What is Wrong with You?

I decided at a young age that I would give up the drink at age 60, like my sainted father. My sainted mother did the same, right along with him, at age 54. For some reason, that appealed to me less.

Wait. I know the reason. At 54 I was addicted, good and proper, and was in no way ready for a breakup.

I never dreamed I would be an alcoholic. Sure, I'd drunk plenty and, sadly, had been drunk plenty. But by the time I turned 30, I was married, having babies, and not thinking much about booze. I'd have a drink or three at parties, Sunday dinners with my sisters, during the holidays. A cocktail was a restaurant treat. Wine was for when company joined us for dinner.

That changed.

The way I remember it, I began enjoying a glass of wine with dinner just about the time my girls were in their teens. When they were old enough to drink, I'd enjoy a glass of wine with them when they were home. And then...

I began enjoying a glass of wine every night after dinner, as I corrected stacks of student work. I enjoyed another glass when the work was done. I stumbled up to bed, passed out by 9. Around 1 AM I’d wake up with cold sweat and regret, hoping I hadn't said or done anything foolish. Every morning I hit the Tylenol and the shower, bleary-eyed.

After all the stumbling, the sweating, the regret, the head-aches, one would think I would resolve never to touch a drop again. One would think. And one would be wrong.

It came to a point where I'd stop for a bottle on the way home just to make sure I could do it all over again.

My dear husband knew I was in trouble, but I would brook no argument. "I'm not spending much money. I'm home, not driving, so it's all good. I'm not hurting anyone. I deserve a treat..."

A treat!

Fast-forward to 59. We are away for the weekend with friends, celebrating my husband's birthday. We begin with cocktails, and I savor two perfectly made highballs. On to dinner. On to red wine.

Absolutely delightful.

Until I downed a fresh pour as if it were water. And stopped talking mid-sentence. I glanced at my dear husband. I can only imagine why he was already glancing at me. I had hit the wall. I made my goodnights and left the table before the night was half over. He put me to bed and rejoined the fun.

In spite of emptying my stomach, I awoke in agony. Writhing on the cold hotel bathroom floor. Shaking. Sweating. Destroyed. No, I could not join the gang for breakfast! I could not even imagine dressing, walking, speaking. We made it out, barely, and I endured a long, painful day.

And so I gave up the drink at 59, not 60.

The first three days were the hardest. It got easier, but not easy, not for a long time. But if I ever became tempted, I called to mind that day recovering from my husband's party. It was a powerful reminder that my body could no longer tolerate alcohol. I refused to subject it to such abuse again.

That is a rather long story about giving up alcohol. Why include it in a discussion about clean low carb eating?

Well, giving up alcohol is best for any body, true, but that's not it.

It's that change is hard, especially when change involves breaking an addiction. And if you are still eating cake and ice cream even though you know it is not good for you, then you, my friend, are addicted.

A few things helped me kick alcohol addiction: my parents' success, my firm decision to take control, and that terrible awful no-good rotten monster hangover.

As for carbs...

When I realized that my "senior moments" were signs of dementia, and that I could help slow - and maybe reverse - the progression by changing my diet, I was all in. My daughters were not yet married, and there were no grandchildren. My motivation for change this time was so simple: I wanted to enjoy my grandchildren. To do so, I needed to stay sane!

The few things that helped my kick carb addiction: my alcohol success, my firm decision, and a particularly disturbing memory of an "Alzheimer's Moment" while driving.

Change is hard. No one changes a life-long pattern of eating on a whim. Why do you want to change?

Is there something wrong? Do you have cognitive decline, like I do? Or are you uncomfortable in your body at its current weight? Do you have health issues stemming from chronic inflammation, perhaps diabetes, prediabetes, an autoimmune disorder, arthritis?

Or do you have a goal? Like my goal is to be sane for my grandchildren? Maybe you want to take your kids to Disney and not rent a scooter. Maybe you want to take walking tours on a European vacation. Maybe you want to recover your prom-sized body for your wedding day.

Because of my rock-bottom moments, I had rock-solid dedication to changing my bad habits.

As you embark on this journey, you, too, might want to hold your rock-bottom moments as close as your goals and dreams.

Stay strong, wise, kind, and good.

Eileen