Unhappy Hour-a Story of Alcoholism and Survival

listening. Mary and my parents were standing now, aware of the turmoil that I was going through. They knew that they had to be strong for me. As drunk and confused as I was I could not resist picking up the empty beer bottle, giving it a kiss and shouting at the top of my voice, “Go to hell!”

A final goodbye, done in my own twisted way.

Two young nurses were waiting for me in the ward and I climbed into bed. It felt clean and fresh, a stark contrast to the way I had been living for the last few months. They immediately tried to insert a drip into my right arm but couldn’t find a good vein. Most of my veins had started to collapse. Turning to my left arm, they pushed the drip in and out of me until they found a vein. Mary and my stepfather, Rudi, were at the bedside, reassuring me. I was close to tears and asked one of the nurses to let me go home. Of course she was wiser than that and cracked a joke instead.

The doctor had explained that I would more or less be asleep for a week while the withdrawal symptoms passed without causing me any pain or grief. Now that I was here, I needed to say something to my loved ones while I was still capable of speaking. My time had arrived and I was no longer frightened. “How long have I got? I want to say something.” The nurse smiled. “About three minutes, Mr Butterworth.” The tears streamed down my face and I remember Mary taking a step forward towards me. “Please forgive me. I couldn’t help it.” She was talking to me, but I could no longer hear the words. It was time to sleep.

The morning after

It is almost two years since my ‘D-Day’ in Margate and I can look back with some objectivity. My hospitalisation was merely the beginning of my fight against alcoholism. I had won a battle but faced a greater threat the day to day mission of staying sober. This is really what this disease is all about. Staying sober required every ounce of my mental and physical strength.

I gradually recovered physically, but the mental fight twice broke my spirit. On the last occasion eight months ago, for reasons I cannot remember, I went out and sank a bottle of the hard stuff and was rushed into hospital for a stomach pump. I awoke the next morning in my own bed with absolutely no memory of the drama that I had caused. Once again my life was in turmoil and this was the closest time I came to losing Mary. I didn’t need any other reason not to drink again.

Like many alcoholics, I became depressed and took to prescription pills to ease the pain. But the terrible cravings for alcohol continued. As I write today the cravings are still there only I can control them.

Why am I an alcoholic? Who knows. Medical science is divided on the reasons. It could be genetic or it could be a personality trait. While there have been great advances in treating alcoholism, the best possible cure is still total abstinence. Easier said than done. To even think about spending the rest of my life without a single drink is almost too awful to contemplate. The only way is to take it day by day. We live in a world of alcohol, from the restaurants we eat in to the ads on TV. The Anxiety of Alcoholism and where your next drink is coming from can be replaced by your courage to rejoin Planet Earth.

With the help of my loved ones, the caring medical people and the power of prayer I would like to leave you with one thought: turn your greatest weakness into your greatest strength. Addiction of the mind and body need not be a death sentence. You are not alone.

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