One hundred thirty-one days, eleven hours, seventeen minutes, and thirty-two seconds. No. I am not singing that song from RENT. Even though it’s catchy as fuck.
The countdown is officially on—the countdown for what, you ask. Hannukah? Nope. Christmas? Nope. Boxing Day? I’m not even sure what Boxing Day is.
I am an alcoholic in long-term recovery. To me, this means I live with substance use disorder, one day at a time. I have learned to modify my behavior. This enables me to live a healthy, productive, and sober life without having to drink or use any substances. It took me about twenty-five years to figure that out.
If you’re a member of any 12-step program, you know that perhaps the most essential step is the first. It reads, “We admitted we were powerless over alcohol-that our lives had become unmanageable.” It’s pretty straightforward. It wasn’t always easy to recognize or come to terms with that in my active addiction. It took a lot of help and support from others and a program to follow for me to come to terms with that. Now, 14 years later, I could not be more confident that I am an alcoholic. I know this because my brain sends me signals. By signals, I mean they tell me to do stupid things and make me think crazy thoughts. Sometimes, the signals are scary, and sometimes, they are funny and ridiculous, but they always serve to remind me that I’m still an alcoholic.
Here’s an example. Occasionally, I see an ad for those micro-dosed-infused mushroom drinks in my Instagram feed. They are marketed as non-alcoholic beverages. My first thought is, “Let me order a case of them and hide it in my basement so I don’t alarm my wife, and then I can try one and see if I can drink them responsibly.” Non-alcoholics don’t think these thoughts.
Another example is when I visit the local CVS. I casually walk down the medicine aisle and think, “I should pick up a few bottles of Nyquil and a few packs of Benadryl just in case my kids get sick or my wife has an allergic reaction to my beard oil that contains traces of almond butter.” I know full well that drinking shots of Nyquil and snorting lines of Benadryl in the Penn Station bathroom follow soon after that.
You get the point.
What does all of this have to do with a countdown? The absolute most absurd reminder that I get that I’m a 100% certified alcoholic happens every five years. It’s the mother of all reminders—the Superbowl of signals. Ladies and gentlemen, I present the colonoscopy to thee. For those of you who are not familiar with a colonoscopy, let me get you up to speed.
This is the description of the procedure from the Mayo Clinic website:
During a colonoscopy, a long, flexible tube (colonoscope) is inserted into the rectum. A tiny video camera at the tip of the tube allows the doctor to view the inside of the entire colon.
But wait! There’s more. There is also preparation that needs to be done before the exam. Here is a little bit of what that entails, according to WebMD:
You’ll take strong laxatives the night before your colonoscopy to clear your digestive tract. You’ll drink a half-gallon of liquid laxative in the evening, and then you’ll get up about 6 hours before your appointment to drink another half-gallon. You probably won’t enjoy the taste of the solution. Once the laxative starts working, you’ll have frequent, forceful diarrhea. You may have cramps and bloating. If you have hemorrhoids, they may become irritated. You may also feel nauseated and even vomit.
I’m being dead serious when I tell you with great enthusiasm that I can’t wait! I’m completely stoked. Like a kid on the first night of Hannukah, the anticipation can hardly be contained. You see, my mind doesn’t even consider the possibility of cancer, the insertion of a tiny video camera into my rectum, or even the frequent forceful diarrhea.
My mind goes straight to the ANESTHESIA.
Do not pass GO. Do not collect $200. Bring me to the dream maker. My thoughts take me to that blissful feeling I get right as the anesthesiologist instructs me to count backward from ten. Nine is my happy place.
I know this is not normal thinking—my wife assures me of that—but it’s harmless as long as I don’t start scheduling weekly colonoscopies with every doctor on the eastern seaboard. Some people in recovery would even call this a freebie.
I call it a reminder and an affirmation of the most important thing I need to remember about my recovery. I am an alcoholic who cannot drink. Ever.
One hundred thirty-one days, nine hours, twelve minutes, and forty-one seconds. LFG!
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