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A
True Guide Dog:
A story of recovery
Darla,
an accomplished registered nurse, has struggled with alcoholism
since her teen years, some 30 years ago. She comes into hospital
looking like she’s been run over. She was referred by her
per diem employer, who smelled alcohol on her breath. It’s
clear to the counselors on staff as well as her peers that her
surly unapproachability and self-pitying attitude will lead her
right back to the bottle when she leaves. Not a good prognosis
for a late-stage alcoholic whose life may hang in the balance.
Whatever vulnerability she feels she hides behind a hard-bitten
“tough mama” persona. I
have Darla is in small group with two men who are embracing their
recovery. They have a pretty good grip on their issues and barriers
to recovery. Darla continues to minimize her drinking problem.
She places her attention on persuading her employer to take her
back. She’s understandably concerned with the prospect of
losing the car and apartment her traveling nurse status provided
her. She’s facing homelessness!
I
ask Darla if she has a sense of what her core issues are. She
says no, except to recall her growing up in a well-to-do family
and feeling reasonably secure and happy up till the time her alcoholic
father dissipates the family fortune and leaves his wife and children
behind.
She
does say she knows she has to stop drinking. So I ask her to close
her eyes.
“…And
go back to the moment of your first drink.” It was Boone’s
Farm carbonated wine. I asked her to simulate the entire process…
taking the first sip, feeling the wine on her lips and tongue,
feeling it slide down her throat. “And how does it make
you feel?” It makes her feel good (of course—otherwise,
why keep drinking?). “And what would feel even better?”
She
later tells me that when she took that drink as a teenager, having
left her now-impoverished single mother, she leaves home at 16
with her dog Barracuda, a mangy pup she rescued from a shelter.
Not long after, cheap wine becomes her other companion.
For
years, she battles alcoholism, often succumbing to it, all the
while pursuing an education in nursing. And she becomes a nurse,
and excels at her profession. And she has periods of sobriety,
but is never able to overcome her addiction.
What
would feel even better, she says, is petting her dog. She extends
her arm as if Barracuda is sitting at her feet. Her expression
softens and she begins to cry. “Is there anything that Barracuda
wants to communicate to you?” “She says she forgives
me and I should stop blaming myself.” (Later Darla says
she had to give up Barracuda when she went to jail for a DUI in
her early 30’s. She never saw her pet again, and never forgave
herself for the episode.) “Does she say anything else?”
“She says I should stop being so damn stubborn and start
listening to the counselors here.” A smile appears along
with the tears, flowing freely now. “Does Barracuda say
there’s anything else you need to do?” “She
says I should go to a shelter and find a dog with no hope and
take it home. That’s how I can make it up to her.”
We conclude the session. The room is quiet; we feel moved at Darla’s
experience.
Darla’s
subconscious came up with an apt metaphor. She of course was the
one “with no hope,” who, after all, was not hopeless;
she could rescue herself after all. Afterward, she told me she
used to look at a framed photo of Barracuda, weep and drink herself
numb. Now she spoke animatedly of her love of animals. She was
willing to let go of her focus on getting her job back and instead
turned her attention to finding a clean and sober house to move
into and begin a fresh approach to her recovery. The next day
she’s the talk of her peers in the program, so dramatic
is her turnaround.
This
session took place in about 20 minutes.
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