To Indulge (Just a Little), Or Not

It’s a week ago today (tonight, actually) that I took my header down the stairs, resulting in the alarming, painful head wound about which I have written extensively. I’ve recruited Samantha (aka “Samalicious”), the coolest and techiest of all the vet techs in the whole wide world, to remove my stitches tomorrow. It will undoubtedly be a profound bonding moment. Hey, if you’ve never pulled stitches out of your newly-sober friend’s big, stupid head, you simply have no concept of “friendship.” If you can do so without making sarcastic or snarky comments, or uttering the phrase, “I told you so,” (which we will find out tomorrow), then you are a candidate for the Friendship Hall of Fame.

That makes this Sobriety Day Seven, and I’m learning a lot. Being such a ‘net-nut, I’ve sought out resources, information and support through a variety of groups and websites. I was delighted to discover there is an actual Yahoo Group for sober Pagans! (Go, Goddess!) This was very fortuitous, because the heavy religious overtone of most support groups is extremely off-putting for me. With all due respect to each individual’s religious beliefs, I do not wish to hear “give your heart to Jesus” or “let go and let God.” That is not my way (honestly, it makes me want to jab someone with a swizzle stick). I actually like to use the spelling “doG” when referring to deities of any sort. This is only partly in jest. I sincerely derive great peace and fulfillment from the canine spirit.

Just as I choose not to impose my spiritual beliefs on others, I appreciate when others do not attempt to impose theirs on me. I’m positively tickled pink that their faith has given them the strength and guidance they need to overcome their addictions. I, however, feel more of an affinity for Paganism, Wicca, Shamanism, all things Celtic, and any belief system that embraces the natural world and the energy and sprits of the Earth. This is where I will find my strength. Also, the tattoos are massively cool. (I have five, or six, depending on how you count.)

I’ve also been giving a lot of thought about whether I am one of those people who will eventually be able to, on infrequent occasions, have a couple of drinks without plummeting (literally and/or figuratively) to previous alcoholic depths… or tile entry ways. It seemed important to address this right away, as I will be in Las Vegas for six days next month for a veterinary conference. You know; Las Vegas, Sin City, “What Happens in Vegas Stays in Vegas,” etc.

When I asked for opinions and advice about whether I might be able to accept an occasional complimentary beverage from the lovely bringers-of-cocktails ever-present on the casino floor, the first responses agreed that it would be unwise to get all drunkety and possibly damage my reputation with my colleagues. While that is a very logical point, it won’t be a factor for two reasons.

First, last year I attended this conference with Dr. Vet-Friend Two, and we did enjoy a significant (though rarely too excessive) number of drinks together. Well, there was the night she left me drinking in a bar at the Luxor while she was in a nearby poker room. When she was finished, she thought I’d already departed, so she left me there, and I had to make my own inebriated way back to our room in a nearby castle-themed hotel. (I was successful, by the way, with only minor semi-comical elements involved.)

Second, she is unable to attend the conference this year, due to a previous commitment to her final classes in veterinary acupuncture. My traveling companion this year will be my husband. This will be fantastic, because I am much more likely to behave myself (drink-wise) with him… plus, the evenings in the hotel room are definitely going to be much more interesting.

The next responses were less precise, but the common theme seemed to be that it’s just way too soon for me to even consider testing the alcohol-laden waters. I have had to put on my Thinking Cap (or Thinking Helmet, in case I make the wrong decision) and ponder this at length.

In fall of 2006, I did stop drinking for a month. I had been drinking more evenings than not, and began to worry that if I did not drink I might experience serious physical withdrawal. I wanted to find out if that were true, and if I would be able to stop if I chose. I was relieved to learn that I suffered no physical symptoms, and that I was easily able to repress the urge to go visit my Liquor Store Guy or ingest the rock-bottom-drinkers’ standbys of vanilla extract and/or cough syrup. (Actually, I do have a horrible Cough-Syrup-Related Story, but it was entirely accidental, involved legitimate medicinal use of said cough syrup, and was not the least bit enjoyable. I’ll share that disturbing drama another time.) Then I went back to drinking, confident in my own (delusional) mind that I had just proven that I was not an alcoholic. Alcoholics completely melt down when they’re denied a drink, right? They shake and sweat, see pink elephants dancing in tutus on the dinette, and experience evil Technicolor spiders crawling all over them. None of that happened to me; therefore I was not an alcoholic. Which only proves my ignorance on the subject, and says nothing at all about the state of my alcohol problems.

I also must give credence to the fact that I am actually fairly drunk after just two glasses of wine. Not drunk enough to be sloppy or clumsy, but I definitely lose the ability to use my Indoor Voice. I am also told I have the tendency to have sappy emotional moments and repeat the same story 17 times per hour. I can see where this might be annoying for the others present.

Most people don’t get sloshy on two glasses of wine, but there are reasons why this is the case for me. I have made reference to my gastric bypass surgery in earlier blogs. At one point I was 254 pounds, and that much blubber can soak up a lot of booze. We all know that body mass is a factor in how much alcohol it takes to reach Drunky-ville. I had to work a lot harder back then to get there. Sadly, I was more than up to the challenge. I am now just slightly more than half my previous weight, and my body has reverted to its natural make-up. This includes skin, bone, gristle, and at this moment, stitches. It does not include any significant amount of body fat (not even in the bra region, damnit). All of which means that Drunky-ville is now just one exit down the Liquor Highway. Finally, with my shortened and re-configured digestive tract, alcohol is absorbed into my bloodstream (and liver) in a much more raw, un-processed state, and would hit me harder even if my Body Mass Index were still in the danger zone.

So, it appears that saying “I’ll only have two” wouldn’t be much of a victory, because it would not be synonymous with “I won’t get drunk,” which is, after all, what I’m supposed to not be doing. (Hmm. Too many negatives in that sentence? Perhaps. But you know what I mean.)

After careful consideration, I have determined that staying alcohol-free for a mere 37 to 43 days (which are the Sobriety Days that will occur in Las Vegas… I just counted) simply isn’t long enough to risk sabotaging myself. By that point, my head wound will still not be fully healed, and my ass-bruise will likely still be present. Don’t know about you, but it seems clear to me that those two things alone definitely equal “too soon.”

Anyway, with my handsome husband along, I’m sure there are plenty of non-alcoholic forms of entertainment that we might enjoy… most of which will probably not occur in public, but which may or may not involve my black leather mini-skirt. In this instance, I think my husband will appreciate it if I adhere to the “What Happens in Vegas Stays in Vegas” policy and not share too many details about that with my readers.

I may have to resort to emailing each of you individually. (Just kidding, honey-bunny!)