It started quite casually. Then, almost before I knew it, my life had become a nightmare.

I Was an Alcoholic Housewife

It still isn’t clear to me why I did it, but at an afternoon drinker. Well, so what? I said to two o’clock that September afternoon in 1963, I myself; plenty of people have drinks before walked into the kitchen of our suburban home lunch – just look in any restaurant at noontime. I and made myself a martini. It tasted good. I didn’t have any problem. made myself another, and settled back in my The truth was, I had several. For one chair to let the delightful euphoria wash over me. thing, I could no longer stay asleep at night. I I felt wonderful. How different this was from the had no trouble falling asleep, thanks to the usual 5:30 cocktail, when I was constantly soporific effects of alcohol, but I frequently woke jumping up to settle the children’s squabbles or up around one or two in the morning and lay to stir something on the stove. And what could sleepless till dawn, when I’d finally doze off be the harm in it? I asked myself. It was just this again. (I didn’t know until later that such one time…. wakefulness is common among chronic In the beginning, I promised myself I drinkers.) Because of this erratic sleep pattern, I would have only two martinis each afternoon, seldom got up to fix the children’s breakfast and starting at two o’clock. That would give me get them off to school. And my hands trembled. plenty of time to collect myself before the But several fast martinis, I found, would take children got home from school. Within three care of the shakes. weeks the promise had gone by the wayside. Paying for all the gin, yet keeping my Two drinks were no longer enough. I decided to husband from noticing, presented another start at 1:30 so I could have three martinis and problem. (By the time I had been secretly still not be so intoxicated that the children, who drinking for a year and a half, the liquor store were 8 and 11 years old, would notice. Also, the was delivering a $60 case of gin every two two hours between their arrival at 3:30 and my weeks. I told the deliveryman we entertained a husband’s at 5:30 gave me enough time to lot.) I wrote cash checks in larger and larger sober up. amounts. When my husband asked where all Or at least to appear sober, which was the money was going, I told him the children the important thing. To be on the safe side, I were growing so fast that they constantly stopped greeting my husband with a kiss each needed new clothes and shoes and…things. I evening – a perfunctory ritual which I felt sure he pointed out proudly that I hadn’t bought anything could take or leave after 14 years of marriage. I for myself in ages. He said rather wistfully, “I missed it, though. wish you would. Frankly darling, you’ve been Weekends presented a real problem. I looking terrible lately.” began to count the hours until five o’clock, when I burst into tears, something I was doing I could legitimately have that strong, life- more and more frequently now. What really hurt restoring nectar. Soon I convinced my husband was that I had already come to the same that we should let our hair down a little on conclusion, but had hoped it was just my weekends and have two or three martinis before imagination. As a former campus queen, I found dinner, instead of just one. He said it was all this pretty hard to take. It didn’t occur to me that right with him, and make a joking remark about the enormous amount of alcohol I was our becoming regular lushes. He didn’t know consuming kept my facial muscles sagging at how right he was about one of us. Later, I least 16 hours a day. I looked ten years older became desperate enough to do my weekend than my actual 38. drinking behind the locked door of our bathroom. One day I asked my oldest daughter My addiction built steadily and, before I why she no longer brought friends home. She realized it, I had become a morning as well as said, “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t bring my

