A Day For Remembering

Day 269 of Sobriety

This picture was taken about three years ago, almost exactly a year before I started this blog. Here is what I remember about the woman in this picture.  I remember that she had always struggled with alcohol but I'm not sure where she was in her struggle when this picture was taken.  There were times she did really well, you could depend on her, and she was always the life of the party, but in the end those times were few and far between.  I do remember her on this day though, it was two days before the young man in the picture, Matt, was headed to Iraq for his second deployment.  She was at his house for his going away party.  She always complained that she had trouble sleeping and I'm sure she had been up all night, unable to sleep and nursing wine.  From the looks of the hairdo, it looks like she had probably tried to squeeze in a nap until the last possible moment and then jumped out of bed and thrown something on to make the 4 hour drive to Matt's house.  She was nursing a hangover and Jack Daniels all the way there (thank God, she wasn't driving).  I remember she was supposed to bring a cake and she didn't manage to get that done.  I remember she did manage to bring two bottles of wine that she managed to finish off in the 3 hours she was there.  I remember she made excuses and left early. She must have felt like shit, she sure looked like it.  I remember she passed out on the way home.

Matt's mother left him when he was around 10 years old.  In the beginning, she came back pretty often and the little boy never gave up hope that she would come home for good, but she never did and as time went on, she was gone for longer and longer periods.   Her other children could no longer bear the pain of living in a house that reminded them of the mother that was no longer there and moved out of their home but Matt stayed. And waited just in case she came back.

A month before he graduated from high school he found out he was going to be a daddy and he was scared. He cried.  He wished he had his mom to talk to.  He tried to get in touch with her, but she wasn't there.

So he got a job and he worked nights and went to college during the day and he tried his best to take care of his young wife and son.  But he couldn't.  It was too much.  He wished he had his mom to lean on, tohelp him out, to tell him what to do.  He thought maybe this time she'd be there for him, but she didn't show up.

He joined the Air Force.  It was the only way he could think of to take care of his family.  He was a man now.    He was 19 years old.  He didn't need his mom anymore.  But he still missed her.  He still didn't give up hope she'd be there.  If not for him, for her grandson.

It doesn't show, but he's scared to death in this picture.  His wife has told him that she wants a divorce.  He is going to war in a matter of days.  He doesn't know what will happen over there.  He doesn't know if he'll come back.  He doesn't know what will happen to his son.  He really thought his mom would show up that day.  If he ever needed her, he needed her then.  And he thought, if at no other time, surely she would be there for him on that day.  But she wasn't.

So he went to war without her.  Again.

What Matt couldn't know was that his mom was fighting her own wars.  And she was trying so hard to get back home.  Just like him, she never gave up hope, she never quit trying.

Matthew is my youngest son and today I'm honoring him by giving him his mom back. She's finally home.

P.S.  This week I am driving down to visit Matt and his wife, Chantel (they remarried when he returned from Iraq), my grandson, Landon and my new granddaughter, Atalie Jolene.  I don't know if I'll get the chance to blog much this week but I promise you I will be replacing that sad and horrible picture.  I'll be replacing it with a picture of Matt and his mom, Me.

My Fluxing Life

The river delights to lift us free, if only we dare to let go. Our true work is this voyage, this adventure. — (Richard Bach, Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah)

Day 268 of Sobriety

As I tell the cap'n to keep throwing logs in the woodstove this morning, it's hard to believe that a little more than a week ago I was sitting in a bikini (please photoshop Kate Winslet's or Salma Hayek's body in your mind) and sweat was running in torrents down all my cleavages.

I seem to go from one extreme to the other.  Likewise with the work situation.  For the last several years, (I've lost count), I cringed and cowered at the thought of going back to work.  I did it, but I was petrified the whole time.  Now that I've gained back some of my daring-do, I want to get back to work now before I lose my nerve.

The last time I blogged I said that I had sent an email to my old hospital telling them that I couldn't accept the position they offered at the wage they offered.  I expected them to write back and say either, "Okay. You're right. You win. We'll pay you what you asked. When can you start?"  or "Sorry.  We were only doing you a favor that we really wished we could take back and now we'd like to thank you for giving us this opportunity to do so.  Now would you go away and quit bothering us."


