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I was in session this week and it was being led by the lead counselor of the treatment facility where I work part-time.  He comes from a psychodynamic background and his approach to speaking to patients is pretty existential.

He was trying to make them see that essentially feelings are not facts but they are stories we tell ourselves in our heads.  For example he would say that if you are in a room by yourself it is a fact that you are alone but if in your head you say you are lonely then that is a feeling that you are simply subscribing to.  It is a story you are telling yourself in that moment and that you can either subscribe to it or you can work to let it go.  This is not an easy concept for most people and certainly not for people in early recovery.  I practice as much as I can but it takes me a while even now and it can take hours and even days before I am successful depending on how deep-seated my subscription.

When I was at Caron Treatment Center and I had reached that stage of utter defeat and acceptance, I decided I would try anything that was suggested to me no matter how uncomfortable and no matter how counter-intuitive it seemed to me at the time.  I’ve mentioned before that every counselor and therapist I have ever had has suggested that I try journaling and I had always politely nodded and then promptly ignored the suggestion.  At Caron I nodded and plodded to their bookstore with my head hanging low and bought the only journal I could see, which was this hokey looking thing with a stick figure on the front that said “Me, A Personal Journal.”

There is a page of prompts on one side that starts with “what is the weather?” and “what are the headlines?” and that sort of thing and ends with “what are your goals for tomorrow?” The next page is blank and you can write what you like.  I dutifully wrote every day and at first I felt like a robot but eventually it started to feel natural and then it felt good and finally it felt essential.  I now have about 10 of these hokey looking journals in a box and I write in them almost every day.  The periods of time when I don’t I feel it and always come back to implementing them in my life.  I don’t go back and read them, but I can if I want.  They help me get my thoughts in order and they help me see the day previous in perspective and set me up to see the day forward in good standing.

This morning the prompt “what did you do to brighten someone else’s day?” stopped me in my tracks.  I sat for a full minute and tried to think what I had done for someone else yesterday to make their day better.  I could not think of a single thing.  That never happens any more.  I had been in a foul mood all day yesterday.  I had tried to shake myself out of it (or so I thought).  I had called my sponsor and done what I thought was a thorough tenth step, I had prayed multiple times yesterday for multiple people but I was foul from morning til night.

I realized as I sat in front of my journal earlier this morning that I had been subscribing all day to the feelings of being mad, of being frustrated, of being lonely and of being resentful (red flag areas for any alcoholic and addict).  I had not simply noticed them, used my tool kit, learned from them and let them go.  If I had, then I would have been able to get out of my own head and do something to brighten someone else’s day like I normally try to do and have come to find almost comes naturally to me now.

So today I am unsubscribing.  Today I will brighten someone else’s day. And for the record all those therapists were right, if I hadn’t started journaling I wouldn’t have started writing and I wouldn’t have started blogging and I would not have healed as well as I like to think I have been doing.

Priority

Priority

 

 

So again I was in group this week, are you sensing a theme?  The topic was basically a tutorial on all the 12 steps and we were at a point where the lead counselor was talking about spirituality and a connection to a higher power and how important that is in recovery.

A few minutes later he started going around the room aand asking patients what the most important relationship in their life was, which relationship they would most be afraid to lose today.  They answers ranged from, children, to spouses, to parents and other family members.  Then he asked me and I said, “I would be terrified to lose my connection with my higher power, my spirituality, basically those things that keep me in recovery.”

There was some silence in the room and one of the patients (a father) looked at me with a face full of judgment and said, “I don’t believe that for a second.  You have kids, I can’t believe that you wouldn’t say you wouldn’t be afraid to lose your kids above all else.”

I was able to turn and look him in the eye and explain that my connection to my spirituality and my higher power is the cornerstone that holds the whole house of cards together for me.  If I don’t have that in place everything falls apart.  EVERYTHING.  If that isn’t strong then I will lose my kids in all sense of the word.  I might not lose them in a physical sense immediately, but I would eventually.  I would lose being present with them, I would lose their respect.  I would lose my sense of self, I would lose my own sense of self-respect.  I would likely lose friends and family.  I would likely lose my job and my house and the list could go on until there was nothing left but utter destruction.

It may sound dramatic, but the possibility is all too real for me and other alcoholics and addicts.  I have seen it happen and I have seen it end in death more often than I care to mention. 

In terms of bottoms, you could argue that mine was not all that low.  I have seen lower if I wanted to compare, but it was low enough thanks.  I don’t need to do this again and I’m not sure I have it in me to do so.  I tried to explain this to this man in group and I got choked up.  I tried to explain that he would not have recognized me nearly four years ago and that now at 44 years old I am stronger and happier than I have ever been and I don’t ever want to lose that and all that I have built.  I’m proud of who I have become and I think my kids are too and that is more than I could have imagined when I woke up in de-tox the last time.  But it was hard and to start over at this point starting over is unfathomable.

The other night when I was speaking to a group of women at a rehab, a woman raised her hand at the end and said, “I’m leaving here in a few days and I am scared.”  She asked me if I was ever scared.  I told her it was good to be scared and that I had fears about losing recovery nearly every day but I know I will be ok as long as I do the things I know keep me sober.  Those essential things are connecting with my higher power, keeping spirituality central to my life and reaching down and pulling other alcoholics and addicts up to join me on this journey.

