![]() ![]() You're constantly reminded that the hospital staff and program is there for your benefit, for your recovery, and that your success is the most important thing to them. You're treated with kindness and respect, taught that the disease of alcoholism is nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed of and that it can be successfully treated. The aim at Schick-Shadel is to complete the program and return you to daily life as a non-alcoholic, a non-addict. The program isn't based on the same tenets. Schick-Shadel is not Alcoholics Anonymous. When one of them said, "Hi, my name is Joe-Bob, and I'm an alcoholic," and half the room answered, "Hi, Joe-Bob," I felt like throwing up my hands in frustration and boredom. As their talk went on, it began to sound more and more like an AA meeting. They talked a lot about finding support groups once they were out, and most of them went to AA meetings. Their time out ranged between two to seven years. The grads in one end of the room, all male and obviously well acquainted with each other, started talking about their experiences after completing the program and getting out into the world. There were a lot of people in the room, about ten graduates and about twenty current patients. It was a combined graduate and current group, required of current patients. Still no call for my session, and it was time for the evening group. My own pillows, my favorite stuffed animal, a watch (there aren't enough clocks on the walls, including in the rooms), a lightweight and inexpensive wall clock for our room, a longer extension cord for my computer. I came up with a list of things my partner, Bob (not his real name), could bring me during visitation that would help with my stay. I kept waiting to be called for my relaxation session. It tasted like nothing at all, except for the rice, which tasted like paste. Even the soy sauce I had to ask for (none provided) didn't help it at all. It was easily one of the worst meals I've ever had. I ate a horrible plate of what was supposed to be vegetable stir fry. I sat with a group of folks I didn't know, which was actually good because I learned some names and faces. Now I know it was probably from the lack of thiamin, which is leeched from your system by alcohol. In the past two or three months I've had tingling in my fingers that's annoyed and concerned me. It was like being in a room of kindergarteners. This isn't a vacation, people, it's a rehab program. Although I didn't learn much from the nutritionist because of my personal nutrition study in the past, the lack of regard was frustrating for me. They had very little regard for the people around them who might really benefit from what the nutritionist had to say, and they spent a fair amount of time chatting and talking/texting on their cell phones instead of respectfully listening. Many of the current patients (who are required to attend the group sessions) are a loud and rowdy group who would rather be hanging out socially and shooting the breeze than be in an informational session. well, unsuitable as a speaker for this group of people. The nutritionist, who has a quiet demeanor and who is undoubtedly good one-on-one with clients, was. Then it was about time for a group session with a nutritionist, so Ann and I made our way down to the auditorium. "I love fresh celery sticks! Yum!" She was dumbfounded. Chocolate isn't really my thing." She gasped melodramatically, gaping in horror. She asked me what kinds of things I like. I met another of the nurses, JJ, who said that she often gets treats for patients. Morton said my sessions, beginning with a "relaxation session," would begin that evening. My stomach is so small and it's so difficult to throw up, not to mention the damage that repeated vomiting would do to my altered stomach, that using emetine aversion therapy simply was not an option. The reason that faradic treatment was decided in my case was because of my gastric bypass. ![]()
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