. After a while, it starts to feel that the box belongs in that corner and so it never gets unpacked or moved. That’s just where it’s always been so that’s just normal. I've even been known to throw a tablecloth over it, put a lamp on top and call it a table. The reality is that it IS NOT a table, just a box disguised as a table. But, it becomes a table because that starts to feel like a normal reality.

I know that even in retirement, I have a lot on my plate. My projects are taking the spotlight – that’s a good thing. But, I must learn to structure my time so that I’m taking advantage of other possible activities. I always work best in some form of scheduled situation – I would have failed if I had been forced to attend Montessori School as a child. I used to have a day-timer and I think I need one again. Uhhhh…. Do they even make those anymore???

Today’s schedule and tasks are: 1) Get a day-timer; 2) Set aside time in my day-timer to find a local friend and/or do an outside activity.

How hard could that be??

Home hunting hound...

On Wednesday I joined the ranks of the unemployed. So I guess that means I’m officially retired. RETIRED. What does that mean really? I certainly have things/projects that I’m working on. Does that mean I’m doing a “working retirement” like taking a “working vacation?” I’m not earning a paycheck from an outside employer and I’ve started collecting Social Security checks – so is that what it means to be retired?

Oh well… for me it means that I have lost my primary health insurance provider and to replace it will cost me $400/month, plus $50 for dental and $20 for vision. To convert the life insurance policies is another $600/month. So that’s $1,070/month just to keep my insurance benefits. I’ll need to go back to work just to pay for all that! But, if I go back to work full-time – I won’t need to pay for it because it would probably be in my benefits package! I think this is called a Catch 22.

I wonder if my readers would be offended if I put a couple of ads on my blog? It probably won’t earn a lot – but every little bit helps.

Whenever there is a hurricane/storm/tornado, lots of animals end up lost. Somehow they get separated from their families and are left to wander the area searching for food and shelter. I don’t know why people don’t protect their pets when they have been warned of inclement weather – nevertheless – it happens.

After receiving the news of my unemployment on Wednesday, a mottled-gray hunting hound showed up in our backyard. He (un-neutered) crawled under our little old Toyota and growled at anyone who came near. When he did come out, I could see that he was starving. I could see his backbone and he could barely stand. My first instinct was to feed him – but I didn’t know if he was sick so I decided to hang back.

Riley put out a bowl of food and he happily appeared from under the car and downed the whole bowl in a matter of seconds. I wasn’t supervising and before I knew it Riley had given him FIVE bowls of food. If an animal is starving it is not wise to give it some much food at one time. Food should be introduced slowly. I saw that on Animal Cops, so I take it as the gospel truth. They wouldn’t lie to me.

Anyway, I told Riley that I had just lost my job and couldn’t afford to feed another animal. He agreed to slow down on the feeding. I also told him that if we feed him, he will never try to find his way back home. Besides, we don’t know if the dog is sick and he may be contagious to our Jade and the neighbors Maggie.

On Thursday morning I started calling our county animal control office. There was no answer. I kept trying. After having no success at that effort, I called our veterinarian and was told that animal control didn’t open until 1 p.m. I waited and then called again, and again, and again – no answer and it was now almost 5 p.m. My anxiety was growing over the health of this dog. I called the sheriff’s department and was told the info would be passed on and someone would be out to our house soon. When no one showed up on Thursday, I called again on Friday – and was again told that someone would be out shortly.

Everything is different in the country. Time passes much slower out here. I have discovered that the term “soon” or “shortly” could mean days or maybe even weeks. It is now Saturday morning and “shortly” has not yet arrived. My concern for this dog is growing, but I’m now feeding it regularly. It doesn’t appear to be sick – but you never know.

Add to this that Riley has decided that we need to keep the dog and make him our own. Ohhhhh boy… I reiterate to him that I’ve just lost my job and we can’t afford any additional expenses at this time. I try to reason with him – the dog is not neutered and we don’t know if he needs shots – I’m looking at an vet bill of about $600 by the time we get the physical, shots, neutering, flea, tick, heartworm treatment – the list goes on. Not to mention that we feed our dog high quality food and it is not cheap. Adding this dog doubles our dog food expense. Keeping the dog doesn’t seem like a good plan to me.

