Sunday, October 11, 2015

Pumpkins and cider and wings - oh my! But the best part of the day ....

was visiting Robin's client in the hospital.

I've heard a lot about Leroy.  Robin's phone rings at all hours of the day and night, and she gets annoyed by that, but not when it's Leroy.  I felt like I knew him.  He's an old black man with 22 kids by eight different women.  He spent most of his life in prison.   He uses the N word like nobody I've ever heard before and swears even worse.  But he was homeless and Robin found him housing. 

I know she loves him a lot, so when she asked me to go to the hospital to see him before we began our day, I said I would.  When we went into his room, my first impression was a weak little old man lying in a hospital bed.  The nurse looked surprised that he had visitors.  He looked asleep, or maybe permanently asleep.  But his toothless little face lit up when he saw his boo, Robin.  She hugged him with more love and warmth than I think I've ever seen her demonstrate before.  He looked like a cute little smiling old black man baby. I half expected her to  blow a raspberry on his belly.  To which, I later learned, he'd say, "Lower, Boo!!!"

Robin introduced me to him as her wife.  The first words I heard this sickly little man say, "Oh, Miss Kim.  YOU IN HELL!" and he laughed and laughed and held Robin's hand and I was in love with him too. 

I learned quite a bit in the short hour we where there.  He can't keep all his kids' names straight, so he referred to a few of them as Double L (Little Leroy), Big Leroy, Little Leroy and Dumb Leroy.  Four of his kids were named after him.  One of his sons has an old lady the size of two elephants and he can't figure out how his kid can "find it".  ("No offence. Miss Kim")  And few of his daughters are apparently heffers.   Oh, and his mama was a devil whore, but she had her good points too.

He loves to cook but isn't eating well these days.  He can barely take a shower by himself.  He has a couple kids who stop by to supposedly check on him, but he knows they're just there to get a meal and take a shower.  He knows he's being used and he admits it hurts.  You'd think that with 22 kids, someone would step up.  The whole thing made me sad.

But you can't be sad for long around Leroy.  He has a joke for everything and even though they're not that great, the joy he gets from telling them is that great. 

He asked me to give him a sponge bath.  After giving it some serious thought, I declined.  Then he asked me to give Robin a sponge bath.  I played along and promised him a raincheck.

I've always thought that a good attitude is more than half the battle of anything.  Leroy is proof of this.  He's a sickly old man scared to die because of things he's done in his life and is afraid of going to hell.  He has a huge family, none of whom care about him.  If he gets out of the hosptial, he's afraid of winding up back on the streets, knowing he can't take care of himself as it is.  But he was able to find joy in seeing Robin.  She made him smile and he was happy.  

And that was the highlight of my day!      

Thursday, October 8, 2015

Yesterday I posted about having my last drink without knowing that it would be my last drink.



This is because I had no intentions of quitting.  I just wanted to lose one pound a week by not drinking two days a week.  As much as I consumed (2000 calories a day, remember? - more than what's allowed in a daily diet), it was all night drinking.  That doesn't sound right -  I basically only drank at night.  Even while unemployed, I waited until 5:00.  Sure there were exceptions, but I wasn't a wake up and need a drink lush. 


April 8, 2013 was a Monday.  I resisted the urge to drink because it was my new diet plan.  I figured I'd skip Mondays and Wednesdays.  I didn't like it, but I didn't drink.  5:00 came and went and the hours passed on.  I was annoyed and uncomfortable, but I did it!  When we went to bed that night, Robin informed me she was proud of me.  I told her there was nothing to be proud of, that I was counting the hours until 5:00 (p.m., thank you) Tuesday. 


I did not fall asleep easily.  No surprise.  I was accustomed to drinking until I was about to fall asleep, a/k/a pass out.  Every.  Single.  Night.   For many many years (decades) I would be able to socialize with people and drink like a normal heavy drinker.  But what nobody knew, except Robin, is that it didn't stop when the party was over.  I was literally just getting warmed up.  I'd come home and pour some more.  I typically drank out of a 24 ounce plastic cup that would have some meaning to me.  Like when we went to Myrtle Beach with Ingrid and Deb, I wound up with a few Fat Tuesday cups.  Or Halloween cups.  Or Christmas.  The point was it was the biggest size glass I could justify without going straight for the  Big Gulp.  I'd fill it with ice, then fill it with vodka, give it a little swirl and ... voila.


By 3:00 a.m., stuff started to happen.  I'd only dozed on and off and suddenly I found myself sweating, full of anxiety, headachy, and nauseous.  My chest was tight.  I woke up Robin at 5:00 because I was scared.  We thought I had the flu.


I started throwing up and could not keep even the slightest sip of soda down.  This went on for a few days.   A few very long days.  I was in full blown detox and was too sick to even go to the doctor.


