International Day Of Happiness

I made this for you.

Happy International Day Of Happiness.

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Totally LAME.

Hurrah for Medicare in Canada! Sure, I spent the night sitting in a wheelchair in the ER but hey, I did catch a glimpse of an elderly hospital-gowned gentleman's backside, complete with some very low-hanging fruit. We're talking knee-knockers. We're talking tennis balls in long socks. We're talking Newton's Cradle. So the trip to the ER wasn't a complete washout. Also, I got a diagnosis and treatment plan for my bum hip.

I have a Calcified Hematoma. Which means, when a dog named Buddy comes running at you exhuberantly and jolts your hip in a high speed joy leap, you will limp lightly for a month and then suddenly be unable to walk. Because excruciating pain.

How do I know the dog's name was Buddy? His owner was yelling it over and over. I think she should have shouted louder because he obviously couldn't hear her.

Inkling was good. And along came Buddy.

Meet my new best friend:

Senior walker? Or FREEDOM MACHINE.

At the hospital you get asked what level of pain you have from 1 to 10, 1 being no pain and 10 being the worst pain you've ever felt. I mean, how can they tell how bad it is? My 10 could be someone else's 5. So I said, "I'm holding a steady 7 allatime, shooting 9s and 10s." And they're like TAKE THE MORPHINE GIRL.

I can't take those drugs though because I'm alcoholicle. Instead I opted for anti-inflammatories and acetaminophen. It takes the edge off but leaves me with just enough shooting 8s to make my kids feel sorry for me. And why shouldn't they? My parkour career is in jeopardy.

I'll be laid up for two to three weeks. Usually I'm the Helper, so it's difficult to assume the role of Helpee. I'm learning though. There are ways to ask for help without becoming annoying. For example, this afternoon I had a bath; I have strong arms and low body weight so there was no problem getting myself into the tub. Getting out was impossible. I called out to The Huz, "Hey! Do you want see me naked?"

He answered straight away. "Coming!"

See what I did there.

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Elephant In the Brain

The Ides of March, my sobriety anniversary, or "soberthday", came and went yesterday without fanfare. It's been four years since I quit drinking. 

Every year an old friend of mine calls to congratulate me on staying sober, and yesterday was no different. He said that he was impressed that I had made it this far, and that he knew how hard it was to quit. My reply, as always, was that I didn't find it hard. I found that continuing drinking was hard; not drinking was so much easier.

No self loathing. No little mind games. No shame. Much easier.

But I'm carefully ignoring something: the elephant is no longer in the room, but it's still lurking in my brain.  I'm not accounting for the hidden costs of sobriety. I'm not acknowledging the losses. There are friendships and communities of drinking buddies that fall away and disintegrate. It's painful. Even though you have no issue being around drinkers or being at parties, the invitations dry up. You are excluded from certain events.

The photos posted to Facebook of a girls night out, or a trip to a winery stings a little. You can see the party going on inside the bubble, but you know that you are not welcome. Not because you can't handle it, but because they can't.

And that is just the superficial pain. It runs deeper and with greater intensity, and it touches the raw nerve of your identity. People who have known you your whole life accuse you of having changed. They don't recognize you. They're even angry, as though you'd cheated them, or stolen something they felt was theirs.

You spent so many years covering up the fear and doubt, drowning out the loneliness with booze and being a happy, funny, party girl. They miss that girl. But she is not who you are - she never was.

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