Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Angels I Don't See

If someone told me, when I got out of detox just over two weeks ago, that my life would be where it is right now at this moment, I would have elected to stay in detox. I have written at length about my stay in detox here, here and here. And I plan on writing more soon. But tonight I want to let those of you who follow this blog know what is going on. I want you to know the truth. I want to be set free.

My partner of over seven years, Ric, has been sick for some time. Last April we began to notice that something seemed off. We could not quite articulate what exactly was askew and for a while we chalked it up to work related stress. However as time went on, we knew we were dealing with a medical problem, though we did not know what it was.

I wrote about my anguish here. Over the summer, after countless visits to specialists, Ric seemed to be getting better. Though we did not have any answers as to his condition, I eventually quit accompanying him to doctor appointments. With each day that passed his condition seemed to miraculously improve and by the end of the summer, and a bronchoscopy that showed that a mass on his lung was benign, I was convinced that he was going to lick his phantom foe.

But two months ago, the bĂȘte noire was back with breath taking ferocity. His old symptoms returned and new ones appeared, including bizarre behavior. I did not know how to handle it. He was lying all the time, not going to work, avoiding financial responsibility, angry, depressed. Before my eyes, my husband transformed into a stranger, a child and a recluse, all in one.

It was evident that the elusive illness was bigger than I imagined. Repeatedly I encouraged him to go back to the doctors so they could start testing him again. Repeatedly he refused. Baffled, I poured my entire being into trying to make him better. I was determined, despite his resistance, to walk with Ric through whatever it was.

In doing so, I neglected the work necessary to maintain my sobriety. I foolishly believed my battle with the bottle was a thing of the past. The obsession with alcohol had been lifted…or so I thought.

The day after Thanksgiving, at my wits end, I checked into a hotel room with a bottle of scotch and promptly poured my drink. And then I checked out.

PART II of Angels I Don’t See here

Psst, the clue is in the title

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