I'm trying to teach myself the virtue of waiting so I waited a couple of days for a response. Nada. Nothing.  "Okay, I thought, "That is just f'ing rude." I had been corresponding with the HR department, maybe they hadn't let my old boss in the OR know that I had turned the job down and she hadn't had the chance to make her plea and tell them how much she really needed me or how the OR had suffered since I left or how she'd be willing to sacrifice a couple of pain in the ass surgeons to get me back. So I wrote her a contrite note telling her that I had informed the HR department I would not be able to work for her this summer because I can't afford to pay for the only apartment I can find with the wage they are offering me.  I made sure and told her how grateful I was for her continued confidence in my skills and how disappointed I was that this wasn't going to work out.  She quickly wrote me back and said something in the tone of, "Oh well, I'm sure we'll get by. Good Luck."

So that was the answer I've been waiting for?  The sign I've been pleading for my Co-writer to point in my direction, telling me whether he agreed with my plan to go back to work?  I better learn to live with it, right?  Start searching in another direction for where I'm supposed to go, right?  Just quit meddling.

Yeah, right.

See, I got to thinking maybe, just maybe, the HR hadn't let my old boss know just how little I was asking for.  After all, I'd never heard back from the HR dept. Maybe they never got my email.  I'd better write one final email just to make sure that they had gotten all my other final emails and to give them one more final chance to cry, "Uncle."

So I write the final email asking if they had received the other final emails and letting them know that I was getting ready to let the landlord, who was willing to sacrifice a long term lease to let me rent at an exorbitant price, know that I wasn't going to be able to take the apartment. That should get some response.

And I waited. At least a whole hour. Maybe the gal in HR that I had been corresponding with had taken vacation, maybe she was home with a sick child. Maybe I should do what I should have done in the first place.  Call her.  So I did.

She answered the phone. No vacation. No sick child. No excuse.  What? The computers had been down?  Oh, okay.  I waited in validated expectation for their offer.  She'd forwarded all of my correspondence to the head of HR and to my old boss, she explained.  When she received my next to last final email saying I couldn't take the job, she had asked her boss if she had heard from my old boss.  She hadn't.  So their pitiful offer still stood. As did my refusal.

I hung up the phone and called the pissed off landlord to tell him I couldn't take the apartment.

Then I called an old friend that I used to work with at El Cheapo Medical Center to unload on.

"Hey," she interrupted as I told her about my ordeal, "I have an apt. that's just now coming available that I'll rent you. Cheap!'

Oh Flux!

Oh and speaking of fluxing.  My womanly courses have shown back up after a 9 month reprieve.  What the hell's up with that?

To be continued...

P.S.  On a totally different note. There are always new people out there starting on this journey and I am blessed when they venture into my blogosphere.  As Anonymous commented in my last blog, my writing has changed, my life has changed (thank my Co-Writer) since I started this blog.  I can remember, when I started this journey, wandering around the internet searching desperately for someone that I could relate to.  Someone who was in the same place.  I want to encourage those that are in that place, just starting out, to go back to the beginnings of the blogs you find.  Go back to where we were looking for answers to the same questions you have.  I have barely started down this path and I sure haven't found all the answers, but I've found a lifetime of new possibilities.

Where Is The Unsend Button?

Day 264 of Sobriety

Several people have mentioned that they don't "see" me on facebook as much as they used to.  I tell them I'm too busy these days, which is true, I don't tell them that now that I'm not drinking I don't have those really profound thoughts that I feel I need to share with the world at the wee hours of the morning.  Those profound thoughts that I didn't remember making the next morning.  Those profound posts that I wished I would have deleted before anyone else saw.

These days I find myself writing out long responses on message boards and blogs.  Then I stop and read through them and ask if what I wrote was helpful or necessary.  Did I say anything that someone else hadn't already said? Or did I just want to "hear" myself "talk".  Then I push the delete button.  It may not seem like it to those that follow the same blogs or message boards as I, but I hit delete a lot these days.

That is one of the blessings that sobriety has given me, the blessing of forethought.  The ability to think things through, weigh them, and judge them.  The ability to put the brakes on.

Sometimes.

Yesterday I sent an email back to the HR department of my old hospital that I was going to work at this summer.  I told them that I couldn't accept the position they were offering me at the wage they were offering me.  I knew I should have waited until I heard back from some of those "feelers" I had put out to other hospitals.  But my indignation and hurt pride at what I thought was a pitiful offer, forced my hand.  What happened to that sense of gratitude I had felt that they were even amenable to hiring me back, that sense of relief that my relationship with alcohol hadn't ruined this work relationship?

I got some of my feelers back, the other hospitals are suspicious of someone that has been out of the work arena for almost two years, in the nursing profession substance abuse is always the first suspect. For the most part, rightly so.

I wish there was an unsend button.

I'll wait and see and if I have to humble myself and write my old hospital and say that I have reconsidered and that I am grateful for the opportunity they are giving me, I will.  Humility is another blessing sobriety has given me.

