We've all got our demons--it's how we face them that matters.
Jeanne Faulkner is a freelance writer and registered nurse in Portland, Ore. Her work appears regularly in Pregnancy and Fit Pregnancy, and she has contributed articles to the Oregonian, Better Homes & Gardens, Shape and other magazines.
When I'm not a writer, I'm an obstetric nurse. Nearly
every day, I have the unique opportunity to watch countless new parents
dive off the cliff to become parents. Some are better equipped than
others, but everyone wants to be good. Almost anyone who's a parent
knows the deep desire to provide the best and to be there for their
children. And yet, some inflict great harm because they live with a
monster: addiction to alcohol, nicotine, drugs, violence, sex, food …
whatever. Addiction overrides their inherent instincts to be good
parents.
It's common on any maternity unit: a security guard outside a patient's
room, waiting for her to try and bolt with her baby. Inside, a mother
is being informed by a Department of Human Services caseworker that she
won't be taking her baby home. Her baby will go into foster care. Mom
and/or baby have tested positive for drugs or have a history with
Department of Health Services (DHS) that excludes them from parental
rights.
The scene inside the room is heartbreaking. There's denial ("They weren't my drugs--I live with a bunch of meth heads and they smoke it around me; that's why its in my urine"); bargaining ("I swear I'll never use anything stronger than aspirin again if you'll just give me this chance"); threats ("You're not taking my baby without a fight. I've got people waiting outside this hospital who'll do things … you'll be sorry you messed with me"); and tears, lots and lots of tears. There's also rage and grief. But the worst has to be regret, the deep wish that she hadn't taken drugs that first time, or lived the lifestyle that kept the drugs coming, or surrounded herself with people who made her addiction OK. And there's guilt: She knows she brought this on herself.
So why do people choose to do things that are guaranteed to mess up their life? Addiction, that's why. It's simple. The drug, alcohol, food, gambling, or--well, just fill in the blank--makes them feel better. Whatever junk they carry gets lighter when they snort that line, smoke that joint, swirl that drink in the glass. They know the cigarettes will kill them, but that rush of nicotine and moment of calm when they take their smoke break is more powerful than their desire to take care of themselves and their children.
Drugs have powerful chemical hooks that attach to the feel-better centers in our brain. Unhooking is much harder than the original hook-up. It makes sense, really. Why wouldn't you want to feel that wonderful, powerful, swell of goodwill, happiness, and invincibility people get when they snort, smoke, or ingest "feel-good" subtances? Shy people become the life of the party after a drink or two. Depressed people become productive after a bowl, line, or injection. Anxious people calm down. Manic people become centered. Sadness dissipates. It's all justifiable. They want to feel better. The thing is, if you're an addict, it doesn't matter who you are, what your job is--the hook lodges deep and fast. Maybe you've got an addiction gene or a horrible past. Maybe you just took the wrong drug. You're hooked.
I had a friend. We met in our late teens and entered adulthood together. It was LA in the '80s and we loved clubs. We knew the bands and went to the "in" restaurants. We were so cool. She was gorgeous, popular, creative, and smart. We both liked drinking margaritas at our favorite Mexican restaurant, and dishing on life, men, and work. It was the highlight of our week. So much fun. But that was a long time ago and lives change. Unfortunately, her drinking amplified, though she had good reasons to hit the bottle--a painful childhood, tragic teenage years, and a madhouse adulthood spent shouldering far too much responsibility. Drinking made the past less haunting and the present less painful. It took gallons to put her monsters to sleep, but quitting meant living with demons, and that, she couldn't do. Those monsters can't get her now--she died of cirrhosis last month, still in her 40s.
That mother in the maternity unit who won't be taking her baby home? She's no different than the one who'll top off a bottle of cabernet tonight, yell at her kids, pass out and wake up with regret. The wine-drinker has just chosen a more socially acceptable addiction, and unless she's really noisy, DHS will never know. Her kids will grow up with their own monsters, which they'll calm with a bottle, a bowl, a line, or a pill. If they're lucky enough to recognize the monster for what it is, they'll try therapy instead. They'll look the demon in the eye and say no. No, I won't have one drink too many. No, I won't try this drug. No, I won't smoke that cigarette or pound down that package of Oreos. The cabernet mom is the same as the pack-a-day executive, the heroin junkie, and the obese cookie monster. They're hooked. They're ruining their health and well-being.
Is it hopeless? No, it's not. There's hope and help for those who
find the will to quit. I, for one, will never drink again. I've got
monsters, sure. Who doesn't? I learned awhile back, however, not to
empower them with drinking. After I got cancer and got serious about
staying alive, I faced up to my own partying ways. I was closer to the
cabernet mom than the maternity unit mom, but still … that socially
acceptable stress outlet was leading to an unhealthy lifestyle The
hardest part was admitting I had a problem. I was lucky. But some of us
are not.
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