Write What You Know in Recovery

alcoholism recovery“Write what you know.”  I attributed that statement to Flannery O’Connor, but my Googling suggests that Mark Twain or possibly Hemingway wrote the advice.  Regardless, I was thinking about that line and how it relates to what I post in this blog.  I know about recovery from alcohol addiction.  Yesterday was my natal birthday – I am now 66 years old.  I have been sober since August 4, 1984 – or a bit over half of the years I have spent on earth.

The physical manifestations of being drunk are a distant memory.  Today, my imperfect driving skills, forgetfulness, stumbling, and less than ideal health result from my age and not what I drank last night.

The mental and spiritual manifestations of being drunk are a different story.  I can very quickly get into pointing fingers at others as the cause of a problem – elected public officials regularly receive letters expressing my righteous indignation at what I perceive as their callous disregard for basic human decency.  I can get into self-will run riot – my wife Emma has well-documented this fact.  Too, I am wholly capable of getting into the “poor me” mindset when I perceive my offerings are under-appreciated.  The list goes on.

For the mental and spiritual manifestations of recovery I have the AA Promises:.

We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness. We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. We will comprehend the word serenity, and we will know peace. No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others. That feeling of uselessness and self-pity will disappear. We will lose interest in selfish things and gain interest in our fellows. Self-seeking will slip away. Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change. Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us. We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us. We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.

Are these extravagant promises? We think not. They are being fulfilled among us – sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. They will always materialize if we work for them.

To me, the AA Promises are where the action is in recovery.  None of the Promises address the physical manifestations of addiction.  Rather, the Promises focus on mental and spiritual recovery.  I have found that mental and spiritual recovery is truly a process and not an event.  To the extent I continue walking a path of recovery “sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly” all the promises “materialize” in my life today.

Today Emma and I worked in our backyard, planting a couple of avocado trees, weeding the vegetable and herb gardens, making some rosemary smudge sticks, tending to our new bed of okra.  Afterwards, Emma went to take a nap and I planned to sit on the back porch, read, drink some ice tea, and gaze out on what I call our “kingdom” of gardens.  Instead, I thought to drag a chair into the middle of my kingdom and be at one with and surrounded by our gardens.  Recovery is like that.  I can either observe it from afar, or get into the middle of it.  The latter is better and where the Promises are found.

Yesterday I Had a Heart Attack

The day started out with some fatigue and an uncomfortable feeling I wrote off to something it was not.  After an exhausting ride to the bank, I decided to drive and not ride my bike to the P.O. and Centering Prayer group.  I left the group early for my monthly x-geva injection at Touro Infirmary, followed by a pre-op visit for some planned testing mentioned in an earlier post.  During the pre-op process, the pain in my throat I had written off to allergies was back.  My left elbow was hurting too and I felt some tingling in my left arm.  I asked the technician if the chair I was sitting in could lean back because I felt odd.  She hooked me up to an ekg machine.  The reading was not good.  A quick second opinion – yes, not a good reading.

All I remember next was a “rapid response” alert and sequence of events I cannot accurately reconstruct – but included being placed on a gurney, racing through the halls, looking up and seeing walls and ceilings that looked somewhat familiar from my many visits to Touro since this past August.  An oxygen mask.  The first gurney stop was the emergency room.  Then being asked all of those questions – the necessary name, rank and serial number kind – and the others to show I was still there.  Everyone poking and prodding.  Next stop is the Cath Unit.  “get his shirt and pants off” and a million hands have me stripped in seconds.  “we called your wife and she is on her way here.”  the feeling of razors shaving the hair somewhere on my lower extremities.

Dr. Yount saying “you are having a heart attack.  We are going to put in some stents.” and so on and so forth explaining the good, the bad, and the ugly of it all.  I sign (and would love to see that signature) the form to permit the process.  I know I am powerless and simply surrender to the process.   I become more acutely aware of the pain in my chest and the relief when the stents are in.  Emma told me I had tears in my eyes as I was wheeled out of the Cath Unit.  I am next in the ICU.  The doctors, and lots of them, explain the situation, Emma is there.  A bad’s night sleep.

