My dad passed away in 1984 from cancer. It was a blessing after months of suffering and a lengthy hospital stay. At the time, I was working on my doctorate and the stress of studying, working in the lab and spending every spare moment at the hospital those last few months leading up to a very bad Christmas, finally took its toll and I ended up dropping out. Truth be told, not having him to fight with about that career path took a little of the fun out of it for me. He often told me I was wasting my time continuing in school and that I should find a nice man, settle down and have a family. The more he said that, the more determined I was to prove the old man wrong. I failed to see that at some point I would want those very things at which I scoffed in my 20's. So who proved who wrong.... In 2001 I was diagnosed with cancer myself, albeit an easily treatable form. And after 30 years of struggling, I was correctly diagnosed with PCOS. At that point I was smoking a pack a day and drinking with my 'friends' sometimes 3 or 4 nights a week. A usual evening for me consisted of a 12 pack or half a fifth of Jack Daniels. I can still remember having a conversation with the Reproductive Endocrinologist treating me then where I asked him about a warning on one of the meds he had prescribed. The one that said "Do not drink alcohol and take this medication". He told me I could have 2 drinks per day, but no more or I would risk damaging my liver. I asked him if that was an average of 2 drinks/day thinking that I could still go out one night and get my buzz on. He said no. I can still see that large and kinda belligerent woman sitting in his office arguing with him. That would be the first time someone told me that I was an alcoholic. And I thought he was full of shit. My vision of an alcoholic was someone who sat on a park bench clutching their bottle in a brown paper bag. Someone who couldn't hold a job. Someone poor maybe homeless. I was none of those things. But still what he said bothered me. Maybe because I had grown up in a home with an alcoholic. And he never missed a day of work or was any of those things either - but still he was an alcoholic. And once I saw that, I understood that the doctor was right. It took years of work to let go that lifestyle - all my friends moved on to the next bar for another round and I stayed home. I would not see or hear from most of them again. I stopped smoking. I discovered the gym and I began to feed my body instead of killing it. It took a long time, but my life got so much better. Recently, I have been thru some deep emotional shit. Have cut loose a couple of friends, come to understand that my mother doesn't and will never love me and been dumped in close succession by two men I loved deeply. Those things set off a cascade of doubts in me like I haven't experienced in a long time and I turned to the oldest friends I have, cigarettes and booze, to make it better - which they did for about a hot minute. And that led to less and less gym time until their was none. And instead of eating things good for my body, eventually I just stopped eating. None of that helped for more than a moment. My body is starving, my lungs are starving and my soul is starving. And today is the day to begin the work of changing that - AGAIN. Easier this time because I have succeeded once and will again. Kids want to follow in their parents footsteps when they grow up. That was never part of my plan, but I did it anyway. |
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Following in His Footsteps
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
I have written a lot about my belly - series of poems dedicated to it. I happen to like my belly. Always have Oh, I know it's not what ...
-
I have written a lot about my belly - series of poems dedicated to it. I happen to like my belly. Always have Oh, I know it's not what ...
-
This week I am reading Stephen King's On Writing . I don't know why it has taken me 10 years to get to it. I distinctly remember ...
No comments:
Post a Comment