Battle with the Bottle

By Patty Mintz



The thing Joe Smith wanted to see most as he pried his eyes open each morning was a good swig of liquor left in the bottle. If it was dry, time dragged until the liquor store opened.

Those were dark days, says Joe, a former athlete from Metro. “Everything was completely out of control: my home life, my finances, even my health. I was drinking over a quart of hard liquor a day.�

He began to drink in isolation, a sure sign of a chronic alcoholic. Who needs phones and drinking pals when you are on a path to self-destruction.

His wife of 17 years sought therapy to cope with “the totality of it all,� says Joe (a pseudonym). “It was completely disruptive to the home,� including their two children, now 16 and 17. No violence was involved – Joe never hit or verbally abused his wife or kids, but nevertheless, “You don’t realize the damage you do to your family,� he says, hands wrapped firmly around his coffee mug in a room at Crosbie House.

Now separated from his wife, the 43-year-old has come a long way in recent months. His journey toward sobriety began with acknowledgment. Admitting there’s a problem is a pivotal moment whether you’re homeless and sleeping on the street or a surgeon whose 30-year career is crumbling.

Joe, who started drinking at 15, began his journey to recovery by detoxing on his own at home, a process that took days and made him paranoid and panic-stricken. He sweated intensely then turned cold as ice. His body was racked by the shakes and he suffered extreme anxiety. There were other reactions, too, both physical and mental, for which descriptions don’t exist. “Your body goes through a real transformation,� he says simply.

Crosbie House program director George Libby knows all too well about battles with the bottle. “Mine also started early in life. I was a very shy person, so shy that the first high school dance I went to I spent in the toilet. I was terrified of the other sex, but wanting to be part of everything,� says Libby.

Then a friend gave him a couple of drinks. “I had a ball that night. It took away my shyness. At the next high school dance I had my own bottle.� The awkward, insecure teen had found a way to cope.

Libby went on to spend much of his 20-year career in the Armed Forces posted in isolated locations. “Most of the activities at those bases revolved around the messes and it became a way of life. Without understanding at the time, my drinking increased to become problematic.�

As a civilian, Libby studied engineering at Acadia University and later landed a job making wine and hard cider.

“What a place for an alcoholic! But it was a gift because it allowed me to get sick enough to do something about my illness.�

If he had his way, the sickness he contracted would be called Jellinek’s Disease, named for the doctor that traced its course in earlier years of this century. “I believe it would have a tremendous difference in the recovery rates,� as people began to feel less stigmatized and public perceptions shifted.

In a book called Jellinek’s Disease: The New Face of Alcoholism, author Kathleen Whalen FitzGerald says “change the name, reframe the illness,� a concept that led to greater understanding of those with Down’s Syndrome, Alzheimer’s, ADD and other highly stigmatized illnesses.

But in January 1956, when Libby sought help for his drinking, the public consciousness was more in tune with Hollywood’s version. Just that year the Canadian Medical Association and its British counterpart adopted the American Medical Association’s stance from six years earlier stating indisputably that alcoholism was a bone fide illness, but it was no magic bullet.

“Here we are in 2006 and people still look at this as a moral issue,� bemoans Libby, who started his recovery with a visit to Crosbie House founder Dr. Jack Crosbie and “many, many, many self-help meetings.�

Three years after, “treatment came to the Miller Hospital in Kentville and I was interviewed and became a counsellor at Crosbie House.�

It was eight years ago that Joe checked into Crosbie House, not of his own volition, but at the behest of his employer.

“It was strongly suggested that I attend to (avoid) the possibility of a job loss. I never drank at work, but my drinking affected my work and once you start to feel better, your thoughts are going back to the liquor.�

Joe completed the program and things went great for a couple of months, “but I gradually started back at it.� Eventually, he was as bad if not worse than before. He lost his job and was charged a number of times for driving under the influence before he decided, with input from his family, to seek help again.

By then, the 28-day, 12-step abstinence-based program had returned to this area after operating briefly in Middleton.

“It was absolutely my decision to come here,� unlike before when he felt forced, says Joe in an interview during his second week with the program.

It is a choice that takes real strength, says Libby. “I’ve seen people who lost everything in their life and still not make the decision to change.� He pauses, recalling one man in particular, in his early 50s, who ended up in the hospital with cirrhosis of the liver. “He said to me, ‘for God’s sake, George, if you know someone like me, tell them to get help and not wait like I did.’� The man died shortly after.

“But I think worse still, at one time I dealt with a young man with a young family who had just been released from Dorchester where he had spent five years because he was drunk and had killed two elderly people with his car. The guilt, the shame he lived with every single day as a result of his drinking….� says Libby.

The fact that most addicts will die of their illness before they find treatment, says Libby, makes the other side of the coin that much more valuable. A survey of clients who went through the program since the facility opened in March shows 83 per cent have not used any chemicals or gambled since.

But how do you measure success?

“That’s a good question. Our only yardstick is, are they living totally chemically free? We believe if they are, the other problems in their life can be cured.�

As for Joe, who became an alcoholic in spite of growing up in what he describes as “a great home,� the cost of treatment at Crosbie House is money well spent.

The $6,500 fee covers pretreatment, assessment, the 28-day program, a two-day family workshop and two years of aftercare. It’s the aftercare, says Libby, that is the crux of the treatment

“You can’t just say, ‘see you later, good luck’. The most important part is what individuals do when they leave here.�



(For further details on services and background, visit www.crosbyhousesociety.com">www.crosbyhousesociety.com">www.crosbyhousesociety.com)