Riley is an actor. For the past two days, he’s acted in the role of a Jewish MaMa playing the guilt card. How could I leave that poor dog outside when he so clearly wants to come in the house? How could I turn my back on a creature that needs our help? Look how he plays with Jade and Maggie. Look how Jax Cat doesn’t mind him being around. It goes on and on. Riley is not Jewish – but he could win an Oscar for this role.

I’m not buying a ticket for that performance. Riley does not take care of the dog he has adding another dog to the mix is ludicrous. Of course, an argument ensues when I tell Riley that he cannot be trusted to be responsible for an additional dog. I turn off my ears and fail to hear his pleas.

I’m still waiting for the Sheriff to come out and take the dog to the shelter. They can give him the proper care – feed and examine him. Possibly they can find the family who left him behind – but if it were me – I wouldn’t return him to them because it looks like he hasn't been fed well since before the hurricane. This is a hunting hound with long floppy ears, big paws and small body. We live in hunting country.  He’s a sweet, friendly dog and I’m sure he’ll end up in a good home. It just won’t be MY home.

Salty beer...

Riley’s drink of choice these days is beer. As I’ve said before… 1 can of beer equals one shot of hard liquor. No news there. But what I didn’t know was that 95% of a can of beer is water. That was encouraging because, in my mind, I was thinking “how bad could that be?” Well… it turns that it is very bad because beer has no sodium.

I’ve noticed that Riley’s modes operandi is different when he is drinking beer rather than vodka. He is obviously getting sicker, but the “sick” is different than it was before. I did a lot of research and didn’t come with anything until yesterday.

Beer Potomania (which develops into hyponatremia) is a syndrome that relates to low sodium levels in the bloodstream as a result of ingesting large quantities of beer. The larger quantity of beer means large quantities of water because a can of beer is 95% water. That means that the sodium in the bloodstream is diluted by the excess of water. 

When you combine that with the loss of sodium through vomiting and diarrhea the situation is further compromised. Other factors include a diet low in protein and low intake of potassium, which is common in alcoholics.

Because the body is not excreting the amount of water it takes in, the cells absorb the excess water and swell. The brain begins to swell and pushes on the skull which has limited space for expansion of the brain.

Some symptoms of low sodium levels include: irritability, headache, confusion, lethargy, muscle aches or spasms. As the brain swells, symptoms will eventually lead to personality changes, hallucinations, decreased levels of consciousness, seizures and coma, and then, ultimately, death.

So now, along with all the related complications of being an alcoholic, such as, hepatic encephalopathy, cirrhosis, vitamin and mineral deficiency, we now also have this issue of low sodium. When Riley was drinking vodka, he was using a mixer – strawberry soda was one of his favs. The soda contains sodium. So he would not have had the low sodium issue as a result. In fact his sodium level was probably too high. He now drinks approximately 16 cans of beer a day. Anything over six cans a day is considered to be excessive according to several websites.

It all makes more sense to me now. Riley only eats one meal a day. Even though, the meal is very small – it is still a meal. He always salts everything on his plate. So sometime through the night (because he picks at his food all through the night), he is taking in sodium. In the morning, when I wake up, we are able to have a relatively decent discussion probably because his sodium levels are higher than at any other time. But, as the day progresses his sodium level is diluted making him more and more unreasonable.

I’m not a medical professional, so I’m not sure if my theory holds water. But it sounds right to me. It was strange that I had to do a lot of Googling and Binging to find anything about how vodka drinking differs from beer drinking. But once I knew what terms to use, I actually found quite a bit of information. It was difficult to understand the equations about how much the kidneys will excrete versus daily intake, but even if I got some of this wrong – I think my general theory may be correct.

I shared this knowledge with Riley. I didn’t expect any light to come on in his head and say – “Hey, I’m gonna quit!!” I’m not that naïve. However, I do find that the more knowledge I have, the more sense it makes. And the more sense it makes the easier it is for me to cope and know what’s ahead. As I have said many times before in this blog – knowledge is key. Educate yourself. It won’t change the alcoholic, but it will help the caretaker dealing with confusion and conflict.

If anyone knows more about this syndrome – please post a comment and share your knowledge.

Cleanliness is...

Impossible. It’s impossible to keep my house clean when I have so many unclean creatures living here.

When we first moved out here to the beautiful, peaceful, quiet countryside, I expected a few issues with things like insects, mice, snakes and other creatures in the natural order of life. I’m not one of those people who will just randomly kill anything that doesn’t look human – after all – I understand the usefulness of the snakes that eat the mice and the spiders that eat the bugs. I appreciate their place in my life.

