The Doctors Nightmare
Personal Stories From The First Edition
THE DOCTOR'S NIGHTMARE
I WAS born in a small New England village of about seven thousand souls.
The general moral standard was, as I recall it, far above the average. No
beer or liquor was sold in the neighborhood, except at the State liquor
agency where perhaps one might procure a pint if he could convince the
agent that he really needed it. Without this proof the expectant
purchaser would be forced to depart empty handed with none of what I
later came to believe was the great panacea for all human ills. Men who
had liquor shipped in from Boston or New York by express were looked upon
with great distrust and disfavor by most of the good townspeople. The
town was well supplied with churches and schools in which I pursued my
early educational activities.
My father was a professional man of recognized ability and both my father
and mother were most active in church affairs. Both father and mother
were considerably above the average in intelligence.
Unfortunately for me I was the only child, which perhaps engendered the
selfishness which played such an important part in bringing on my
alcoholism.
From childhood through high school I was more or less forced to go to
church, Sunday School and evening service, Monday night Christian
Endeavor and sometimes to Wednesday evening prayer meeting. This had the
effect of making me resolve that when I was free from parental
domination, I would never again darken the doors of a church. This
resolution I kept steadfastly for the next forty years, except when
circumstances made it seem unwise to absent myself.
After high school came four years in one of the best colleges in the
country where drinking seemed to be a major extra-curricular activity.
Almost everyone seemed to do it. I did it more and more, and had lots of
fun without much grief, either physical or financial. I seemed to be able
to snap back the next morning better than most of my fellow drinkers, who
were cursed (or perhaps blessed) with a great deal of morning-after
nausea. Never once in my life have I had a headache, which fact leads me
to believe that I was an alcoholic almost from the start. My whole life
seemed to be centered around doing what I wanted to do, without regard
for the rights, wishes, or privileges of anyone else; a state of mind
which became more and more predominant as the years passed. I was
graduated with "summa cum laude" in the eyes of the drinking fraternity,
but not in the eyes of the Dean.
The next three years I spent in Boston, Chicago, and Montreal in the
employ of a large manufacturing concern, selling railway supplies, gas
engines of all sorts, and many other items of heavy hardware. During
these years, I drank as much as my purse permitted, still without paying
too great a penalty, although I was beginning to have morning "jitters"
at times. I lost only a half day's work during these three years.
My next move was to take up the study of medicine, entering one of the
largest universities in the country.
There I took up the business of drinking with much greater earnestness
than I had previously shown. On account of my enormous capacity for beer,
I was elected to membership in one of the drinking societies, and soon
became one of the leading spirits. Many mornings I have gone to classes,
and even though fully prepared, would turn and walk back to the
fraternity house because of my jitters, not daring to enter the classroom
for fear of making a scene should I be called on for recitation.
This went from bad to worse until sophomore spring when, after a
prolonged period of drinking, I made up my mind that I could not complete
my course, so I packed my grip and went South and spent a month on a
large farm owned by a friend of mine. When I got the fog out of my brain,
I decided that quitting school was very foolish and that I had better
return and continue my work. When I reached school, I discovered the
faculty had other ideas on the subject. After much argument they allowed
me to return and take my exams, all of which I passed creditably. But
they were much disgusted and told me they would attempt to struggle along
without my presence. After many painful discussions, they finally gave me
my credits and I migrated to another of the leading universities of the
country and entered as a Junior that Fall.
There my drinking became so much worse that the boys in the fraternity
house where I lived felt forced to send for my father, who made a long
journey in the vain endeavor to get me straightened around. This had
little effect however for I kept on drinking and used a great deal more
hard liquor than in former years.
Coming up to final exams I went on a particularly strenuous spree. When I
went in to write the examinations, my hand trembled so I could not hold a
pencil. I passed in at least three absolutely blank books. I was, of
course, soon on the carpet and the upshot was that I had to go back for
two more quarters and remain absolutely dry, if I wished to graduate.
This I did, and proved myself satisfactory to the faculty, both in
deportment and scholastically.
I conducted myself so creditably that I was able to secure a much coveted
internship in a western city, where I spent two years. During these two
years I was kept so busy that I hardly left the hospital at all.
Consequently, I could not get into any trouble.
When those two years were up, I opened an office downtown. Then I had
some money, all the time in the world, and considerable stomach trouble.
I soon discovered that a couple of drinks would alleviate my gastric
distress, at least for a few hours at a time, so it was not at all
difficult for me to return to my former excessive indulgence.