In order to feel not dead, I did try sipping on vodka.  Like everything else, it came right back up immediately.  I wasn't sleeping, I was constantly throwing up, had a terrible headache, every time I went to the bathroom, it was black, and I had an awful pain in what I imagined was my liver.  It felt like someone had wrung it out very very tightly and it was slowly unraveling.  I wondered if I was dying of liver failure. 


I felt sorry for Robin.  She was scared and didn't know what to do with me or for me.  I'm sure I was unpleasant to be around, to put it mildly. 


Luckily I wasn't working at this time.  Everything in my system was messed up.  I kept telling myself that I deserved it, because nobody can drink like that for so long and get away with it.  What did I expect?


In the back of my mind, I knew that if I made it to the other side and started feeling better, I'd want to drink.  But for days and days, going on weeks, I wasn't feeling better.  I finally had to face the fact that if I survived, I would have to not drink.  I could not ever go through this again.  This was a warning.


I finally started feeling physically better.   I drank some milkshakes and ate some mashed potatoes.  Yogurt became my best friend.  Toward the end of two weeks, I went to the doctor.  "Kim!  You were detoxing!"  She lectured me about how dangerous it was for me to quit like that, how I should have been hospitalized, and how I could have died. 


Then the hard part began.  The constant pounding head and vomiting was the easy part.  Now I had to deal with NOT DRINKING.  When I was sick, it was a breeze.  Now I was feeling better, and ready to start living again.  Drinking was part of my daily life and had been for over 30 years.


But I couldn't drink.  Not allowed.  Nope, can't drink.  What I'd been through was truly a wake up call for me.  It was my rock bottom.  I'd never been in trouble with the law, nobody ever broke up with me over my drinking, I never lost friends or family, I never really even made too much of an ass out of myself while drinking.  I'd never lost a job, never even called in sick with a hangover.  Sure my liver numbers were terrible and I couldn't lose weight, but it wasn't enough for me to give it up.


My wake up call, my rock bottom, was the two week period starting April 8th, 2013 when I was forced to see how fully addicted I was to alcohol.  Without it I felt like I was shriveling up and dying. 


I tried stopping before.  One time I went three months.  Other attempts included weaning down, just drink on weekends, no vodka, but anything else, and AA.Years ago in Miami I went to a shrink to help me stop.  After six months and thousands of dollars later, I'd had made no progress whatsoever.  We were both frustrated with each other.  In the final session, she told me I would never stop drinking - that I was the worst type of addict to treat.  I guess I'll never know what she meant by that.
 
It's always on my mind.  I miss it terribly.  I miss the buzz, the nightly mini vacations from reality, the relaxation, the bliss, the happiness, the warmth, the surge of energy, the forgetting, the taste, the smell.  I miss it all, and know that I cannot ever have it again.  I've cried because I can't drink.  I'm jealous of people who can drink like a normal person.   My heart has beaten out of my chest at the thought of never again.  Sometimes I can't believe it ...I don't drink ... I quit drinking.  I dream about it an awful lot.  In those dreams, I know I'm slipping, but make promises that I will just get right back on track.  I am always so thankful when I wake up from those dreams. 


Yes, I miss it, but I'm not tempted.  And that's huge.

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

I took my last drink two and a half years ago today.

And I had no idea at the time.





With a just slight hangover, nothing too bad, because let's face it, seasoned drinkers don't get bad hangovers, I decided I needed to curtail my drinking for the sake of losing weight. 






We were at friends'  house.  They were good friends - real grown ups - they always had a big bottle of Smirnoff  Raspberry Vodka on hand for me.  (And to any snob who may be reading this, I quit following the stats, but for many years Smirnoff won all the vodka contests.)  I humored them and let them think that I actually mixed it with diet lime tonic, which they also always had, as well as limes.  The good thing about clear mixers with vodka is that you can't tell how strong the drink really is.  Clear is clear.  If you muddy it with cranberry juice, the amount of the vodka will be revealed for the world to see. 


They made my drinks in the appropriate glassware for cocktails.   As the ice cubes clinked in the short glass, and the little pieces of lime pulp loosened up, we took pen to paper.  I knew it all off the top of my head.  They say if you ever want to know how to lose weight, ask a fat person.  I knew my stuff. 




Not counting the more than once in a while glass (bottle) of wine while making dinner, or a beer (or three) at a restaurant (never wasted money on watered down drinks out, unless it was a top shelf margarita with two extra shots on top),  I would go through a 1.75 bottle in two days.  That's about 59 ounces at about 64 calories an ounce.  This equals 3776, which is about 4000 calories, or 2000 calories per day.  To lose one pound, you have to burn off 3500 calories.  If I gave up drinking just two days per week, one pound would just melt away each week. 


Just two days a week!  In a year, I'd be more than 50 pounds down! 