But… I draw the line at roaches. I find there is NO useful aspect of them in ANY area of my life or home. I have no qualms about sending them to roach heaven. I just can’t squish them – I must spray them with insecticide until they OD and roll over on their little backs – fighting for that last breathe of clean air.

The bottom line is -- we have lots and lots of roaches. We are under contract with a local exterminator and I call him far more often than the regular visits. But it isn’t enough and I find that if I’m not anal about keeping things bug UNfriendly – they will get so comfortable that I expect to find them kicked back in the recliner watching the big screen TV in the middle of the night.

Last weekend, I realized that I had been negligent in my bug control duties. We have a giant pantry that’s combined with the laundry room. When I took out the uncovered plastic shoebox containing the unwrapped spaghetti, I found a several generations of little dark brown creatures teeming in the bottom of the plastic box and inside the spaghetti box. There were so many that I took the entire box outside and dumped the whole thing into the garbage can. I then spayed the inside of the can with my can of spray.

I kicked into gear – much like in the movie Hooch… where Tom Hanks spills something inside the fridge and ends up cleaning the entire kitchen. Or maybe when you wipe a spot off the wall and end up painting the entire room. I was disgusted and I was on a mission.

My stomach was churning as I removed everything from the shelves. Anything that was not tightly sealed got sent to the garbage. Anything I could put into sealed glass or plastic canisters – found a new home. I removed every bit of cardboard packaging – since that was where I found the most of the roaches. I took the sealed plastic bags of rice, etc and put them into a plastic shoebox that had a tight fitting lid. There is no longer anything in my pantry from which a roach could benefit.

So here I am… head over heals cleaning the pantry when Riley comes in and yells at me that I’m cleaning TOO much. He says that I know none of this is necessary. I looked up. I was shocked that he would think it was OK to live in a roach infested house. But, instead of trying to use reason and logic – I went back to my chore.

Mindless cleaning leaves room in the brain for thought. And I thought about Riley and his cleanliness standards. I thought about the odor that wafts from his bedroom and bathroom. I thought about the time I saw him flick a roach off some food that was left out and then proceed to eat it afterward. I thought about the brown streaks down the back of his legs from the diarrhea that never got wiped off. I thought about the layers of gunk on his scalp that have been there since his last haircut – two months ago. I thought about the trash can in his room that he uses as a vomit bowl and then never washes out. I thought about the New Year’s Eve I spent in the emergency room because I had managed to get Salmonella from cleaning his bathroom.

So now my stomach is really upset not just from the roaches but from the reality of living with an end-stage alcoholic.  This is the way it is.  My readers tell me all the time about the unsanitary conditions that never seems to be a bother to the end-stage. I’m not alone in this septic tank.

I don’t understand how things get so far from how they used to be. Oh… I know… I DO understand – it’s the alcohol saturation in the brain thing. But, I mean, REALLY…

When I met Riley he was obsessively clean. Every Saturday was cleaning day and everything – from windows to refrigerator – were cleaned. When you walked in you could smell the Pine-Sol. Even after we had children – Saturday was cleaning day – and everyone pitched in. I liked that. I thought how lucky I was to have a man who didn’t mind cleaning the toilet.

I know that the Riley of the past is gone. I know he doesn’t mind the roaches or the fleas or the smell of his room or body. For the most part, I accept that he is neither agreeable nor capable of helping me in the housekeeping. I’m on my own.

So… here I am… armed with my can of Hot Shot, pail of soapy bleach water, a roll of paper towels and a determination to end the roach procreation cycle inside my house.  I may not be able to win a battle with the booze brained Riley – but I sure as bloody hell will NOT let those roaches be victorious!

Positively negative...

My family tells me that I’m one of the most positive people they know. But then, they ARE my family – so I believe they must be a bit prejudiced. They love me. They may not always understand me and sometimes they just down-right don’t approve of some of the things I do. I always give them something (or someone) to talk about during family backyard barbecues. I really don’t mind being the fodder of their jolly. It creates conversation and makes them express their opinions. It makes them appreciate their own lives and helps them to see that they all may have different options.