By this time I was beginning to pay very dearly physically and, in hope
of relief, voluntarily incarcerated myself at least a dozen times in one
of the local sanitariums. I was between Scylla and Charybdis now, because
if I did not drink my stomach tortured me, and if I did, my nerves did
the same thing. After three years of this, I wound up in the local
hospital where they attempted to help me, but I would get my friends to
smuggle me a quart, or I would steal the alcohol about the building, so
that I got rapidly worse.
Finally my father had to send a doctor out from my home town who managed
to get me back there some way and I was in bed about two months before I
could venture out of the house. I stayed about town a couple of months
more and returned to resume my practice. I think I must have been
thoroughly scared by what had happened, or by the doctor, or probably
both, so that I did not touch a drink again until the country went dry.
With the passing of the Eighteenth Amendment I felt quite safe. I knew
everyone would buy a few bottles, or cases, of liquor as their exchequers
permitted, and it would soon be gone. Therefore it would make no great
difference, even if I should do some drinking. At that time I was not
aware of the almost unlimited supply the government made it possible for
us doctors to obtain, neither had I any knowledge of the bootlegger who
soon appeared on the horizon. I drank with moderation at first, but it
took me only a relatively short time to drift back into the old habits
which had wound up so disastrously before.
During the next few years, I developed two distinct phobias. One was the
fear of not sleeping, and the other was the fear of running out of
liquor. Not being a man of means, I knew that if I did not stay sober
enough to earn money, I would run out of liquor. Most of the time,
therefore, I did not take the morning drink which I craved so badly, but
instead would fill up on large doses of sedatives to quiet the jitters,
which distressed me terribly. Occasionally, I would yield to the morning
craving, but if I did, it would be only a few hours before I would be
quite unfit for work. This would lessen my chances of smuggling some home
that evening, which in turn would mean a night of futile tossing around
in bed followed by a morning of unbearable jitters. During the subsequent
fifteen years I had sense enough never to go to the hospital if I had
been drinking, and very seldom did I receive patients. I would sometimes
hide out in one of the clubs of which I was a member, and had the habit
at times of registering at a hotel under a fictitious name. But my
friends usually found me and I would go home if they promised that I
should not be scolded.
If my wife were planning to go out in the afternoon, I would get a large
supply of liquor and smuggle it home and hide it in the coal bin, the
clothes chute, over door jambs, over beams in the cellar and in cracks in
the cellar tile. I also made use of old trunks and chests, the old can
container, and even the ash container. The water tank on the toilet I
never used, because that looked too easy. I found out later that my wife
inspected it frequently. I used to put eight or twelve ounce bottles of
alcohol in a fur lined glove and toss it onto the back airing porch when
winter days got dark enough. My bootlegger had hidden alcohol at the back
steps where I could get it at my convenience. Sometimes I would bring it
in my pockets, but they were inspected, and that became too risky. I used
also to put it up in four ounce bottles and stick several in my stocking
tops. This worked nicely until my wife and I went to see Wallace Beery in
"Tugboat Annie," after which the pant-leg and stocking racket were out!
I will not take space to relate all my hospital or sanitarium experiences.
During all this time we became more or less ostracized by our friends. We
could not be invited out because I would surely get tight and my wife
dared not invite people in for the same reason. My phobia for
sleeplessness demanded that I get drunk every night, but in order to get
more liquor for the next night, I had to stay sober during the day, at
least up to four o' clock. This routine went on with few interruptions
for seventeen years. It was really a horrible nightmare, this earning
money, getting liquor, smuggling it home, getting drunk, morning jitters,
taking large doses of sedatives to make it possible for me to earn more
money, and so on ad nauseam. I used to promise my wife, my friends, and
my children that I would drink no more-promises which seldom kept me
sober even through the day, though I was very sincere when I made them.
For the benefit of those experimentally inclined, I should mention the
so-called beer experiment. When beer first came back, I thought that I
was safe. I could drink all I wanted of that. It was harmless; nobody
ever got drunk on beer. So I filled the cellar full, with the permission
of my good wife. It was not long before I was drinking at least a case
and a half a day. I put on thirty pounds weight in about two months,
looked like a pig, and was uncomfortable from shortness of breath. It
then occurred to me that after one was all smelled up with beer nobody
could tell what had been drunk, so I began to fortify my beer with
straight alcohol. Of course, the result was very bad, and that ended the
beer experiment.
