Shelly

Sheldon & Son
Virginia Beach
For me, one of the unexpected pleasures of getting sober in AA has been the many fascinating people I have encountered. When I first got here, though, it was difficult for me to grasp how willing everyone was to lend a hand just for the sake of helping out a stranger who was trying to stay sober. I met Sheldon at my third AA meeting. He came right up to me at the end of the meeting, shook my hand & introduced himself, and asked me how I was doing. He told me about a meeting at another location the following night, and I started attending that one, too. In fact, I still do. After being in several meetings with me and seeing how lonely I felt, Sheldon asked me to his house for dinner one night. He was the first person to extend the hand of friendship in the fellowship, and we are still best buddies today.

Sheldon at work, with his gigantic printing press
Sheldon & I are an unlikely pair to the casual observer. He loves sports; I hate them. He's conservative; I'm liberal. He's industrious and I like nothing more than a nap on an afternoon off work. He gets excited about fishing; I yawn. He's straight and I'm gay. But we have found that these are minor differences. We complememt one another in our friendship, like a pair of salt & pepper shakers.

When I went to Sheldon's for dinner that first evening, we took a walk around his neighborhood. I was charmed by the number of cats that would run out to the street to greet him when they saw him coming. You might be able to fool people, but you can't fool a cat. If they were delighted to see him, he must be a nice guy. Toward the end of our stroll he said "You know, Bill, I don't mean to offend you, but I've been around a few 24-hours [fourteen years at that point] and I can honestly say that I have never seen anyone that looked as bad as you did when you first came in. I was really worried that you were gonna die."

Sheldon insists on trying McDonalds in Canada to see if it's the same as the ones back home; Robespierre looks on with disdain
Sheldon is now approaching his 18th AA anniversary, and our friendship has deepened over the past four years. We laugh and cut up like two 5-year olds, but we are also honest with each other when one of us gets off the beam. He gives me good counsel when I need it, and I try to do the same for him.

Not catching a thing
Neighborhood cats aside, Sheldon at times has an uneasy relationship with wildlife, like the time he was in his backyard, and nearly got killed by a bird. There's a grapevine on a low arbor along the side fence, and Sheldon parted the leaves to peer at a brown thrasher on her nest. The bird fixed a cold glare at Sheldon for an instant, and then exploded off the nest directly at his face. He took a strong peck about a centimeter from his eye, and fell backward onto the lawn - flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him. After cussing & catching his breath, he realized that his head had landed a few inches from a horseshoe spike.

A virgin at the drag show (Sheldon; not the drag queen)
Last summer, while we were vacationing at Sadie's summer home, Sadie was zipping Sheldon along the river on her sea-doo. He had been urging her to "Slow down! Slow down!" As he held onto Sadie, he sensed something over his shoulder, and discovered a very angry seagull bearing down on his head. "Speed up! Speed up!" Sheldon screamed, gripping Sadie tighter and ducking his head. The gull kept up for awhile, but they managed to outrun it before Sheldon went the way of Suzanne Pleshette in The Birds.

Sheldon dated a few goats before he found his true love
This past winter, driving home from from an evening meeting, a deer loped across Staples Mill Road, making a beeline for Sheldon's van. The deer felt it had a date with destiny, for it ran directly across a six-lane thoroughfare devoid of traffic so it could run smack into the front of his van. Sheldon attracts deranged animals.

Sheldon ♥ Sadie
The common squirrel is Sheldon's nemisis. He's indulgent with kitty-cats (I gave him some Hello Kitty stickers and plastic sandwich bags, and he put a sticker on his checkbook), but he shows no mercy to squirrels. I went by his house one time, and asked why he had the kitchen window open. "Shootin' squirrels," Sheldon answered.
"Bastards are eating up my garden."

My pal Sheldon has helped me grow into a better, healthier, happier person, and I've seen Sheldon grow and change, too. It's never too late to become the person we were always meant to be.