So yes I would be devastated to lose my kids (I already know this on a cellular level from losing Liam) but in order to avoid that I know what relationship I have to keep in place first.  If I do then I am there to catch Dermot when he faints at the doctor’s office and to practice field hockey with Wren in the front yard at Frank’s house.  Without those things as the keystone, all else is lost.

"Mom! I Conquered My Fear!"

“Mom!  I Conquered My Fear!”

 

 

Last week, Frank and I had to take Dermot to CHOP for an EKG.  For those of you who know us and know about Liam, let that sink in.

About 18 months ago, Frank had taken the kids in for a check-up and Wren had needed to get shots.  This had made Wren understandably unhappy and had made Dermot somewhat wobbly from watching it.  Then another appointment later, Dermot had to have a blood test and made the mistake of looking down as they were drawing the blood.  He had a vasovagal reaction and passed out. 

Fear can bring on a vasovagal attack and the sight of needles and blood had done so for Dermot.  The medical definition of a vasovagal reaction (taken from www.medincinenet.com) is “a reflex of the involuntary nervous system that causes the heart to slow down and that, at the same time, affects the nerves to the blood vessels in the legs permitting those vessels to dilate.  As a result the heart puts out less blood, the blood pressure drops, and what blood is circulating tends to go to the legs rather than to the head. The brain is deprived of oxygen and the fainting episode occurs.”

Fast forward to a few weeks ago and just before summer ended I took both kids in for their annual physical.  We were in the car on the way to the appointment and Dermot started getting nervous and asking a lot of questions.  He wanted reassurance that this was just a check-up and nothing else.  He asked me if they were getting any shots and I said I didn’t think so (I really didn’t think that they did have any they needed.).  This was not the answer Dermot needed and he continued to get more and more nervous the closer we got to the doctor’s office.  We parked the car and walked in.  Dermot told me he would come in in just a minute as he needed some air and I turned to sign them both in.  Then from behind the closed front door I heard him say, “Oh no! It’s happening!”  I dropped everything I was holding and turned to grab the front door and haul him in and managed to grab him and mostly catch him So he didn't hit his head hard on the waiting room floor.  He was out for about 15 seconds and convulsing slightly.  I was talking to him quietly and telling him he was going to be fine and hugging Wren at the same time who had started to cry while the nurses were running around the front desk.  We made quite the entrance all over the idea of the possibility of maybe getting a shot.

We got him on a couch and resting for a few minutes before they thought he was alright to come back to the exam room.  Before seeing the doctor, they had to both be weighed and measured.  So they weigh him and as they are getting his height, the nurse is telling him that he needs to put his feet together against the wall and he isn’t responding.  She puts her arms out in front of her to pin him to the wall and I come in and catch him as he goes out again!  I carried him to the exam room, which is no longer an easy feat as the kid is now almost my height at 12 years old and get him on the exam table.  It turns out he was supposed to get a shot after all but they decide not to give it to him because they are worried about his blood pressure.

After speaking to me about the history with Liam and Frank and his sister possibly having issues with mitral valve prolapse, the doctor decides that in order for Dermot to be cleared to play sports in middle school we need to take him to CHOP and have him checked out by cardiology.

The night before the appointment, Frank said Dermot could not sleep because he was so nervous.  We kept telling him that an EKG had nothing to do with needles and that it was going to be fine.  Frank and told him that you are 20% more likely to be successful at something if you tell yourself that you will so he apparently spent time telling himself in front of the mirror, “I am not going to pass out, I am not going to pass out.”

The three of us drove to the appointment together and as we were walking in, Dermot wanted us both to hold his hands.  As we were signing in he said, “Oh no mom!” and I hugged him to me hard.  He was trembling but did not pass out, but we got him a wheelchair just in case because I didn’t want him hitting his head on the floor.  The nurses and techs were great as they explained everything to him and the EKG was super easy.  The doctor came in and said his EKG looked completely normal and asked us a number of questions, including ones about Liam.  After that he examined Dermot and was telling us that he didn’t see anything wrong at all and that was when I quietly lost it.  I had been 99.9% sure he would be fine but hadn’t realized until that moment just how worried I had been and just how much I had been affected by being in CHOP again.

In any case, Frank and I took Dermot out for breakfast before sending him back to school.  Then we realized that we still had to schedule him for that last shot.  Frank called and got an appointment for the next morning (a Saturday).  I had the kids that night but had class that morning so would not be able to join them.  We decided not to tell Dermot about the upcoming shot given that he had hardly slept the night before so that he could at least get some rest.  I dropped the kids off and headed off to class feeling extremely guilty that I couldn’t be there to go with them for the appointment given the fact that the night before Dermot had told me he loved me and that it had made a big difference to have us both there at CHOP (insert knife in heart and twist).  Frank promised to text after the shot.

At about 9:45 am my phone rang and I left my classroom for the hallway.  I answered the call and got a triumphant, “Mom! I conquered my fear!”  Dermot had gotten the shot without passing out.  He was so excited and proud.  Apparently, after telling him where they were going and having Dermot have a melt-down about it, Frank had the genius idea of looking up on the internet how to “hack” a vasovagal attack.  They read up on it together and learned that people who have these attacks tense up and forget to breath so one way to avoid fainting is to wiggle your extremities and remember to breath.  Dermot did this and managed to stop himself from passing out.

I can’t tell you how proud he sounded on the phone and how proud I was of him for dealing with it.  It sounds like a small thing, but for him in that moment it was everything and I think the three of us worked pretty well together to get through it all on many levels.

Dermot approved this message by the way.