Mar. 14, 2005 - 16:40 MST

THE WONDERING JEW

Cuckoo's Nest

Sitting at the table, sipping tea and snacking on a bit of cake, watching the snow sift down on a grey day my meditation takes me back to a time in the past that is hard to think about. But led by entries made by friends I am encouraged to put it out there in cyberspace and not let it hang back in my id.

Once I was so deep in alcohol I know not how work was accomplished by me, other than perhaps the old saying, "The Lord takes care of drunks, fools and others of that kind," might just have something to it.

Memory in some places is fuzzy, working two jobs and putting one foot in front of another seemed to be a full time occupation with little room for much else. So eventually of course alcohol became a deep addiction. Not too sure how it happened in my mind, I have been told by others though. I found myself in hospital and thence transported to Mount Airy a psychiatric facility famous for dealing with alcoholics and other disturbed states of mind. Came in in a fuzzy confused state, understanding that this was what I would be in for 'til a saner state would be reached.

While I was there it became evident to me that, yes I was an alcoholic and in a state that I could not bring myself out of it. Took a few classes for me to understand that and what was needed from me.

The personnel were graciously kind, understanding and firm on what was needed from me. First thing in the morning was breakfast brought up from the kitchen, then the group in their conversational rite of civilized talk, responsive to the suggestions of the leader. Then class, at least two a day. Lunch on the ward per normal, as was supper. In the late afternoon before supper we watched TV, read, talked or just meditated, some of us vegged mentally sans thought.

The classes were gripping and lead me to understanding many things about me, alcoholism and family. Often I would leave class in tears, sometimes tears would dry up before I left it.

All along we were in the presence of kindly, sane, sensible people who watched out for us, watched over us, and encouraged us to fly.

It wasn't serenity plus. I remember them bringing in a young man and putting him in the "rubber room" flailing around and raving. He was in there a couple of days I think before they got his medication adjusted and lithium level established, then when he came out to our area he was probably better off mentally than the rest of us.

Another time was when I saw my room mate hiding a razor blade in our room. He was even more unstable than me and always muttering about the injustice visited on him and how life wasn't worth a plugged nickle, things like that. I managed to privately let a professional know of it, our room was searched, they talked to him and his voice and rage mounted finally resulting in him being "swarmed" a gentle operation where many, many hands were laid on him to the point that he was immobilized and not able to do much. They pretty well talked him down, got him into restraints and he was moved out from us. Don't know where they put him, but obviously a place where he would be on suicide watch. Frightening turn of events, yet reassuring in many ways knowing that whatever the happening care and gentleness would be used to handle things.

Things progressed for me and as I had been told, privileges had to be earned by proper behavior I was allowed to go downstairs to the cafeteria and eat with others. They put out super good food and also a good variety, it was heaven to grab a tray and walk the line picking out what took my fancy, then pick out a place to sit. Soon it became obvious to me that none of us were in complete recovery, some would not sit where another person would sit, but would pick out a place beside another, while some insisted on sitting alone. It was sort of a chess game getting to table and being comfortable. Once a man decided to walk out, was escorted upstairs and was still eating his meals upstairs while I was there.

One bother to me that I was used to from hospital stays were the periodic vitals they took of us several times a day. Another was taking the cup of Metamucil each day.

As I was classed and counseled and making progress another privilege was granted me. I was given a pass for the afternoon and allowed to go my way, the afternoon was spent at the Denver Art Museum where I visited works known and loved and works new to my eye. A wonderful time and the bus ride during rush hour, back up Colfax enjoyable too.

Toward the end of my stay (I didn't know that) I was asked if a trip to an AA meeting would be appreciated by me. By then I knew it would be impossible for me to stay away from drink on my own, so I gratefully accepted. A man came to pick me up, a man of the type I had often seen downtown in the old days standing out in front of a bar waiting for it to open for his first drink. He and I compared notes on the way to the meeting and figured that we had both been in the same places different times. We parked and he led me to the place on Larimer Square the Rathskellar, I was a bit reluctant but he said, "It'll be alright," and led me past the bar into the back room where the meeting was to be held. Trial by fire ? I guess it might be said, the aroma of beer and alcoholic beverages was sure tempting. Thus began the bit of standing up at table and saying, "Hi, I'm Doug and I'm an alcholic," wherein I truly began to face myself.

It wasn't too long after that I was released from Mount Airy and went to live with my son Rob at his apartment. I lived with him 'til he moved closer to his work and I had it alone, went back to work and continued the process of recovery.

Trying to remember, was it Ken Kesey who wrote the book ? I was well treated though but for a while I lived in the Cuckoo's Nest . . . . . . .

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