Top 100...

The Immortal Alcoholic has been listed as one of the Top 100 Blogs for Overcoming Addiction. I’m honored.

I’m also in great company since several of my fellow bloggers also appear on the list. Congratulations to Syd of I’m Just F.I.N.E. and Dave of higher powered. If you haven’t been to their blogs – do it. Both blogs are a source of inspiration, comfort and humor. You can find their link on the left side of my layout under My Blog List.

Although they didn’t make the Top 100 list, I would be lost without Addy of Alcoholic Daze and Anna of HyperCRYPTICal. These two bloggers are a vital part of my support group. Thank you for being there.

To see the list go here: http://www.nursepractitioner.org/addiction-blogs. Since I don’t have time to read all 100, let me know if you find one to be outstanding. With all those blogs there has got to be a lot of great information and support among them.

Not my choice...

The one aspect of living in the country bit me on the butt this weekend. It was Easter and I would have loved to have had a big family dinner at my house. I have the perfect yard for an Easter egg hunt. We also have lots of rabbits to hide those eggs.

My grandson’s wife has a lot of family where they live. They have a lot of obligations. There just isn’t enough time in the day for them to drive two hours to see us. I understand and I do my best to accommodate them, but I miss them terribly.

So… why don’t we go to them?? It certainly is the best alternative and, until now, we have done just that on previous holidays. This holiday was different because things are changing with Riley.

On Friday night, I cooked a wonderful beef stroganoff. The meat had simmered in a red wine which made it sooooo tender. The onions had caramelized. The mushrooms were fresh. There was nothing low cal about it and every calorie tasted superb! Riley loved it. I loved it. I wanted to lick the pan!

About an hour later, Riley lost his dinner. The stroganoff probably didn’t taste so good going the wrong direction. He went to bed and was up and down to the bathroom all night. The problem continues even through this morning – four days later.

Basically, he has not had a real solid meal since Friday – which doesn’t count because there’s no nutritional value in a meal that can’t be kept down. He has had toast, crackers, soup, and a bit of mac and cheese. In spite of it all, his liquid consumption remains about the same – 12 cans of beer a day with a few sips of water in between.

When my stomach is upset, I want nothing to eat or drink. I have to force myself to eat crackers or soup and to drink water. I usually try to stick to dry toast and warm unsweetened tea. But, I certainly could never drink a beer. The thought of it would send me on a run back to the porcelain bowl. It’s difficult for me to understand how Riley can continue with the beer. I don’t get how it is even physically possible to get it down at all.

So on Easter Sunday, driving two hours to my daughter’s was really not an option. Riley would certainly insist upon going. If he has the flu – I cannot expose the babies or anyone else. Our last trip to her house resulted in Riley peeing all over Alea’s brand new ottoman – that trip was a disaster. So even if the vomiting is part of an alcohol related illness and not contagious – I cannot expose anyone to that either.

One of the reasons I moved to the country was to separate Riley’s alcoholism from the children. As I fret over not being able to see them, I know I’m doing what’s best for them. My plan is working.

In the meantime, I make do with hearing my great-grandson laugh over the telephone. He has such an infectious raucous laughter for a little guy. My great-granddaughter briefly talks to me – she’s a 4 year old with things to do – such a little diva. I enjoy every second of hearing their voices. Afterwards, my resolve is reinforced that I’m doing the right thing for them. They are too little to understand. There should be no need for them to have to understand.

Is the vomiting alcohol related?? The logical part of my brain says – absolutely. We are probably on the downward spiral. I no longer check his feces or intestinal matter for signs of internal bleeding. I’ve freed myself from that by not trying to save him. If I don’t know that he is bleeding internally, I won’t feel compelled to get him to the hospital. I won't ignore it, but I won't look for it either.

I asked him if he wanted to go to the doctor – he said NO. I asked if he wanted to go to the emergency room – he said NO. I told him if he changed his mind to let me know and I would take him. He has not changed his mind. I don’t plan on asking again.

Oh – I know what you are thinking – how could I be so cold!! I’m not cold, I’m doing as Riley has requested. His loud and clear statement of his desire to choose death over sobriety rings clearly in my head on a daily basis. It’s not my choice to make. I won’t go against his wishes again because I’ve done that over and over and I’ve gained no ground.