When I was having a lot of dental work done, one of my nieces said to me with that little laugh… “Oh… Aunt Linda, you make having a root canal sound like something to look forward to!” Why not?? The end result would be straight teeth and the ability to chew food on both sides of my mouth. I was definitely looking forward to that. The procedure was just a stopping place in the journey to a healthy mouth. That’s a positive.

Riley’s journey through alcoholism can be looked at as both a positive and a negative. For me alcoholism is a negative. Riley doesn’t see it that way – he believes it’s the best possible way to live his life. For him being drunk is a positive. He wishes he could stay drunk without being alcoholic, but he knows that’s not reality and for him that is a negative. On the other hand, he is positively happy that I no longer try to force sobriety down his throat. There is a peace in this house because of that and that is a positive for both of us.

I am very positive that I’m fortunate that Riley is not a violent drunk. He is abusive – without a doubt – but it’s all mental abuse and I can handle that. I’ve detached from the drunken Riley and no longer take any abuse personally. I do get caught off guard and that’s when I’m vulnerable to his words. When that happens, I’m negative about being able to follow through on my commitment to stay with him until he expires.

The future for Riley does not have a positive outcome. He will die as a result of excessive alcohol abuse. I do not believe there is any hope of him miraculously deciding to become sober. Been there! Done that! In fact, I doubt I could find a rehab center that would admit him. He has a tendency to not participate in his own recovery. Anyone dealing with an end-stage alcoholic knows the frustration of having great hope as the alcoholic heads toward sobriety just to be slapped down when the drinking resumes. There is nothing positive about that – so – YES – I’m negative about Riley’s chances for sobriety.

Reality sometimes sucks. But ignoring reality is worse. I don’t live in a world where I can create my own reality which does not match the way things really are. I don’t live in Alice’s Wonderland, but instead I live above the rabbit hole. The reality of alcoholism is that there are only two ways out – sobriety or death. I’m realistic about Riley not choosing sobriety. I’m realistic that alcohol kills. I’m realistic that I must protect my own life while protecting my daughter from the destruction of alcohol.

I believe that trying to force an end-stage alcoholic into sobriety is not rational. In fact, trying and trying can make a person insane. I think Albert Einstein said it best when he said that the definition of insanity is “Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”  A definition of rational is “Consistent with or based on reason; logical” as shown in www.thefreedictionary.com. With those two definitions, I believe I can surmise that the thought of Riley choosing sobriety would be both irrational and therefore – insane. I have choices too – I can choose that insane way of thinking or I can be a rational realist. I choose the later.

To sum it all up – I think the best description of me is – I’m a positive person, a rational realist, who thinks negatively about Riley’s recovery while realistically accepting life as it is in the present and the probable future. That about sums it up.

Co-dependent enabler...

Before I understood alcoholism, back many, many years ago, I enabled Riley to continue drinking. I made excuses for his behavior and cleaned up messes left in his drunken wake. I didn’t realize I was being an enabler, I thought I was just being a good wife. There is a fine line.

In a “normal” marriage the husband and wife are co-dependent in their effort to make the marriage work. There may be a division of chores or responsibilities. In my parent’s marriage, my father went off to work and my mother took care of the household and children. So my father depended on my mother for a hot cooked meal and clean sheets. My mother depended on my father to bring home the bacon. It worked. Most marriages today have similar aspects. One cooks and the other cleans up. One does laundry and one mows the lawn. This is where co-dependency works.

But there is a dark side to co-dependency. It’s the version where one party enables the addiction by feeding into the dependency on the substance. It’s a way of staying in control. I don’t think anyone does it purposefully. It just seems to grow into happening as the addiction progresses. Sometimes it happens so slowly that it is hard to recognize.

Have you ever bailed someone out of jail when they were thrown in the drunk tank? Do you avoid confronting the alcoholic about the drinking? Have you lied to anyone about why you couldn’t do something because to tell the truth would be too embarrassing?  These are all actions of a co-dependent trying to stay in control of the situation. But the only thing that is really happening is that the non-alcoholic is enabling the alcoholic to drink by removing the consequences of the drinking. The alcoholic is dependent on the non-alcoholic to do these things – it is a co-dependent relationship.

For caretakers of end-stage alcoholics, things get a little more complicated. They absolutely must control the alcoholic’s actions in order to protect the people outside the alcoholic’s circle. An end-stage alcoholic is beyond reason and very much like a child in need of supervision. If left alone, an alcoholic will expand his circle and include innocent people with whom he would otherwise never come into contact.

