Filed under: Health
A back injury is a funny thing. The pain is different than any other pain I had ever experienced. Different from the knee pain that dogged me for several years. Different in that it is debilitating. It steals your soul. You would do anything to make it go away. I spent many weeks going through all of the tests and x-rays only for them to tell me that it was “lumbar radiculopathy”. What the hell is that anyhow?? Not a herniated disk. Ligament tearing, soft tissue injury. In those days, the test that was diagnostic was an Arthrogram. Essentially what happened was a fairly large bore needle was inserted into the spine and dye was injected so that the disk spaces could be visualized (today accomplished noninvasively via CT or MRI) Again a trail of narcotic use accompanied the 3 months or so of treatment, which included PT, OT, spinal manipulation by some of the best D.O’s in the world, and accupuncture. As I gradually improved I was once again faced with the prospect of weaning myself from the rash of narcotics which had been prescribed. This time the task was relatively easy. A week of minor withdrawal at home, tempered by a bit of alcohol to ease the worst of the symptoms. One thing I wish to note. Through all of my bouts of addiction, in spite of the reason for taking the meds (chronic, acute pain etc) I never did become cross-addicted to alcohol.
I had grown up in an alcoholic household. My parents were not sloppy drunks, mean drunks but DRANK, daily, and a quantity that is in excess by anyone’s standards. I remember when I was younger, before the arrival of my younger siblings which started about the time I turned 11. I was an only child which was kind of cool in a way as I shared the spotlight with no one. Not that I was that kind of kid, but my father traveled for several years when I was in elementary school so my mother and I were left to fend for ourselves. She did not drive so we were relegated to go only places our two legs could take us. I had a bicycle which provided a venue for longer trips and a neighbor would take her to buy groceries about once a week. Otherwise we were confined to the street where we lived in middle-America.
During these years and the ones previous, my parents partied………..a lot. They had a wonderful circle of friends who were mostly either Irish Catholic or German Catholic with a couple of eastern Europeans throw in for good measure. The town we lived in had a very high population of German Catholics, all of whom like to tip a few on a regular basis. If they were not going out to the KC Hall or American Legion, they were at someone’s house or ours knocking back a few, usually more than a few.
I wish to make it very clear that I was never neglected or abused because of their alcohol consumption. I was always taken with, stayed with friends, or had a babysitter, one of whom I had a terrible crush on! Adolescents, go figure!!
As an ACOAP (Adult Child of Alcoholic Parents) it was not until later in life that the reality and implications of the effect that drinking had on my life were fully realized. It was not until I finally confronted my own addiction that did I confront theirs. Anyone who is an ACOAP knows that alcoholic parents (and children) deal with life on a different level than the rest of the world. I had a wonderful counselor a few years back who related the story of a young man who’s father was a raging alcoholic. He said the young man would come home from school or a friends and before he entered the house, would peer through the windows to see what kind of a day it was. If his father was on a terror, he would slip away until things calmed down or he passed out. Only then would he come home. I never had to do that, or at least never felt like I had to. My parents were for the most part, happy drunks. Sitting around our kitchen table, alone or with friends or relatives and drinking. Everyone in my existence drank. Aunts, uncles, parent’s friends, everyone!
The biggest thing in my life that alcohol affected was the way that my family dealt with life, dealt with the issues! Alcohol muted everything. It made them happy but in many ways isolated me all the more from them.
I had some issues as a child/young adolescent and I truly believe that it was in part the alcohol that kept them from ever dealing with them. Mental health was if anything less than an afterthought in those days and I don’t blame them for being incapable of dealing with my issues. I do wish that they had forced the issue to the point of getting me help. It might have gone a long way to saving me from what became a lifetime of feeling inadequate, of feeling never good enough, of lacking in self-esteem. I think my siblings, particularly my sister shares this horrible void of self-esteem. It takes time and must effort to bring yourself out of this mire!
I remember one night after I had been ill. I don’t remember the exact details but I do remember having an emotional meltdown. I was about junior high school age or a bit older. It was very late at night and I found that I could not stop crying and shaking, not really knowing what was wrong, but something was very wrong. My mom came to me and tried to calm me. Nothing worked. My dad was working the PM shift but should have been home. Mom went to the bedroom next door and called the local bar where my dad often went after work to unwind. I could here her yelling at him, telling him that I was falling apart and that he should be ashamed of himself for sitting in a bar while all of this was happening. She eventually called our family physician and laid things out for him. He suggested her giving me a sleeping pill or two, waiting about an hour and seeing if that helped. It did. We never again talked about that night or why I was so upset. I still don’t know. But it should have been a red flag for things to come.