Just to clarify – I will not keep him from getting to the hospital. I will gladly take him if he asks me for help. If he doesn’t ask for help, I will do nothing until he is unconscious. When that happens he will no longer be able to decide for himself and I will get him medical care. It may be too late by then and if so – it was his choice.

If it turns out that the Immortal Alcoholic is in fact truly mortal… well… next Easter the kids will come to my house the Saturday before and I will have a family holiday in the country filled with love and laughter.

Then again… it could be that Riley simply has the flu.

Tuesday's towel...

One of my very first needlecraft projects was to embroider a set of kitchen towels. My mother bought seven blank “flour sack” towels and ironed a transfer onto each one (do they even make those anymore?). The lines were to be stitched using bright colored embroidery thread in several different stitch styles. There were seven towels – one for each day of the week and each day had a specific task: Monday-Sweep; Tuesday-Dust; Wednesday-Laundry; Thursday-Ironing; Friday-Mend; Saturday-Shop; Sunday-Rest. It took me a while to get them completed, but I was sooooooo proud of them when they were all done and neatly hung on the handle of the oven. For months I changed them daily so they matched the appropriate day of the week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pure $$ and ¢¢….

There comes a time in most alcoholic’s drinking career when the money may run out.  If he/she is not old enough for Social Security or hasn’t retired from some entity that provides a monthly income, the alcoholic will eventually cease to be financially solvent. And even if there is an income, most of it will, in all likelihood, become booze. There may be a check, but that same check will surely morph into a bottle.

The best thing that could happen now is to go buy that lottery ticket. It’s really easy. Just make sure you buy the winning ticket and you’re set. And don’t go after those namby pamby ones for a few hundred dollars – go for the millions or even billions! You just have to plunk that dollar down on the right ticket and waah-laaa – you are set for life! How hard could that possibly be!?!

Now that we’ve taken a fantasy trip to lottery land – let’s get back to the real issue at hand in the real world. Because pinning your hopes on a lottery ticket is like depending on an alcoholic to be responsible – it’s just not likely to happen.

I can’t tell you what is right for you, but I can tell you some things I have done to make mine and Riley’s financial life a little easier. While reading this, remember that I have no small or dependent children at home. It is just the two of us that needs to eat and have a place to lay our heads at night. Things get complicated when there are children involved.

Control of the money is solely in my hands. While I include Riley in financial decisions and he participates in “budgeting time,” really I am the one with the control. It has to be that way. Riley will prioritize booze and porn above food and electricity. It’s up to me to make sure the bills are paid.

When Riley came back to live with me, I had him sign a Power of Attorney for his financial matters and one for his medical issues. I then contacted all his creditors and provided each of them with a copy of the POA. That meant I could now act on his behalf in negotiating payments in financial situations. I also opened a joint checking account so his military and social security retirement checks could be directly deposited into an account with which I had access.

I had no problem surviving financially for many years prior to Riley coming back to my home. I know how to support myself by myself and I have the means to take care of ME. Now that HE is here, I need his money to meet our joint expenses. So I must be sure there is, in fact, money to manage. Fortunately, I’m in an unusual situation for a family dealing with alcoholism – I have guaranteed income as long as Riley is alive. Most don’t have that luxury. But when he dies I will only have a small portion of what I get from him now.

So the question becomes – could we survive if we didn’t have his retirement pay? And how would I do it? Of course we would survive, but it wouldn’t be pretty. We would do without a lot of things and I would be cutting corners to the point of creating a hostile environment. That’s really not a big change in our present living conditions.

Currently, I give Riley small amounts of cash. What he does with it is his business and he seldom has enough to do much with – certainly he couldn’t buy much vodka with it. He does spend it on beer – his newest attraction. I take care of his priority list in as much as I can – new shoes, new printer -- those things are taken out of the household budget and not his pocket.