From the outside it looks like we are all just a bunch of co-dependent, enabling lunatics. Don’t like outside appearances fool you.  We’ve paid our dues by trying to allow the alcoholic reap the unpleasant side-effects of drunkenness. We’ve spent years refusing to by booze, taking away the car keys, telling people exactly how things are and not lying the boss. But now… well…  things are different.

The first thing I must go against is providing alcohol for the alcoholic. Al-Anon says we should never provide alcohol because it’s enabling the continuation of the addiction. In end-stage, there is no hope that the alcoholic will stop. The only thing we can do is make sure the fewest amount of people possible are affected by the destruction.

In order to keep the alcoholic from driving drunk, I get the alcohol. I do it because I want to prevent Riley from causing an accident that may injure an innocent bystander. He refuses to go to the hospital for detox – he’s been there many times. In fact, I would be hard pressed to find a hospital or detox center that would admit him to treatment. I have no choice but to continue to supply the alcohol. Detoxing after many attempts and many years of continual drinking is extremely dangerous and should never be attempted without medical assistance. Riley’s at end-stage. I understand that any attempts to obtain sobriety are futile.

End-stage caretakers provide the basic needs to the alcoholic. At this stage, he is not mentally or physically able to care for his own basic needs. For me, it’s the humane thing to do. Providing shelter and food, and preventing him from driving, keeps him out of harms way – except for the harm he is doing to himself. I feel that I’m not so much caretaking Riley as I am protecting the rest of the world from his insanity.

In my case, I knew Riley would be completely dependent on me when I agreed to take him in. But, for many caretakers, it happens while they are not looking. Everything will be going along in the same normally chaotic manner and then something will happen and they will discover that the alcoholic is end-stage. Sometimes end-stage sneaks up on the non-alcoholic and they find themselves having to make a decision about what to do.

I made my decision. For me it was clear-cut. I feel no satisfaction in having power over Riley’s actions. In reality, I only have power over how I let his alcoholism affect ME. I don’t believe I’m co-dependent because I gain nothing by him staying drunk. It would be wonderful if he would manage to get sober and stay sober, thereby moving out of my house.

I am his caretaker. I provide a soft place for him to die because that is his choice. Alcohol is a terminal illness with only one prescription for survival – sobriety. Riley doesn’t want the fill that prescription.

Am I an enabler? Absolutely. I enable him to maintain his choice of not filling his prescription for survival. If he ever changes his mind – I’ll enable him by supporting his quest to find a way out of this craziness.

Life is short...

A month ago I was diagnosed as being diabetic. I was concerned, but I don’t need medication, just diet and exercise would keep it under control. However, it was clear that my feeling tired and ill now had an explanation.

At about the same time I discovered a lump in my neck. I ignored it thinking it was just the result of having been sleeping with the fan on full force all through the night. I have a tendency to get a sore throat and cold-like issues when I leave the fan on. I thought the lump was just the sign of an infection that would go away in a few days.

During one of my phone calls to Carrot, I mentioned the almond growing under my jawbone. I made light of it, but Carrot was angry. She made me promise to go to the doctor’s immediately. I thought she was over-reacting, but I know better than to try to argue with her. She seldom gets angry with me – but this time was different.

Last week I went to see my primary care physician – actually I see his physician’s assistant, Erica. I had never been examined by the doctor, but have always felt that Erica did an excellent job of taking care of my medical needs. Things were different with this appointment. Erica shuffled me off to the lab to give them some blood. Then I was asked to wait in the little waiting area until the results were in. Then Erica asked me to join her and the doctor in the examining room.

The doctor re-examined my almond. He put his hands in my mouth and asked me to stick my tongue out and then in and then out. He asked me a few questions and then told Erica to schedule an aspiration. The doctor then left the room.

Erica told me that it looked as though I may have a growth on my lymph node. I knew she was talking about lymphoma. I asked her if she thought it could be anything else. She said there are very few illnesses that present in that manner. Also, looking at my recent complaints of feeling tired and general malaise, all fit in with that condition. Besides, the fact that the almond was hard and not really painful was a real cause for concern. She told me she wanted to be prepared for the worse and expect the best.

I left the office in a bit of a daze. I could be dying. I could be dead before Riley. That would be the ultimate slap in the face. I didn’t know if I should tell Alea or wait for the final verdict. I just kind of wandered around. I called Carrot and gave her the news. She told me originally her mother had been diagnosed with Lymphoma before she got the lung cancer that killed her. She broke down. She said I MUST tell Alea.

