Patience to Endure

Tag: addiction

  • In the clearing…

    In the clearing…

    Here it is. A decade has passed since I found Gary in the woods dead from a single gun shot. Time is a strange thing post trauma and I’ve covered a lot of ground since then. The day is now, mostly, an historical remembrance more than an emotional one. For my children though it is a nightmare of a day to get through and that breaks my heart more than anything.

    Gary didn’t have a long history of depression. There were no “classic” signs he was going to do what he did. What he did have was a long history of battling addiction. 

    Ten years before his death he was prescribed percocet for severe tendonitis. As a maternal fetal medicine specialist taking time off to nurse his injury just wasn’t possible. What began as an innocent prescription was, unknowingly at the time, my first step into hell that included driving him 18 hours through the night to rehab where he stayed for three months and ended with me finding him in the woods.

    Upon discharge Gary had access to the best group and private therapies. He was followed for five years by the Health Practitioners Intervention Program. What he didn’t have was the freedom to battle his disease in the light.

    Shame, judgement, and stigma made that simply impossible. Imagine a boxer equipped with the most advanced protective gear and a heart to win but being put in a ring in absolute darkness. Yet the foe he battles only grows and thrives in the dark. His strength is fed by what the fighter can not share and others can not see.

    And so he lost. Many of the people in his group therapy all those years ago lost. My children lost. God lost the opportunity to redeem his situation. And He would have. He always does.

    The “addict” is someone’s father, son, physician, teacher, husband. They aren’t as portrayed on television. They are from all classes and many put on a suite and tie or scrubs or a judges robe every day. They love their families. They want to be in recovery. The addict might even be you.

    On this day, the tenth anniversary of his death, my prayer is a post like this might bring a little light to the other boxers still in the ring swinging madly in the dark. I hope they hear my voice cheering them on and not the voices of discouragement and judgement. I hope a seed is planted for the person reading this who is fortunate enough to not know addiction the way I do and the seed will grow compassion. Though they may not know it, chances are they love a person with addiction. My prayer is the person fighting who is reading this would have the courage to bear light themselves and help change the notion addiction only plagues degenerates. They would have the courage to say “my name is…and I am an addict.”

    They are busy fighting addiction, a formidable and relentless enemy. May we who are not wearing the gloves fight shame, stigma, and judgement for them. May we hold the light and shout words of love and encouragement while they fight for their lives.  I am convinced their foe will shrivel in the light if we just have the courage to shine it steadily, brightly, and boldly for them.  

    May we help change the perception that they are junkies squatting in an abandoned house. They are boxers in the ring. They are fighting. And with our help maybe, just maybe they can win 

    (more…)
  • Embracing Our Brokenness

    Embracing Our Brokenness

    I recently had the honor of sharing my testimony with the Ministry for Women at my church. The audio is below.

    I’m sharing mostly because friends had asked to hear but, honestly, I can’t figure out how to share it with anyone who does not have gmail.

    At any rate, this is part of my story.  I hope it blesses His heart

  • The Third Box

    There are three major events that have shaped me in the last 16 years. Interestingly, all three of these events carry diagnosis that are often whispered about but rarely understood by those not in that world. I write openly about my son’s special needs and my husband’s suicide. My intention for the transparency is to, hopefully, open the lid and let light shine into the darkness. Only heinous things grow in the dark. Shame grows where no light shines. Lies expand. Depression flourishes. The power to destroy depends on darkness.

    We shove things that make us uncomfortable into a box. We close tightly the lid and put it out of sight. We don’t want others to know we have labels like that in our possession. But we do. I dare say we all do.

    It has somehow become one of my life’s missions to try to erase some of the stigma attached by proclaiming, “It happened to me. There is nothing for which to be ashamed.” Indeed, the true shame lies with the society that allows those with challenges to not only remain hidden but almost demand they remain so.

    Yet there is one thing I have not shared even with some of my closest friends. I have held this secret for so many years it just became part of me. However, if I am being honest in  my endeavor to bring light to decrease the power of shame then I am being a hypocrite by not writing about the third thing. And so, in my most vulnerable post, I open the third box.

    In 2004 my now deceased husband came to me as I sat on the bed. With shaking voice and tears in his eyes he took my hand and said, “I have a problem. I need help and it has to be inpatient.”

    His proclamation was preceded by events which I am not ready to share only to say they were horrific. He hit rock bottom and he hit it hard.

    A few hours later I packed my children and dogs in the car and drove 18 hours straight to check him into rehab. Gary had developed an addiction to Percocet. A few months before he had been prescribed the medication for tendonitis. As a maternal fetal medicine specialist he performed numerous ultrasounds a day. The repetitive motion caused an injury and he needed medication. It started off legitimately. It did not end that way.

    Because of the shame of his disease he could never receive the help he needed. For a while we would drive to Northern Virginia so he could participate in AA and NA meetings without fear of patients, friends, or colleagues seeing him walk into the meetings. He was sure if people in our town knew it would ruin his reputation. He lived with his enormous secret until the day he died. I carried it until now.

    The addict is not necessarily the man on the corner with a cardboard sign begging for money. The addict is your spouse, your child, your doctor, your teacher. He is the manager at your favorite grocery store, your pastor, your friend. The addict is someone you know or perhaps love. The addict might even be you.

    Our society judges them. We joke about their disease and it is still socially acceptable. We put them in jail rather than rehab. We create laws, as we should, to make getting the drug more difficult but what we fail to do is create a path to make it easier for them to get help. We try to demonize them because we want to put as much distance between “us and them.” For if it is “us and them” we subconsciously believe we can never be like they are. It gives us a false sense of both superiority and security. But the truth is some of us are one pill, one drink, one puff, one mouse click away from being an addict.

    For years I thought I needed to protect Gary’s legacy so I guarded and carried his secret. I didn’t want people to think less of him. I have found that committing suicide receives more understanding than being an addict.  Most of us don’t think of addicts as they are – normal people fighting a formidable opponent in the dark

    Addiction is a disease. Though the addict chooses to use his drug of choice he does not choose to become addicted. It is a complex process and so misunderstood. They say it is a family disease but I believe most chronic, powerful diseases are. Like other diseases some people will respond to treatment and some won’t. Some will die from their addiction and it is just as a significant loss for the family as cancer is.

    During Gary’s eulogy I tried to offer words of closure to the various populations at the memorial. He was a beloved member of the community and every walk of life was represented from prostitutes to politicians.  In the closing remarks I offered this:

    To those who suffer depression and addiction, I believe he would remind you that your disease is relentless and to fight it with all you have. Tend to your recovery like a delicate garden watering it every day and rooting out the weeds immediately. He would tell you to not be ashamed of your disease. People with cancer and diabetes do not feel shame because of theirs nor should you.

    I have spent the last fourteen years feeling personal shame while telling people there is nothing for which they should be ashamed. In my quest to bring light to the things we try to force to remain in the dark, I have been disingenous. It is arrogant of me to determine what Gary’s legacy will be. Perhaps it is not of a man with a secret but a person who couldn’t get the help he needed because shame exists where it should not. What if part of his legacy is a cautionary tale of what can happen if nothing changes?

    I haven’t allowed God the opportunity to do what He does best. I haven’t made the way so He can redeem the situation and work all things for good. He will not force His way into a situation but waits to be invited. I invite Him now and I know He will use Gary’s truth even if it touches just one person.

    I open my third box to expel the shame and darkness. I know with certainty God’s light will grow something else entirely. Just what if my broken down, dingy box is exactly what God needs to grow a beautiful garden?

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