The Year After Getting Out Of Treatment

When I walked out of the treatment centre with my wife, the last night of my month long stay, I was cold sober, nervous, shaking and scared of what lay ahead. For the first time in 20 years I was facing and coping with life without the crutch of alcohol. As I looked back at the place where I had spent my stay, I longed to run back, it was so comfortable, warm, loving, and not critical of me. Ahead was my job at the bank, and reality, could I make it? I would soon find out.

Once over the initial shock, my life became more stable than it had ever been before. I awoke each morning, clear eyed, eager to face the world. There would be a dark side however.
I became edgy, nervous, and strung up. I had been warned that the first year sober would be most traumatic, and how right they were! My emotions went up and down like a roller coaster.

It helped to have a sleep when I got home from work each day, but after a while I got so antsy that I had to get into the car and drive aimlessly, sometimes a hundred miles after dinner. It seemed to help, but it took a better part of a year to get over this obsession.


My wife and I spent Wednesday evenings for several months of the following year to attend meetings at the treatment centre, where we congregated with our fellow patients who had made it, saw films, heard lectures, and raised my problems in the outside world.

Wonderfully some of my fellow patients were still sober, but a few had gone back to drinking and we didn't hear from them again.


Roughly, those patients that had left, fell into three categories: One third quit drinking absolutely, one third returned to drinking on a much reduced basis (notably this third would eventually return to their old pattern, probably drinking much heavier, and the rest returned to drinking as if there had been no treatment.

Unfortunately the drinkers that returned to heavy drinking would either have to start the treatment over again, or were faced with a gloomy future, including the ultimate finale, Death.

I felt sorry for them, however it was their choice. They were provided with the best health care in the world for the treatment of alcoholism, and spurned all efforts to help them.

In the old days, to overcome the stress of job and life I would turn to alcohol. It was a great tranquilizer, but like most drugs, the effect wears off over time and one must ingest more and more alcohol to derive the same effects. There comes a time when there is not enough alcohol in the world to help, other than providing oblivion for small periods of time.

Remember, dear reader, a whole year passed before my life went back to normal. Many nights I would dream of drinking. Not so bad the dreaming of alcohol, but I would wake up in the morning with a hangover, and a sickening feeling in my gut that I had given in. Realizing I hadn't I was vastly relieved. It was only a dream! How real can dreams be?

At this point I would like to bring up the matter of Antabuse. Now Antabuse is a drug prescribed by a Doctor to help cope with the need for a drink. NEVER TAKE ANY DRUG WITHOUT A DOCTORS ADVICE.

This drug really worked for me. It literally saved my life. The regimen I followed was to take one pill each morning. If the drinker on antabuse takes a drink there is an immediate and drastic reaction - the face goes red, the heart pounds like a jackhammer, you feel weak and very ill. It is such an uncomfortable reaction that the alcoholic will either continue abstinence or go off the pills entirely. This makes for a critical judgement by he or she.

I used the pill as a barometer of my daily mood, and how badly I wanted a drink I knew that if I took a drink, I would be faced with a terrible reaction. This fear would give me time to think, and always, after a few hours my compulsion to drink had left me and I was ready to face another day. I took the pill for five years, and only then did I feel it was safe to do so.

The pills are still in my medicine chest, and I wouldn't hesitate to take one if I felt I needed it but I haven't felt this need for the past 34 years.

Of course, every alcoholic is different, some will have a better time, some will be worse.

IT IS UP TO YOU.

From an old unhappy life to a great new one

I am writing this blog for you alcoholics out there who are having a tough time getting off the booze, maybe I can help. I will try. I gain nothing from this but the hope that I can help someone out there get out of the clutches of the terrible disease of alcoholism. You know who you are: You are sick and tired of being sick and tired and you want out of the clutches of alcohol, but time after time you fail, and you are now despondent, feeling there is no way out!

Well I can tell you there is a way out, it is not easy, and will take a lot of time and self control, and there are times that you will want to go back to your addiction because not having it is causing you a lot of pain. But, buddy, you can do it! I did. After many years of drinking I found a way out and I hope you can find your way too.

They say that the true alcoholic can remember their first drink! This is true. I remember the first drink I had was at the age of 12. A family friend a little older than I introduced me to wine in the basement of his house. I remember to this day the joy I felt. The incredible feeling of feeling powerful, and becoming happier and more joyous than I had ever felt. It had begun.

My redemption began on May 24th, 1969 when I stood at the top of the stairs at the Jolly Miller Hotel on Yonge St. in Toronto. After drinking most of the evening, at closing hour I left the put and stood at the top of a flight of about 25 stairs from the second storey to the ground. I promptly lost my balance and tumbled all the way to the bottom. I got up laughing! I felt good, powerful, and in full grasp of my life, so I thought. I started home along Yonge St. but felt tired so I thought I would just stop for a rest, and laid down in the hole that was to be the new Subway. After a while I awoke and went home with the tune running through my head, "Don't sleep in the subway Darling".

On the next day, a beautiful sunny one, my sponsor in A.A. came to pick me up to take me to the Donwood Institute in Leaside in Toronto. On the way out Jack told my wife that he didn't thing I would ever quit drinking, and she wasn't to get her hopes up that I would quit drinking. Thankfully he was so wrong!

Donwood is situated at the end of a dead end street, and is surrounded by beautiful lawns and gardens. It was a hospital to treat alcoholics and other addictions, but on first entering the building it feels like a classy hotel. The reception area was bright and cheery and populated by enthusiastic receptionists and happy looking people running around, chattering and having a lovely day. THEY WERE RECOVERING ALCOHOLICS!

I remember to this day the tranquility that washed over me when I went in. Jack left and a nurse took me to another area with hospital rooms with a bright cheery atmosphere. After filling out some forms, blood pressure was taken and a breathalizer test was taken. Apparently it was still very high, and I was quite giggly. I was still high and acted silly, and the nurses looked me with eyes that said, "We have seen this before and it is quite boring" but I felt quite suave, worldly and look at me! I am great! (still full of alcohol)

After receiving the necessary instructions and rules concerning my stay I was given a room, some sedatives and went to sleep. I slept around the clock, wakening at 8 the next morning. This was the time for the pain of withdrawal. What I wouldn't give for a drink!

Happily more sedatives were given and I thought I would be able to keep some food down and control the shakes that often came after a period of drinking. I expected to be served breakfast in bed, but I was bluntly told that I was to clean up, dress and go to the cafeteria if I wanted to eat. I was ravenous so I went.

The cafeteria - I was astounded! It was full of chattering, happy individuals, both sexes, that were definitely enjoying life. It seemed like a country club where the inhabitants were going out for a round of golf, instead to school rooms for lectures and educational movies.

I felt scared, and exposed. I was shaking, my stomach was sore, still crying out for food, I looked around to see if anyone was looking me over, but no one said or indicated anything that would show that they even cared that I was there. It was evident that they had been in my bad shape themselves at a prior time. Besides, I couldn't tell the inmates from the keepers since everyone was dressed casually. While eating I observed that the other "patients" were happy, alert, well dressed and animated in their language and expressions. If I didn't know better, this could have been a lunch for a large and happy family. There was a lot of laughter and good natured bantering. What was going on here? This was supposed to be a hospital for unhappy drunks, where everyone sat around feeling guilty, feeling sorry for themselves, and sneakily looking for a drink! Had I died and gone to heaven?

The Donwood was a blessing for me and I am sure it saved my life.

Next: My life at Donwood after the initial day.