An eventful 24 hours with visits from many doctors, clergy, and friends. and now a room on the 8th floor of Touro Infirmary with the beautiful view of my hometown today.  I am well cared for and blessed.

I am fortunate to have experienced the past 24 hours with the absolutely fantastic staff of Touro Infirmary.  They have proven exemplary in every aspect of my medical treatment over the past several months.

So, with the requisite rehab I will recover from this event with no increased probability of another heart attack nor is there any permanent damage.

I ask myself what I am supposed to get out of this.  I have posted before about what I learned from my alcoholism and cancer diagnosis.  I don’t think it is necessary to come up with a Pollyannish blessing for every seeming misfortune.  But I could not have picked a better place to have a heart attack.  Had it not been for my pre-op visit to Touro, I likely would have just gone home, taken a nap because of my exhaustion and perhaps died in my sleep.

But of more relevance, I was sitting in my hospital room this afternoon with Emma and my friend Callie Winn Crawford, the retired senior pastor at Rayne Memorial Methodist.  We were talking about the Enneagram book study in which we participate along with a handful of other folks.  Most participants are institutionally retired, but still very active in their fields.  We talked about the insights we now have on our lives and our path to true self, now not constricted by the narrow focus that nine-to-five jobs often entail.  We considered that the insights are not just an academic exercise but entail an application to what we do going forward on that path.  That leads me back to my post last week.  I am called not just to visit places of long ago, but to take active responsibility for the luminous web of humanity that are a part of our universe.  I will take my last 24 hours as a reminder to continue on that road.

 

A Pilgrimage in Recovery

With my recent cancer diagnosis, I planned some “bucket list” places to visit.  One place on the list is the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, Ohio as music has always been an important part of my life.  Another place high on the list in nearby Akron, Ohio is the former home of AA co-founder Dr. Bob Smith.  The home is now an AA museum.  As AA is integral to my three decades of sobriety, I imagined that visiting the home of Dr. Bob would be a transformational experience of sorts.

As Cleveland is a 16 to 18-hour drive from our home in New Orleans, Emma suggested that I fly up north and rent a car to visit the area for a couple of days.  Of late, driving long distances wears me out and increases my back pain.  But I also thought about the folks along that route I had not seen in a long while.  To allow me to visit some folks, I came up with an itinerary that divided the driving into manageable 4-6 hour days.

As I pulled out of New Orleans, I envisioned a slow drive up north to Cleveland and Akron – the goals of my pilgrimage.

My first stop was Jackson, Mississippi where I visited an old friend also in recovery.  Our level of contact has ebbed and flowed over the years.  With his recent stomach cancer diagnosis we have had more communication of late.  My visit to their home produced an aura of serenity.  We talked about how our years of sobriety in AA proved the perfect preparation for living one-day-at-a-time with each of our recent cancer diagnoses.  Our visit was a strong confirmation of the 12 Step Program’s value.

My next stop was Memphis, Tennessee where Emma and I lived for 9 years after leaving Jackson and before retiring to New Orleans.  I stayed with our former next door neighbors and enjoyed catching up with them, and sharing our mutual experience, strength, and hope.  I was struck how after being in their home for less than one minute, it seemed we picked up our conversations as though we still lived next door and were talking over the back fence as our dogs barked at each other.

I met with several fellow faculty members, colleagues, and friends with whom I still regularly engage.  The highlight of my Memphis visit was spending time with former students.  It was wonderful to see how they were growing professionally.  I also had the opportunity to meet with a current student who I had only worked with in an online capacity.  She developed a very exciting project that we discussed implementing in Peru this summer.  In seeing how my former students were thriving, I left Memphis with a strong sense of validation for my past decade of work.

After an overnight stay, I arrived in Cincinnati, where I spent my first 20 years of life, and visited with a few family and friends.  On my way out of town I stopped to visit a friend I had worked with and had made recent amends to for incidents that occurred nearly 20 years ago.  We shared a meal and then I was off to Cleveland.

I strategically booked a hotel half-way between Cleveland and Akron.  I was certain to get a good night’s rest as I expected to spend the entire next day at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame and fatigue has been my biggest cancer related issue these days.  Then the following day I planned to visit Dr. Bob’s home, the ultimate goal of my pilgrimage.