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friends into this crummy house.” I slapped her able to function at all. Unless I had a stiff eyeacross the face, something I had never done opener the moment I got out of bed, even a before. We had a lovely house, and I kept it as simple task like brushing my teeth was too much clean as my flagging energy permitted. No, she for me. But my mind kept returning to the had every reason to be proud of her home, I told afternoon, several years before, when my myself; so it must be something else. husband and I had sat at the bedside of a I got the shock of my life, therefore, when cherished friend, age 40, as he suffered through I overheard a playmate tell my daughter, “Your the final, hideous throes of an alcoholic death. I mother’s an alcoholic.” “So?” she had countered knew what was in store if I didn’t stop drinking, defensively. “What’s wrong with having an and soon. But How? alcoholic mother?” The answer came in a most unexpected The children had known all along! Then way. a terrifying thought struck me: Had they told their I was not fully awake that Wednesday father? Was it possible that he, too, knew, yet morning when I heard an odd, muffled clatter at had never once mentioned it? I had no easy way the front door. Befuddled by sleep and a of finding out, for I couldn’t bear the indignity of thundering hangover, I dragged myself out of asking the children. I decided then and there to bed. Then I heard my husband’s voice pleading stop drinking. weakly, “Help me…” Incredulous, I ran to the I lay awake most of that night, and by door and found him sprawled there. “Can’t see… noon the next day every bone in my body ached. hurry,” he gasped. Every fiber of my being cried out for the panacea I called an ambulance and ran back to I was denying it. In a blind panic, I frenziedly him. His face and neck were swollen beyond poured a wafer glass full of gin, my hands belief. When the ambulance arrived, the shaking so violently that I spilled half the bottle. attendants took one look, told me to call our As I gulped down the glistening liquid, I could doctor at once, then sped off with my husband, feel the agony gradually subsiding. Then I finally siren screaming. knew the terrible truth: I was hooked. I couldn’t On the phone, our doctor told me that my quit. husband had been in to see him earlier that One degrading episode followed another. morning about a facial swelling. The doctor When people stared at me in public, I now knew diagnosed it as an infection resulting from the it wasn’t a tribute to my good looks, but curiosity extraction of an impacted wisdom tooth two about why a woman like me reeked of gin at 11 weeks before. He gotten my husbands a.m. No longer was I under the delusion that assurance that he was not allergic to penicillin, frequent mouth washing and chlorophyll tablets given him a massive injection, and sent him did the trick – especially after my dentist rather home. pointedly donned a surgical mask halfway Suddenly the situation came clear to through filling one of my teeth. I vividly recall the me: my husband was in penicillin shock! I knew night I fell down in the middle of the country-club it could be fatal in a matter of minutes. I was dance floor. Even in my drunken fog I was shaking all over and not just from a lack of mortified. I had several close calls on the alcohol, as I sped to the hospital (with both eyes highways. Once, while driving at.65m.p.h. with open for a change). I stopped at the admission one eye shut (a measure I found increasingly desk long enough to find out where my husband necessary to compensate for double vision), I was, then flew down the corridor and burst came within an inch of sideswiping another car. through the emergency-room door. The small It may seem incredible that anyone would room was filled with doctors, nurses and attempt to drive in that condition, but that’s an orderlies working over my husband. example of how little judgment drunks have. One of the doctors gently led me out into Besides, I didn’t feel drunk; I just was. a corridor while I peppered him with questions. I worried constantly about my health and Yes, he was in penicillin reaction – one of the about my husband’s increasing rejection of me. I most brutal he had ever seen. My husband no longer drank for pleasure; I had to do it to be couldn’t breath; the inside of his throat had

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swollen shut, and they were just about to do a amazing. Until a few minutes ago, we didn’t think tracheotomy. he had a chance. Now we have every reason to I stood in the corridor, listening to the believe he’s going to make it. It’s almost like a terrible racking sounds my husband made as he miracle.” fought to survive. My knees began to buckle. I While he was talking, I sent up a fervent sank down in the nearest chair and cried. prayer of silent thanks, ending with “I’ll keep my Then I began to pray. “Dear Lord, part of the bargain, Lord.” And I did. please don’t take him away from me. I’ll do Although those first few weeks three anything if only you will let him live.” I paused for years ago were agony, there was never any a second to search my soul. “I promise never to question in my mind that I might break my touch another drop of liquor as long as I live if promise. How could I fail a God who had given you were to spare his life and help him get well me back my beloved husband – and again. You alone know how hard that will be but subsequently the love and respect of my with your help I can do it. Dear God, please let children, my health and, finally, my own selfhim live.” respect? To throw away such priceless About ten minutes later, the doctor came blessings twice in a lifetime, one would have to toward me from the emergency room, I ran to be the worst kind of fool. And that, thank God, I him. He was smiling. “His blood pressure and no longer am. respiration are improving steadily,” he said. “It’s

Source: Reader’s Digest, September 1968.

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