The World According to Chuck

Deb Sawyer from Abiding is in The Emerald City this week with her husband, Jeff, getting a nice rainy picture of the Pacific Northwest (hardly surprising, although we’ve had some spectacular weather of late). We meet up tomorrow night at my AA meeting at St. Hilda’s-St. Patrick’s Episcopal, which happens to be the church Janet of Mukilteo Musings attends. So small world and all that.

I know Deb through Michael Main, who was kind enough to point her in my direction last August when I needed some pointing. And direction, for that matter. And certainly support.

Michael knew I was heading for help, about to spend three weeks in a residential treatment center for chemical dependency, and he also knew Deb had been there and done that. He gave her my e-mail address, and she offered me support and encouragement, which to someone in the shape I was is sort of like throwing out a life supporter that comes with Internet access and dark chocolate.

I’m looking forward to meeting her in person, and sharing some fellowship time that we’re both so familiar with now, but it started me thinking about what I went through, and what others do, and what the rest of you might think about that.

Lindsay Lohan is only the most recent celebrity running into rehab; we hear about it all the time. We also see it portrayed on television and in films like the two above (two favorites, too), so I thought maybe I’d give you a little subjective picture of life at Drunk Camp.

It’s kind of a slow day, anyway.

First, “rehab.” I don’t care for the word, although it’s a good word (or abbreviation) for a good thing, and appropriate. Just maybe not so much in this case. And it also has a slang feel, used the way people use technical terms when they really don’t know what they’re talking about. I do this all the time; maybe you, too.

It’s not really appropriate because rehabilitation is not what it’s about, not at first. Rehab, for an alcoholic, is a life-long process; “treatment” is the acute phase of that, and it’s not the quick fix I sometimes sense in the minds of outsiders. Go into rehab, get dried out, get fixed up, and go home. Ah, well. Not in this life. If only it were so easy.

The first concrete step in recovery from a chemical addiction is to stop taking the chemical (there are abstract steps that can come before, but that’s another story), and treatment centers play an important part for many in this. Some have detox centers, where withdrawal (a dangerous process) can be medically monitored and supported before the patient is assimilated into the general population. Other places, such as the one I attended, have no formal detox program but keep an eye on you, and often accept patients directly from detox centers.

After the immediate medical concerns have been addressed, treatment centers start the addict on the road to recovery. But it’s a long road, and usually a short stay, an orientation into a new life. In my case, it was three weeks, the minimum stay for adults (youth under 18 had a minimum of four weeks), although some have their time extended for various reasons. And different programs are, well, different, particularly in terms of length of stay. At the end, though, it’s all the same: Welcome to Life 101. The big learning starts when you leave.

What it was, to me, was safe. Which is why I went, and why I was urged to go. I was a patient at the Sundown-M Ranch outside of Yakima, in eastern Washington. It was a beautiful setting, with nice summer weather and lovely grounds, and it was in the middle of nowhere. Leaving would have been easy, but not convenient, and while taking an early exit never crossed my mind, hitchhiking is not on my list of favorite things to do.

And I was removed from my daily life, which was a good thing. My daily life had become toxic, predictable and deadly. Sundown was a reprieve, a break in habit for a person to whom habit had become everything, and very dangerous. They were, I believe, the best three weeks of my life.

A word about the movies (more than one word, really). I’m perfectly willing to suspend my disbelief when it comes to entertainment, and also to assume that the life portrayed, whether it’s in a prison or a submarine, is representative of some kind of reality. I’m not surprised, though, if I later find out that many of the details were wrong, or at least sloppy. Hey, it’s a movie.

When A Man Loves A Woman actually was a favorite among the staff at Sundown, shown every few weeks. 28 Days, on the other hand, was banned, although I never found out why. Both of them, in their portrayal of alcoholics, showed familiar if incomplete pictures. As to the treatment centers, I saw some things I recognized from my experience, and some things I just snorted at.

The thing that stuck out most, though, was the interaction between men and women in the treatment facilities. It was funny and nice in the films, a little give-and-take, some romantic stuff, some secret sexual activity.

In the real world, at least the world I’m aware of (always a caveat), the sexes are separated as much as possible in treatment, and for very good reasons, some of which you can figure out and at least one of which you may be surprised to learn.

Obviously there are going to be issue whenever the boys and girls get together. And, obviously, there are more important things to be doing while there than sneaking behind the trees for a little wiggle time. And, of course, we’re talking about severely dysfunctional people anyway.

Most important, though, is the fact that men and women are physically different (surprise), and react differently to chemical addiction. Women get sicker faster and more severely, for one example. Then there are social issues we face back home, children issues, abuse issues, etc.

So segregation was the law of the land at Sundown (and at many other treatment centers I’ve read about), strictly enforced. You were allowed to nod in the hallway, maybe mutter “hi” in passing, but that was it; any contact beyond that was not only discouraged but banned, and there were eyes everywhere taking it seriously. Not so interesting in a movie, maybe, but necessary in reality.

But there were plenty of women to talk with. There were counselors, and supervisors, and monitors. There were kitchen workers, and housekeeping staff and administrative people.

The first person I interacted with at Sundown, actually, was a young woman on the phone. She took all my information, told me about the facility, advised me on what and what not to pack, and processed my insurance papers. Finally, when that was finished, she started looking at schedules.

“Now, let’s see if I can get you into a bed,” she said.

Well.

Lesson #1: Make sure you pack your sense of humor. It’ll come in handy.

(to be continued)