About the time of the beer experiment I was thrown in with a crowd of
people who attracted me because of their seeming poise, health, and
happiness. They spoke with great freedom from embarrassment, which I
could never do, and they seemed very much at ease on all occasions and
appeared very healthy. More than these attributes, they seemed to be
happy. I was self conscious and ill at ease most of the time, my health
was at the breaking point, and I was thoroughly miserable. I sensed they
had something I did not have, from which I might readily profit. I
learned that it was something of a spiritual nature, which did not appeal
to me very much, but I thought it could do no harm. I gave the matter
much time and study for the next two and a half years, but still got
tight every night nevertheless. I read everything I could find, and
talked to everyone who I thought knew anything about it.
My good wife became deeply interested and it was her interest that
sustained mine, though I at no time sensed that it might be an answer to
my liquor problem. How my wife kept her faith and courage during all
those years, I'll never know, but she did. If she had not, I know I would
have been dead a long time ago. For some reason, we alcoholics seem to
have the gift of picking out the world's finest women. Why they should be
subjected to the tortures we inflicted upon them, I cannot explain.
About this time a lady called up my wife one Saturday afternoon, saying
she wanted me to come over that evening to meet a friend of hers who
might help me. It was the day before Mother's Day and I had come home
plastered, carrying a big potted plant which I set down on the table and
forthwith went upstairs and passed out. The next day she called again.
Wishing to be polite, though I felt very badly, I said, "Let's make the
call," and extracted from my wife a promise that we would not stay over
fifteen minutes.
We entered her house at exactly five o' clock and it was eleven fifteen
when we left. I had a couple of shorter talks with this man afterward,
and stopped drinking abruptly. This dry spell lasted for about three
weeks; Then I went to Atlantic City to attend several days' meeting of a
National Society of which I was a member. I drank all the Scotch they had
on the train and bought several quarts on my way to the hotel. This was
on Sunday. I got tight that night, stayed sober Monday till after the
dinner and then proceeded to get tight again. I drank all I dared in the
bar, and then went to my room to finish the job. Tuesday I started in the
morning, getting well organized by noon. I did not want to disgrace
myself, so I then checked out. I bought some more liquor on the way to
the depot. I had to wait some time for the train. I remember nothing from
then on until I woke up at a friend's house, in a town near home. These
good people notified my wife, who sent my newly-made friend over to get
me. He came and got me home and to bed, gave me a few drinks that night,
and one bottle of beer the next morning.
That was June 10, 1935, and that was my last drink. As I write nearly six
years have passed.
The question which might naturally come into your mind would be: "what
did the man do or say that was different from what others had done or
said?" It must be remembered that I had read a great deal and talked to
everyone who knew, or thought they knew, anything about the subject of
alcoholism. This man was a man who had experienced many years of
frightful drinking, who had had most all the drunkard's experience known
to man, but who had been cured by the very means I had been trying to
employ, that is to say, the spiritual approach. He gave me information
about the subject of alcoholism which was undoubtedly helpful. Of far
more importance was the fact that he was the first living human with whom
I bad ever talked, who knew what he was talking about in regard to
alcoholism from actual experience. In other words, be talked my language.
He knew all the answers, and certainly not because he had picked them up
in his reading.
It is a most wonderful blessing to be relieved of the terrible curse with
which I was afflicted. My health is good and I have regained my
self-respect and the respect of my colleagues. My home life is ideal and
my business is as good as can be expected in these uncertain times.
I spend a great deal of time passing on what I learned to others who want
and need it badly. I do it for four reasons:
Sense of duty.
It is a pleasure.
Because in so doing I am paying my debt to the man who took time to pass
it on to me.
Because every time I do it I take out a little more insurance for myself
against a possible slip.
Unlike most of our crowd, I did not get over my craving for liquor much
during the first two and one-half years of abstinence. It was almost
always with me. But at no time have I been anywhere near yielding. I used
to get terribly upset when I saw my friends drink and knew I could not,
but I schooled myself to believe that though I once had the same
privilege, I had abused it so frightfully that it was withdrawn. So it
doesn't behoove me to squawk about it, for after all, nobody ever used to
throw me down and pour any liquor down my throat.
If you think you are an atheist, an agnostic, a skeptic, or have any
other form of intellectual pride which keeps you from accepting what is
in this book, I feel sorry for you. If you still think you are strong
enough to beat the game alone, that is your affair. But if you really and
truly want to quit drinking liquor for good and all, and sincerely feel
that you must have some help, we know that we have an answer for you. It
never fails if you go about it with one half the zeal you have been in
the habit of showing when getting another drink.
Your Heavenly Father will never let you down!
Contact:
The Legacy Group of Alcoholics Anonymous © 2005