My visit to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame was less than spectacular.  Here is my yelp review so I won’t rehash that all here.  I ended up leaving the place by noon and decided I might as well head to Dr. Bob’s Museum the same day.  Well . . . it is just a house with lots of ghosts in the walls and stories to tell.  The volunteers there made me feel very welcome and I enjoyed a tour with another couple in recovery visiting from Detroit.  The mystical experience I anticipated at Dr. Bob’s House simply did not occur.

In reflecting, two things struck me:

  • the process was the most important part of the pilgrimage – visiting friends along the way.  The people not the places of my life proved the most meaningful.
  • I recalled an incident that occurred many years ago.  In the late -1990s, I had occasion to drive from Baton Rouge to my then home in Delhi, Louisiana in the late afternoon once each month.  On one trip I was driving north on Highway 15 somewhere between Clayton and Sicily Island, Louisiana when I had a truly a mystical experience in seeing the beauty of the landscape across a flatland of a cotton field.  I pulled off the road to marvel at the place.  On  the next month’s trip, I was struck again by the same landscape.  I called the place Magic Land.  As I prepared for my third monthly trip, I had a camera, notepad, and audio recorder to document the experience.  But that time all I saw was a nondescript cotton field.  The fourth month, no luck again.  I never experienced Magic Land again.  I reflected on Magic Land last week as I drove south from Akron.  I thought about how I have learned to be present for the possibility, and when the time is right, the luminous will happen.  I cannot force the issue.  Two days later as I pulled onto a rain-soaked and chilly Magazine Street in New Orleans, I had a mystical experience of complete wellness and peace . . . of truly being home.  The pilgrimage was complete.

Moving from an Intellectual to Gut Understanding in Recovery

Halloween display on St. Charles Ave & State St., New Orleans.

 

 

First we grasp this knowledge intellectually, and then finally we come to believe it in our hearts

Overeaters Anonymous 12 & 12 pp. 6-7

A substantive shift in how I have come to see addiction over the years is the move from an intellectual to a gut understanding.  When I first got sober, I spent a significant amount of time going through library card catalogs and journals in those pre-Google days searching out articles on the genetic predisposition to alcoholism, including twin studies, relapse treatment, and so forth.  One of my favorite books was the hot-of-the-press in 1984, Under the Influence: A Guide to the Myths and Realities of Alcoholism.  Fast forward to 2018, that information is pretty meaningless to me today and has little to do with my recovery.  Rather my understanding has moved from my head to my gut. My recovery has moved from a false self ego that refused to deal with life on life’s terms to one where I strive to move toward my True Self.

As I reflect often in this blog, my experience with an understanding of God similarly moved from the intellectual to the gut.  As a precocious youth, by the time I hit the sixth grade I proclaimed myself an agnostic, and by the eighth grade, an atheist based on my inability to accept a physical heaven, hell, old man with a white beard sitting in judgement, and so forth.  My approach to the spiritual realm has certainly moved from the intellectual to the gut today.

Now that cancer has come along, my intellectual understanding of the disease is of little importance to me beyond how I take care of myself with diet, exercise, maintaining my immune system and so forth.  My oncologist, who always refers to me as Professor Connolly, acknowledging my PhD and profession, is learning that my academic credentials do not reflect my ability to understand the biology of the latest immunotherapy treatments.  In fact, my comprehension level reminds me of being erroneously asked to judge chemistry student projects at Research Fairs on campus.  I could only smile politely, not having a clue at what the students were talking about.

As with alcoholism, I am coming to a gut-level understanding and acceptance of my cancer diagnosis.  I am not really interested in trying to figure out whether my monthly x-geva injections, increased calcium intake, exercise, diet, daily affirmations, weekly centering prayer group and book discussion, service at the Open Table feeding ministry, or any other factor is the primary reason the cancer in my bones is not spreading as rapidly as expected or that I remain reasonably pain free.  Rather, I see it all as a package deal.  I am comfortable leaving the hard science questions to the medical personnel who have proven themselves truly exceptional on those issues.  I am grateful for their expertise and will continue to focus my energies on that path begun many years ago toward true self.