A Sad Sunday Morning Story

Day 261 Thank you God!

I'm sure all of you could pick up your Sunday papers and find a story similar to this one that is on Boulder Daily Camera Website this morning.  On any given Sunday and any other day of the week this could have been my story.  I've spent the weekend filling out applications for various state licenses and new jobs and in my line of work there is always a group of questions concerning about whether my license has ever been suspended for drug or alcohol offenses, if I've every lost a job because of drugs or alcohol, or if I've ever been convicted of a drug or alcohol related crime. I am able to answer no to all of those questions but only by dumb ass drunk luck.  I  crumble when I think of the risks to my way of life and freedom that alcohol convinced me to take.

If you find yourself thinking about drinking today, please don't.

Lisa Norton sentenced to 33 years for vehicle homicide, assaults

Woman fled scene by jumping in lake

By Pierrette J. Shields Longmont Times-Call

Posted:   05/18/2012 09:04:00 PM MDT

Updated:   05/18/2012 09:04:46 PM MDT

Norton ( x )

BOULDER -- Gabe Nielsen's last choice was to do all he could to save his 2-year-old daughter and his sister as a drunk driver behind the wheel of a Ford pickup crossed the center line on Nelson Road on June 25 and smashed into Nielsen's car.
Boulder County prosecutor Ryan Brackley painted a picture of Nielsen's last moments on Friday as he sought the maximum sentence for the driver who struck Nielsen's car, Lisa Norton.
After hearing attorney's arguments and family and friends of both Nielsen and Norton speak, Boulder District Judge DD Mallard then sentenced the 33-year-old to 33 years in prison, followed by five years of parole.
Norton pleaded guilty in March to vehicular homicide, two counts of vehicular assault, leaving the scene of an accident and driving under the influence. Under the deal, prosecutors dismissed a first-degree murder charge, which is rare in a vehicular homicide case, and agreed that she would face between 20 and 36 years in prison. Brackley asked for 36, while Norton's defense attorney asked for 20 with credit for time served.
Standing at the court lectern wearing Boulder County Jail scrubs, Norton said she struggles with whether she should be allowed to live or see the light of day. She wept through much of the hearing.
"I am dearly sorry and I beg everyone's forgiveness," she said. Norton was two days into probation on another alcohol-related conviction at the time of the crash. The terms of that probation included abstaining from alcohol use.
According to reports, Gabriel Nielsen was driving his Nissan coupe west on Nelson Road at about 6:30 p.m. June 25 when Norton lost control of her eastbound Ford pickup and struck the Nissan. Police reported that Norton was fleeing from another collision at the time.
"If you go to that scene today ... you'll still see the impression of his car in the embankment where he lay dead and his sister and his daughter lay wounded," Brackley said.
He added that investigators determined that Nielsen tried to avoid the collision by slowing to only 11 mph on the roadway and trying to get the car out of the path of Norton's truck. Norton fled the scene, jumped into Clover Basin Reservoir and tried to swim away to escape police, according to police reports. Boaters in the reservoir fished her out of the water and turned her over to police.
During a preliminary hearing, a Boulder County District Attorney's Office investigator testified that the boaters who pulled Norton from the reservoir said she begged them not to turn her over to police and jumped back into the water when one of the boaters tried to alert police on the shore that they had her in the boat. The investigator also testified that once Norton was on the dock, she was told someone died in the wreck and asked, "Who did I kill?"
During an ambulance ride, she told the police officer riding with her that bad things happen when she drinks and it is why she doesn't have a boyfriend, the investigator said.
Family and friends of both Nelson and Norton who spoke or submitted letters to the court characterized Norton's behavior that day as "callous," having "no regard for human life," and displaying no conscience. Mallard said she considered it aggravating in terms of the sentence.
Norton said she had been self-absorbed and had not dealt with an alcohol problem. While jailed she has received treatment for alcohol treatment and has earned 14 certificates for completing various programs. The court received 26 letters of support for Norton and her efforts. Her father told Mallard that his side of the family struggles with alcoholism and he does not know when his daughter developed the problem.
"We are all here for Lisa," he said. "We, as a family, can only pray that the grief and sorrow will be lifted from the hearts of the Nielsens."
Mitch Nielsen, Gabriel Nielsen's father, said his son was a gentle giant, doting father, and loving husband who was just two months from graduating from the University of Colorado with a geology degree, which was awarded posthumously. He said the one comfort he has is that he and his son often hugged and told one another of their love for each other. He said he had no unfinished business in the relationship.
"How do I put into words the most stunning grief I have ever experienced in my life?" he said during his comments.
He also addressed his feelings for Norton. "Lisa, for my sake and for yours, I forgive you. I cannot afford to engrave my heart with bitterness," he said.
Mallard said Norton's work in jail, her obvious remorse, and acceptance of responsibility are mitigating factors, but said the case itself was aggravated and unlike any other DUI-related vehicular homicide that could be used for comparison. The judge noted that she saw love and pain in the courtroom during the hearing.
"I wish there was something I could do to lessen your pain, but that is not my job," she said. "My job is to craft a fair and just sentence."
Pierrette J. Shields can be reached at 303-684-5273 or pshields@times-call.com.

