On acceptable dignified diseases
And embarrassing self-imposed dirty ones.
My father is an alcoholic and I have learned to understand and respect that this is a disease. It took a long time for me to settle with that notion. That he was sick. I mean, he´s the one that was drinking like a maniac and actually choose to take that bottle to his lips, time and again, even though he knew it killed us all, slowly but surely. I thought it would kill him too. I am amazed that it didn’t. But he’s apparently “really strong”. Whatever that means… Anyhow, I went to an Alanon camp and learned way more about alcoholism than I ever thought possible and came to the understanding that my father is sick. Which makes sense now, as nobody in their right mind would chug an entire bottle of red wine at 7 am in the morning in front of their 20 year old daughter because they were thirsty. There was plenty of cold, fresh water in the faucet right next to him by the way. So I get it. He’s sick. Alcoholism is a disease. He’s got it . And yes, the rest of us, who love him and live around him and breath in his greatness and his flaws, got the disease too. Codependency disease for us but just as nuts. So once I accepted that (I actually had to practice saying “my father is an alcoholic” in front of the mirror as I knew that once I said it, I couldn’t take it back) I thought the world would thank me for letting them know. Maybe even rejoice that I had come to such a definite conclusion and get to work on the cure.
That was before I was aware of acceptable dignified diseases (aka “good” diseases) and embarrassing self-imposed “dirty” diseases. My father is an alcoholic and people secretly say, behind our backs, and sometimes to our faces, that he has brought that upon himself. That is the nature of a dirty disease and a secret that, whether said openly or thought privately, is certainly agreed upon by all.
I told a dear friend of mine about my father’s alcoholism when I was in the midst of it. When I was cleaning up vomit in his home and witnessing him sleeping without sheets. And neglecting the dog. And driving drunk. I bared my soul to him because I needed a shoulder to lean on and even though I knew his shoulder may not be the most reliable one, I chose his as I was pretty desperate. His anwer was, “do you have to mention alcoholism at all times? Can’t you just say that he is sick?”
I answered, he is sick and he is an alcoholic. If your father was sick and had cancer, would you say he is sick? Or would you say that your father has cancer?
He said, I would say that he is sick and he has cancer but to say that somebody is an alcoholic makes things just a little too uncomfortable, don’t you think?
I said, uncomfortable for whom? I am not uncomfortable. I told him I am sad, lonely, lost and raging. But I am not uncomfortable.
We stayed silent for a bit and then ordered another glass of wine. Then a mutual friend of ours called me to say that her mother had cancer and I thought, oh great, one of those acceptable dignified good diseases! I was secretly a little ticked off that this person would be able to receive all of society’s comfort and prayers due to the breast cancer that randomly moved into her mother’s body.
After a few moment of silence on the phone she says, “it’s lung cancer.” And I immediately thought, oh, of course. Lung Cancer. Because she smokes like a chimney…
Cancer has occupied the top tier of all of the possible diseases God thrusts upon us for a long time. Most everybody feels bad about it and heaps sympathy that way. But lung cancer. This one bounds up in the self-imposed dirty disease category somehow, regardless of its association to the The Cancer.
And all of a sudden, The Shame of my father’s alcoholism told me it had to go. In fact, it told me (in the midst of all of my alcoholic woes) that it was really sorry but it was urgent and it could not stay. As there was another self-imposed dirty catastrophe around the corner that needed tending to, that took precedence to Alcoholism…
10 years later my father’s embarrassing self-imposed dirty disease vanished, right in time for my going away party from Sweden that he was bound to be a no/show to. And miraculously, the embarrassing self-imposed dirty disease transformed itself into a proud distinction of particular strength! My father became sober. He beat that nasty demon and even though it was deemed a disease and both self imposed and dirty, the victory was all his and celebrated at all costs!
When I see my friend these days, we talk openly and freely about my father’s recovery. We both see it as a sign of strength and a testament to my father’s inevitable willpower that he was able to stop cold turkey and never look back.
We even do a toast for him because it is such a marvelous feat! But neither one of us ever brings up that lung cancer patient…