What Happened

March 2007

Sometimes when I would wake up, if the skylights were dim and the clock read five, I would lie there in bed and wait. If the skylights grew darker, I would know night was falling. If the light grew stronger, I would have to face another day. The hours on the clock held little meaning for me; time had become strange and warped.

If I couldn't fall back to sleep, I would get up. Within about twenty minutes, the trembling would have turned into violent shakes. Despite having promised myself that I would eat something - anything - when I got up, I would reach for the gin bottle. I knew the only thing that would stop the tremors was more booze. It was challenging trying to control the ice tongs sufficiently to pluck ice cubes and get them into the cocktail shaker successfully, and pouring gin without spilling it all over was hit or miss - pun there for the taking. I'd pour the drink, and many times have to leave the glass on the counter, bending down to take the first sips. I was too shaky to lift the drink without spilling it. Oh, and the glass would have been the least filthy choice near the sink; short, squat juice glasses that were tip-resistant. The days of elegant, chilled cocktail glasses were long gone. I was too weak to stand up long enough to load the dishwasher, so a dirty glass would have to do.

After the first drink, my shaking would subside - but so would any desire for food. The first drink would lead to another. And another and another until I blacked out and the cycle repeated itself. For many months, nearly every morning started with an episode of black vomit; I was bleeding internally, and blood would collect in my stomach while I slept causing sudden nausea when I awakened.

My body was starting to shut down. Standing upright for more than a few minutes put me at the edge of collapse. My thoughts, ranging from despair to apathy, were like confetti blowing in a silo, hitting me in the face and then whirling away. Sometimes I would think that I could still get a grip on things, but more & more frequently I just wanted for it to be over. I dreaded each new day, and death seemed like the kindest outcome. Arrangements were made, a will and all the related legal papers prepared, but when I went to have them signed I could only make it as far as the lobby, so that's where we did our business. A few hours later, I fell into a seizure at a dear friend's house, and was taken to the hospital.

I told the doctors that my problem was alcohol, and they ran all sorts of tests. My organs had started giving out, and none of the test results looked promising. I wasn't allowed solid food, but I got insulin, oxygen, anti-seizure medications, and bags & bags of blood and potassium. I didn't know it at the time, but I was going through a physical detox regimen. It would take half a year to determine what liver function remained, the doctors said. Once stabilized, I was told that if I drank more alcohol I would die. After four days, I was sent home.

"Well," I thought, "this is the end of the line. No more alcohol. Look what it did to me, and how lucky I am that they got me back on track. No more drinking for me." By early evening, I had the cocktail shaker in my hand.

For two nights I drank. Life during the previous years had seemed like a dull nightmare, where the edges are blurry. Now, this was like a lucid dream in high definition, and it wasn't fun to watch. Now, I did not want to drink and I could not stop myself. Before, I had been able to soothe myself with the idea that I could stop drinking at a time of my choosing if I truly had the desire. I suddenly realized that this thing was far bigger than me; more powerful, stronger.

Man, I thought I'd hit rock bottom before, what with the vomiting, tremors, starvation, seizures, and then having hoses and tubes inserted into every orifice on my person. But on this second night after returning home, this drink in my hand when I wanted so badly to live, well, it crushed me. Terror is the best word to describe my predicament when I realized I could not stop drinking even though I wanted to stay sober. I was utterly defeated and I knew it. I just did not know what to do about it. The answer would be revealed to me while I slept.

Upon awakening the next morning, I found a local website for Alcoholics Anonymous. I read everything they had to say about alcoholism. I found the listing for a meeting very close to my home later in the week. I looked at the information about the meeting over and over. I knew I would go. I made that resolution with some excitement & fear, but as I sat there contemplating my decision a sense of calmness settled over me. The turning point had been reached when I decided to ask for help; my clumsy prayer was answered. It was April 7, 2007.

And from that moment up to today, I have not found it necessary to take a drink.