Altitude Adjustment

“If you are faced with a mountain, you have several options.

You can climb it and cross to the other side.

You can go around it.

You can dig under it.

You can fly over it.

You can blow it up.

You can ignore it and pretend it’s not there.

You can turn around and go back the way you came.

Or you can stay on the mountain and make it your home.”
― Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

Day 260 of Sobriety

I am glad to be home. Home.  I can call it that without a doubt now.  I withstood the test of a sober six months in Mexico to discern whether it was my love/hate relationship with alcohol with all of its accompanying resentments and uncertainties that kept me from fully embracing that uniquely vibrant and sun bright place as home and now, while I love it with a deep and rich passion, I know it is not my home.

 I'm not technically home yet, I can't even see the mountains from here and any of the people that have told me that they thought my life is exotic would get a good laugh if they could see my digs in the only hotel in this little northeast Colorado town where the cap'n is covering call for the weekend, but I'm getting close.  My body knows this and it is going through all those funny little adjustments it makes to shift itself from sea level to the nose bleed section.  I'm only at 4229 feet right now but I can feel the difference.  My heart is doing those funny little extra beats trying to find that extra bit of oxygen it's use to and I wake up feeling tired even though I've slept well.  I'm not complaining, I kind of like feeling all these things I'm supposed to feel, even the slight headache, it tells me my body is doing what it's supposed to without any interference from me.  I used to be convinced that I was one of those people that didn't suffer from altitude sickness, I just suffered from hellish hangovers brought on by low oxygen level homecoming binges.  Not this time.

My soul is having no such problems adjusting.  It is drunk from the perfume of fresh mown grass and a hint of freesia that is wafting in from some unseen blossom bursting bush (say that three times real fast) and it wants to throw itself down in the spring grass and roll around in it until it is all scratchy the way Stanley the blind killer bichon is doing.(Stanley is jubilant to be home)  It has made it's claim, mine is a soul that lives in spring and autumn, with the requisite bits of winter and summer thrown in.  It is a soul for all seasons.  It will never be happy in endless summer.

I can live with that.

Piles of Manure

Hubris:

1.	pride or arrogance
2.	(in Greek tragedy) an excess of ambition, pride, etc, ultimately causing the transgressor's ruin

Day 256

I just love when I think a word means something and I've thought this for a really long time, like a lifetime, and I find out I'm totally wrong.  The subject of my post this morning was going to be "Hubris" which I always thought of as a rich mixture of the compounds of life, a potpourri of life's little tidbits, a verdant (I probably need to look up verdant also but I'm too lazy) compost of experiences and wisdom.  It sure wasn't an overabundance of pride or arrogance that ultimately causes a transgressor's ruin.

That sounds like the transgressor was full of shit, so maybe I wasn't as far off my mark as I thought.

So anyway my post today is just little piles of manure raked up and tossed into a big smelly heap called life.

Top Layer: My friend with the cancer concerns finally went to the doctor and he did a biopsy. He called her with the results last night, "NO CANCER!" Glory Hallelujah and Yippee-ky-yi-yay!  It is just an infectious process that can be easily treated with antibiotics.  She has a brand new life today and I get to look forward without worry to seeing her whole and happy in six months when I get back here.

Middle layer: Today is my last full day in Mexico for this season.  It has been a different Mexico than the one I remember, or barely remember, from years past.  I have been sober the entire time and Mexico has become a joyful, peaceful, and vibrant home for me.  I have become the same.  I look forward to returning.

Bottom layer:  Although I'll be back on my mountain in a few short days, I won't get to stay there for long.  I'm returning back to my roots.  I'll be back in my hometown all summer working to get my nursing skills back up to snuff and maybe even acquiring some new tricks to put in ditty bag to tote with me wherever my future takes me.  It's time to reclaim some parts of my life and learn to stand on my own again, time to become whole.  Don't get excited, the cap'n and I are still traveling together but its time for him to stop carrying me.  I'm excited and nervous.  Nervous is okay. Nervous is normal.  I'm not petrified as I have been the last few times I returned to work.  Those times I didn't know what to expect from myself, this time I know to expect my best.