I consulted Dr. Google and found that the type of Lymphoma that I most likely had would usually mean a 70% chance of living more than 5 years. That’s not bad – I thought. I can do a lot in 5 years. I’m 62 and that would mean I have an expiration date at 67 years old.

The following Saturday, Alea came out and we went over the money. I told her where it would come from and how I wanted it dispersed. We talked about her taking care of Riley and how to handle that situation.  I told her I had a 5-year plan for what I wanted to accomplish and I needed to start right away.

On Wednesday I had a CT scan and got the results the same day. I am “cancer-free”. The lump is a severe infection of the submandibular gland – in short I have an infected spit gland. It is treated with antibiotics, rest and drinking lots of water. I was ecstatically happy. I was alone in the car while I made the 2 hour drive towards home. I had a lot of time to think.

How ironic it would be to have Riley outlive me. One more thing Riley could hold up to the world – “see I told you I would live longer than you – and you didn’t drink!” My goal of keeping Riley from living with Alea would have been for nothing because the decision would no longer be under my control. It became very clear to me what I must do.

I must get the diabetes under control and get myself as healthy as I can be. And making the five-year plan was really not a bad idea. I could still keep it in action. Reviewing the money and other issues was a good thing for Alea and I to do. She now knows exactly where I stand on who gets what.

Most importantly, I will not take for granted anything that life has to offer. I will see all of my family as often as I can. I will appreciate every second. I think I have gotten off track since my very first post when I enjoyed every sunrise. I’ve been missing them lately.

When our lives are consumed with caretaking the alcoholic, we lose sight of what is important to us as individuals. We must be vigilant in remembering that there is life outside that insane alcoholic circle and living every bit of that life is not just that would be nice, but something that is essential.

If we don’t live our life to the fullest we allow alcohol to win. Knowing alcohol is a loser -- I plan to win!

It's a trap...

As I was reading the comments to my last post, I realized that I had fallen into a trap much like the kind you see that has a big hole in the ground covered with brush. The prey is lured toward the covered hole and eventually falls right in.

Since Riley has only been drinking beer, his outward appearance has been less “drunken like” than it was when his drink of choice was vodka. This beer thing is new to me since he has never drank very much beer in the entire 40+ years that I’ve known him.

The trap is that he appears to be able to have a conversation. His head isn’t weaving about while he’s trying to focus and the physical appearance is that of someone who has only consumed just a couple of beers. So the brush over the trap is set by means of the first bit of conversation.

The unsuspecting non-drinker is lured into an attempt to have a deeper discussion. It may start off with just a couple of innocuous questions, like: “What are your plans for today?” and at first Riley gives understandable answers. That only deepens the hole under the trap. Before you realize it you’re right in the middle of the brush and you grasp at the walls of the hole as you fall into the dark.

Such has been my conversations with Riley lately. Thanks to my readers comments, I see that clearly now. He may only be drinking beer, but the result is the same. It just isn’t as obvious now. If he had an alcohol meter on his forehead, it would register as overfilled. What a wonderful thing that would be!! -- A little meter that the non-alcoholic could use to determine if today was a good conversation day. Of course it would NEVER be a good conversation day when a person drinks in excess every single day of his life. So why bother at all?

I think the reason we try is because we sometimes still see that person that used to live in that body. I try to connect with the reasonable, loving, responsible person that was. In the case of the end-stage alcoholic – that attempt is futile.

Riley is brain-damaged and is unable to make rational, logical decisions. He has lost touch with his feelings so he feels that he has never had any. Maybe he felt too much. Maybe he has known all along that his actions were depraved. Maybe he drinks as a means to medicate himself against feeling anything.

For me, believing that he is anesthetized is far more acceptable than the things he has been saying lately. It makes sense to me and I need logic in my life. The problem isn’t in having an overpowering love for Riley that keeps me from seeing reality. I lost that loving feeling for him a very long time ago. The problem is in my attempts to include the father of my children and housemate to be something more than a person who needs my caretaking. It appears that he doesn’t really need caretaking at the moment – but that is a faulty perception based on outward appearance only.

Reality – I must remember to live in reality. It takes four years of absolute sobriety for the brain to be alcohol free. It has been less than a year since Riley’s last detox and he has drunk beer every day since. So thinking that he is capable of reason and logic is unreasonable and illogical on my part.