My financial goal is to get as much paid off and gone as possible so I only have to contend with the basic living bills. I want to pay off the car. I continue to stock my pantry and freezer to the brim so I have good healthy food to eat during really lean days. I’m building up my video library so I won’t be tempted to get pay-per-view or go out to the movies. I check out the dark end of my closet before I buy new clothes or shoes. I try to learn how to fix things myself before calling a repairman. I look for ways to get a few extra bucks. I try to put away just a few dollars a week – it almost never stays in the savings account, but at least I make the attempt.

In short, I’m preparing for the inevitable. I’m preparing for the day when Riley takes his last drink and my income is more than cut in half.

Thank God, I don’t have children in this house because that would make things so much more difficult. Those of you with children are truly blessed and I admire that somehow you find the means to keep it all together.

I got one of those chain e-mail things the other day. I thought I would share it with you.

Dear Congress… Last year I mismanaged my funds and this year I cannot decide on a budget. Until I have come to a unified decision that fits all of my needs and interests, I will have to shut down my checkbook and will no longer be able to pay my taxes. I'm sure you'll understand. Thank you very much for setting an example we can all follow.

I don’t know who the author was, but I am giving him/her a standing ovation!!

Smile...

This past week has been a tough one. Riley’s return to drinking has left me a bit frustrated and angry. I knew it would happen eventually and I thought I was prepared for it. But there is always a sense of “What the f……?” when the cycle does a 180.

There have been conversations – albeit nonsensical – about Riley’s drinking. I’ve asked questions like, “Do you understand that drinking is killing you?” The answer has never changed – his answer is “Yes.” Does he care? Yes, he cares but that’s not going to stop him.

During one of these conversations, Riley asked what would happen if I died before him. I told him he would have to go live with Alea. He asked, what if he didn’t want to live with Alea? I told him there were no other options. He then asked about what would happen if he didn’t want to live with me anymore? My answer was the same as the other one – he would go live with Alea. He said he didn’t want to go live with Alea. I told him there were two choices – me or Alea. He then told me he wanted to go live by himself in California. I repeated his two choices – California wasn’t one of them.

Riley is passive aggressive. He has ways of trying to get his way via the backdoor. We’ve had conversations this week about conflicting house rules. That is I have a rule and Riley has a directly opposing rule. For example, I don’t want the dog to be feed table scraps. Riley would set a place at the table for Jade if he thought he could get away with it. He ignores my rule and gives all the scraps to her when I’m out of the room. No matter how many times I have told him that this is not healthy for Jade, he insists upon feeding her those scraps.

In my mind, I believe he will do everything he can to generate a stressful environment so I will get tired of it and send him back to California. This is exactly the sort of thing Riley will do. I know this and I become angry with myself when I fall into the trap of letting him anger me to the point of yelling. Yelling has never done any good. All it does is make my throat sore and give me a headache. It’s definitely not worth it.

At the moment the only alcohol Riley is consuming is beer. Alcohol is alcohol. It doesn’t matter if it is beer, vodka or Listerine. The only difference, at the moment, is that the beer haze doesn’t seem to carry over to the early morning hours. That means I can have a semi-reasonable conversation with him prior to him popping that first beer of the day. I am grateful for the conversation; however, he is only SEMI-reasonable. I never know what the topic will be or if it will make any sense.

In order to maintain my own sanity and health, I have to reach into my bag of magic tricks and pull out my extra-strength survival wand. It’s in there somewhere – mixed in with my One Day At A Time and the chocolate bars. Then I see it… dim little lights in the darkness of the bag and they are spelling out… Smile and Nod!

When Riley’s conversations are unreasonable and I run out of things to say before I start yelling… I must smile and nod. Close my mouth. Turn off the reactive part of my brain and just smile and nod. It is not a nod that implies acceptance of what he says – it’s just an acknowledgment that he is speaking. The smile is to let him know that he has not succeeded in riling my anger.

So now the conversation is about how many clothes to put into the washer. I ask him to not put so many in at one time. He responds with – OK, I’ll just use less water. I tell him that won’t work because it would be the same thing as one of his “regular” loads. I tell him to keep the water level at high and use fewer clothes. He begins to give me a litany of why I’m wrong. I tell him, OK – just don’t wash any of my clothes. Of course, he has an answer to that and I can feel the frustration turning into anger. I shut up. I don’t express how irritating he is instead I simply… Smile and Nod.