I had no idea as I was perfecting my diet plan du jour that I would be enjoying my last cocktail.  I certainly didn't think that 912 (but who's counting?) days later I'd be writing about it and telling friends who are struggling that "it's just a feeling and it will pass." 


But here I am!

Monday, September 21, 2015

testing -- just playing with my blog

if you don't use it. you lose it

it appears i've lost my blog touch.  plus a lot has changed.  plus i'm doing it one handed because i'm eating a fudgcicle with my other hand.  it's not a bad fudgcicle.  it came from gnc.  via go.  go is the store robin hates.  it's like a soon to be, hurry up and buy it, outdated items store.  i bought a box of these fudgcicles for a dollar.  got in the car and ate one and sent robin back in for more boxes,  she and the cashier watched me - i didn't know it - and the girl told robin something like, boy they must be pretty good, look at her. now i'll be embarrassed  to go back in there.  no, i won't.  i'm 50 now.

anywho, if a fudgcicle has gnc on the box, it's a healthy choice.

let's see if this'll post.

love this pix of the heathens.  they look like they're posing for a dramatic, comes on at 10:00 pm, dog series .  they all look like villains.  except brady.  he just like he's about to pounce on my healthy gnc fudgcicle.

Sunday, September 20, 2015

check out my blog at ruffbeachday.blogspot.com

Do you do anything?

If you watch "The Real Housewives of the O.C.", this will be familiar to you. And after reading this, you may likely think poorly of me, or in some cases, poorlier.

BUT ...

Here's the situation: You know someone who isn't exactly a person who you'd consider a friend. You have friends in common, are cordial to each other when necessary, but friends you are not. So not friends that you prefer when she is not around. You just don't click. There's tension there.

This non-friend's significant other is rumored to have cancer. There are also rumors circulating that that person is making up having cancer.

You know the name of the person's cancer doctor.

Do you do anything?

Backing up - Vicki is the non-friend and her boyfriend (who may or may not have cancer) is Brooks. You are Meghan.

A good friend of mine texted me after watching last week's RHoOC. Told me how she was disgusted with Meghan's behavior, what an a-hole, who does that, etc.? I watched it the next moring while on the treadmill and saw that Meghan actually called the cancer doctor's office to see if they treat cancer patients. As I watched, I didn't think what she did was awful. The more I watched, the more I realized that I would have done the exact same thing! Who wouldn't? Was I missing something?

Later that day I asked Robin, who had also seen it, "I don't get it. What did Meghan do that was so wrong?"

"You're kidding me, right?"

"No - what's the big deal? She made a phone call to a doctor's office."

"It's none of her business!"

I won't further bore you with the details of our elevated voices and colorful names thrown back and forth, but we disagreed.

The next day I asked a friend at work who is like minded to me. "No. That's crossing the line." (What do you know?)

Asked two more friends at work - who basically told me to get a life - who cares - and mind your own business. (Well you two suck.)

Texted Ingrid. Asked her if she'd call the doctor - "No, but I wouldn't throw a fund raiser for that guy either." (Gee, thanks for tossing me a bone.)

Called my mother, "No, I don't think so. Not really any of your business, is it?" (Well, no, but that's not the point, MOM.)

I thought about putting it on Facebook, but Robin told me that with my present poll score being 7-0, I would look like a psycho. "People don't need to know how you really are. Just leave it alone." Riiiight.

I finally texted a friend in Miami with whom I hadn't spoken in a year, other than to send her a wedding picture, and let's face it, that was purely fishing for a compliment. She did agree with me.

But it took asking eight people to find one person to agree with me.

On the show, Meghan dug a lot further. She called an ex girlfriend and really did go out of her way to get to the bottom of it and she did look like an ass. I wouldn't have gone to those depths, but a little tiny phonecall? I do NOT see a big deal.

Does anyone else agree with me? Somebody? Hello?

((( I asked Robin to proof read this for me. She said, "It's fine. You're gonna lose every friend you ever had, but post it. )))






Tuesday, March 31, 2015

I'm turning 50 soon. And these blogs aren't gonna write themselves.

I have two life changing pieces of paper right now that I didn't have this morning. Nor did I ever really think I'd have them.

One is a marriage license.

The other is my AARP application.

If you're not a personal friend of mine or a Facebook friend, you probably don't know that Robin and I are getting married on my 50th birthday on April 14th.

Some warn us not to rush into anything. We've only put up with each other, I mean been together for a dozen or so years. But we're going for it on a beach on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. A very small, very simple ceremony. At first nobody was going to be invited. Then a lot of people. Then no people. Then just dogs. We have finally settled in on a few people who can make it. It's really going to be perfect!

I'm hoping to hone my writing skills - again - and what better place than right here? I'm settling in quite nicely to the second half of my life and I want as few regrets as possible as the years keep passing. I don't want not ever having written that book to be one of them.