I think being out here in the country with so little human interaction is getting to me. I think the loneliness is making me try to have meaningful conversations and gain a connection to whatever human is in my sight. Riley is the human that I see every single day. He has become my target for breaking the monotony. This is clearly a very huge mistake. I must not except or initiate conversations concerning feelings or anything else that is subjective to my life or my household. If I need a true listening partner I must turn to Carrot or Georgia or any other sane and sober person who truly loves and understands me.

This morning Riley and I discussed Days of Wine and Roses which lead to a discussion about how far the movie industry has come in terms of technology. We discussed actors who are capable of being both the hero and the villain. It was a good conversation. There was nothing personal about the discussion. It was just two people talking over coffee. I very much enjoyed it.

However, I will not let myself be lured into that brush covered trap of thinking that the movie conversation could lead to a deeper, more meaningful conversation. If I stick with the movies and not the feelings, I’ll avoid falling into that deep, dark hole.

All in the family...

Riley and I were talking – more like me reminding him that his health is failing. It diverted to him telling me that he can’t help it – it’s not his fault. He doesn’t like beer but he absolutely MUST drink it because he is an alcoholic. So why drink something you don’t even like? Why not drink vodka? He says because he has to drink the beer because he is an alcoholic. He doesn't want vodka because he will die sooner. I know and understand it’s a vicious circle. OK. Nothing new there.

The subject continues to get diverted to the people he will leave in his wake after his death. He doesn’t understand why anyone would care what he does. He feels nothing for the people who claim to be his family. He tells each of them, his daughter, grandson, and the great-grandbabies, that he loves them. But how can that be?? He tells me he has no feelings for them. I truly believe he is incapable of love. He knows he must go through the motions of loving in order to be acceptable in society – but the real feelings are just not there. I doubt he has ever truly loved anyone – ever – except MAYBE, possibly, his first wife.

I do understand that in Riley’s childhood things like the word “love” just never came up. His childhood was filled with useful, practical, essential things. Love wasn’t on the list. He learned at an early age that love wasn’t a necessity – and in fact – it was a bit of a bother.

Family – according to Riley -- his family is his brother and his oldest son (my stepson) because they share his bloodline. I guess his daughter (actually his step-daughter from before her first birthday) and grandson hold no importance to him. I understand why he doesn’t consider me as family – but the people who have looked after him, cared for him, cleaned up his vomit and poop, picked him up off the floor, provided a safe haven for him, and defended him when others put him down – those people are of little to NO importance. He has no feelings for us – except maybe contempt for trying to get him sober and, by default, keep him alive.

Riley says he has no choice but to die via alcohol, although he claims alcohol will not kill him. I tell him that’s not true. He will die of alcoholism and he does have a choice. He could try detox one more time. He could try rehab one more time. He could try sobriety one more time. He could out live all of us people that he has so much contempt for. He could possibly live long enough to repair his relationship with his oldest son. He could…. But he’s an alcoholic and can’t see past that.

He repeats that he chooses death over sobriety.

So one of the people he cares about is his brother. I like his brother very much. He is a fine man who sees clearly what Riley is doing to himself. He has grieved and suffered while watching Riley destroy his life. This man’s wife has held his hand and offered comfort and support. The big difference between Riley and his brother is that his brother truly loves his wife and children. His brother has the ability to feel emotion. I’m not sure if it was always that way for him, but his wife fits him perfectly and their marriage is strong and loving. It shows when they are together. And the love they share for their three boys is also very obvious. It makes me wonder if Riley’s brother grew up in the same house as Riley.

Riley’s oldest son stopped talking to him many, many years ago. He wants nothing to do with him and refuses any contact what so ever. This young man has been burned so many times by alcoholism – his mother – his brother – his step-brother -- all have died as a result of alcoholism. I can understand perfectly why he would not want to have anything to do with his father. Never mind the fact that his father abandoned him when he was just a young boy. He has a well-deserved axe to grind.

It is interesting that Riley denies abandoning any of his children. Well, he paid child support. Is that the same thing? Riley never played catch with any of the kids, never took them camping, never took them to the museum nor did he ever attend any functions that included the kids playing in the band or singing in the choir. Except --- Alea – she and Riley had a special bond because she was always pushing the envelope. They were each others alibi. They protected each other. He taught her to lie and sneak around. The result for me was the constant fear of what was happening to my daughter as she took those skills into her very rebellious teenage years. And now, he says he has no feelings for her. She is not really his blood therefore she is not his family.