That's about all I have to toss on the pile this morning.  No hubris today.

Standard MO

Day 250

I don't know if any of you read the comments of the blogs you read but you really should, there are some real pearls hidden there.  Anyway, if you read my comments you already know this but my colonoscopy was completely negative and the doctor said I have the colon of a teenager.  One of my friends told me I should give it back. Ja ja ja!

I had a little drinking days flashback as I was prepping for the exam on Sunday. For those of you that don't know, the prep for a colonscope consists of drinking a large amount of really vile liquid in a prescribed short amount of time.  So I was sitting there Sunday evening trying to choke this stuff down,  I can't chug-a-lug anything unless it has Jack Daniels in it and that's no longer part of the game plan.  I was making myself take big gulps every ten minutes and then willing it to stay down, some of the nasty stuff was trying to turn around and escape back out the entrance instead of completing its thrill ride through the tunnel of terror.

In the midst of all this delight, I had a little trip down memory lane, I  remember sitting on my couch with a big plastic glass of Jack Daniels and some mix, and making myself time my drinks, making myself take one big gulp every 15 minutes.  It, also, would struggle to stay down and sometimes it would rush back for the entrance and I wouldn't be able to stop it. Hopefully I would make it to the bathroom before it burst back through the gate, and when all of it had left that wanted too, I would go back to the couch and pick up my glass and take another gulp. Wait 15 minutes.  Take another.

I wasn't trying to get drunk, I was trying to get undrunk.  This was my standard MO for weaning off booze and avoiding withdrawls.  I would try to increase the time between gulps and decrease the booze  as I went along.  Sometimes it worked.  I got pretty good at it.  I should have, I did it about once or twice a month.

Standard Practice. Standard Modus Operandi.

No MO!!

Thank you, God.

Who's That Girl

 Someone posted on one of the message boards this morning that she was getting ready to get "the talk" from her DH.  "The Talk" usually consist of someone important to you pleading that you quit drinking, that they'll do anything to help, that they want you to be around for a really long time.

Yep, been there, done that, and have several t-shirts in various sizes.

The person that posted sounds like her soul is plumb wore out out and she is sick of herself.
 

I could have written that post myself two years ago when I started MM.  I have not had a drink in over 8 months.  Today I looked in the mirror and my eyes are clear and alive, my body is long and lanky and brown, (okay, I may need to put my glasses on but I feel long and lanky inside) my cheekbones are back and the dark circles have disappeared, and I feel stronger than I have in years, maybe in forever. My blood pressure is normal, a few years ago I went in for a fitness test at a hospital I was going to work at and my BP was 158/126. Of course, I was hungover, did you really need to ask?


I just turned 50 and feel more beautiful than I ever have, inside and out. I think I am finally becoming the person I was meant to be.  I think I'll get a t-shirt made.

P.S. Manana, I'm taking another step in taking back control of my health, I'm going in for a colonscope.  Clear liquids and lovely Nu-lytely all afternoon, which may account for me feeling "lighter" than normal today.

Disease Model

One of my best friends thinks her cancer is back. She would know.  She's technically a "Cancer Survivor", she made it to the five year mark.  It was five years of a hell filled with chemo and recurrences and twice a day radiation marathons.  I used to voice useless platitudes to patients with the same diagnosis as my friend's while at the same time I was speaking out the side of my mouth in my all-knowing callous nurse voice to my cohorts in the health profession.

I would say, "It always comes back." And they would nod in that smug way nurses have.

I don't want it to be true. I want her to keep believing, to keep fighting.

She won't talk about it. I think she's finished fighting.

I hate this fucking disease.

I used to roll my eyes when someone called alcoholism a disease.  "It's an addiction," I argued, again all knowing.

A friend of mine quit drinking several years ago, he had to if he wanted to get on the liver transplant list.  So he quit and he got the transplant and he stayed quit through organ rejections, and multiple complications and several near death experiences.  And very few good days.  The last time I saw him he was riding one of those motorized scooters, he had no teeth, and his belly was swollen to about a nine month pregnancy size. I didn't recognize him.

When he quit drinking everybody said he would start drinking again.  I told them I didn't believe he would.

I talked to one of the friends from my home town last night, she said she had seen him at the VFW and he was drinking.

My first thought is, "Who could blame him."

I hate this fucking disease.