I’m struggling.  Everyday it’s more and more of a struggle to keep in mind that my motivation was to protect my daughter from taking on a drunk who has no concern for what damage he may cause her life. The important thing for him is that he has someone to take care of him as he dives into alcoholic suicide. It really doesn’t matter who. He just needs someone to find the body.

Life in denial...

I live in Denial, NC. It’s just a small town but it has a large population of people who refuse to admit or accept that things are not as they should be. I should run for Mayor because I probably hold the most denial points than anyone else in town.

Yesterday I found myself lying at the bottom of the back steps, denying that I needed any help getting back into the house. I had gone outside to get the trash can ready to go to the street for pick-up. I was about to step down to the next step, but my foot hit a beer can and I tumbled down three brick steps and landed on my side on the concrete driveway.

Riley came to the door and asked if he could help me. I told him that he couldn’t even help himself get up – there was no way he could help me. That’s true – it’s not denial. He has no body strength and expecting him to help me back up the stairs would just have been a frustrating adventure for both of us. So he watched me.

I managed to crawl around to the stair railing and pull myself up to a place where I could hop on one foot up the steps and into the house. I managed to fix an ice pack and went to my office where I could put my foot up and ice it down. It’s not broken – but it’s probably sprained. I didn’t want to go to the emergency room because there really isn’t much they can do – x-ray, ace bandage, and ice packs. I’ve had sprained ankles before and that’s always the drill. I can do that myself. I’m not denying their help – just denying that I NEED their help.

As I chastised myself throughout the day for not being more observant – the stark cold truth hit me right between my eyes. I know and accept that I’m 62 years old – not much of a spring chicken anymore. But, for some reason I deny that I can’t do all the things that a 23 year old can do. I expect a lot from myself and I expect that I can do it all right now – right this very minute. I come from a long line of really tough women. I believe I’m just as tough as Gramma who had a terrific vegetable and flower garden until she was well into her 70s – and she depended on no one to help with watering and weeding – which she did daily. My mother was in her 60s when she went back to college and earned a 4.0 average. And -- she did it while growing an acre of black-eyed peas and selling them for extra money. I deny that I can’t follow in their footsteps.

I’m in denial that I’m blind in one eye and have no depth perception – the beer can that I tripped over was only a part of the problem. I deny that I couldn’t see the beer can because of my faulty eyesight. I deny that my knees don’t work well on stairs so that I have to take them slowly, one at a time. I deny that I needed any help back into the house or that I might need medical attention. And, I deny that I’m in denial about why I fell.

I have other denial attributes. I deny that I can’t cook a balanced meal every single night. I deny that I need help cleaning the house or tending the yard – well maybe not that one so much as that I deny that my budget doesn’t allow for the professional help I don’t deny I need. I deny that Riley will live another two years.

I’m not the only one who lives in this town. My friend denies that she has to make a decision about her marriage. My aunt denies she ever had a drinking issue. My neighbor denies that his dog should be spayed. My boss denies that I’m being set up for failure.  My internet provider denies that their version of high-speed is as slow as a turtle crossing the highway. Riley denies that his beer drinking is what causes his daily vomiting.

Ok. Here’s the deal. I will no longer deny that I can’t do everything I used to do. I will try to accept the fact that it takes me all week to clean the house – because I must do it one room a day. I will try to accept the fact that I must hold on to the railing while going down the steps. I will try not to take it for granted that the steps will be clear of other objects, such as beer cans. I will try not to deny that I have unrealistic expectations of my abilities.

Riley’s denial will continue. He will deny that beer is as bad for him as vodka. He will deny that he needs to shower more often than once a year. He will deny that he’s vomiting daily. He will deny that needs to wear a diaper. He will deny that he can’t walk from one room to another without holding onto something solid. He will continue to deny that he is killing himself.

The big difference between me and Riley is that I can use my denial to my advantage by recognizing it and using it to determine what I must change. I can use it as a tool for self-preservation. The trick is being observant and objective enough to see it for what it is. Sometimes that means taking a fall down the back steps because I denied opening my eyes to the reality of my denial – which was to open my eyes and see what was in front of me.