Loneliness vs. Isolation



"All Alone! Whether you like it or not, alone is something you'll be quite a lot."
-Dr. Seuss, Oh! The Places You'll Go!

About an hour ago, as I was finishing my between-night-shift five-mile shuffle with Skipper, I viewed a neighbor out on her front lawn preparing for an outdoor gathering. She had a canopy set up, and was adorning it with pink balloons.

"Looks like someone's having a birthday party today." I remarked.

"A social distancing birthday."

Three little giggling girls in pastel party dresses pranced around  the mini-shelter as baby brother looked on from the sidelines. A social distancing party for a five year-old. I'm sure a group of excited kindergartners will remember the governor's rules. 

I am reflecting on my day. I will be alone for the majority of it. No big plans, since I am reporting back for duty at The Rock tonight at 11pm for the last of my five night shifts, which have been spread out between three different emergency departments. Tonight promises to be a doozy, as Saturday overnights often are. I will wear my mask and PPE as I connect with patients, work alongside nurses, and  confer with my physician peers. We will be mixing it up in a 90% professional/10% personal mix, as is usually the case. For the moment though, I am am alone, and that's OK. 

In AA, we often speak of the need to defend against H.A.L.T: hungry, angry, lonely, tired. These mental states represent the Four Horsemen of Relapse, the feelings which predispose us to a mindset which can lead to picking up a drink or drug; they are built in to our existence and as human beings we all experience one or more of them every day. Each is manageable, and we have a degree of control over each one. Eating and napping make overcoming "H" and "T" easy.  Even "A"  is not a huge challenge- simply extracting oneself from a contentious situation, mindfulness breathing, or mentally processing an ugly situation will dissipate the heat of anger.

For me, LONELY is the behemoth.  I live by myself in a house meant for a family of four (purchased at a time I thought I was going to have joint visitation of the children with my ex-wife); I work crazy hours and often weekends. Add in the COVID pandemic, and defeating loneliness can present quite a challenge. On a Saturday like today, most of my friends- most "normal" Americans, in fact- are gathered amongst their various circles of connection. Not me. I am resting between work hours and sitting by myself on my sofa. But if I am diligent, I can convert loneliness to mere isolation simply by calling or texting my sponsor or a friend, getting to a meeting (live or online), or even hopping on Twitter's fast moving dialogue river. Isolated but not alone. I can isolate all day, but lonely is my enemy. 

That's not to say spending time by myself is always to be avoided. I relish my morning runs and daily devotions, as they permit me to put my brain into a positive mindset and prepare me for my challenges, both expected and unexpected. But the deep, dark feelings of true loneliness always hover like the dementors of the Harry Potter world: evil and very cold,  and if I'm not vigilant they can leech all happiness from my system, leaving me feeling worthless and weak. I know I am neither, and so I fight against them by reaching into my recovery bag and pulling out my loneliness charms.... EXPECTO PATRONUM!. 

Acceptance and loneliness do NOT mix.

So here I sit with my laptop, typing away, feeling connected to my blog and it's readers, isolated but not alone. I think I will clean up and and mix with the neighbors outside. Later I will pray to my God, who I know is always there with me; tonight I will suit up and play ER doc.

Tomorrow I have a reunion Zoom meeting with some of my old medical school buddies.
Next week I am taking a road trip to see old friends and family, which, as Bob Seger says, is good for the soul.

We may be isolated, but we never have to be alone....-JD

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Intubating Alcoholics

Image
In the past week I have put three alcoholics on life support. The first one was 39 years old. He arrived to the emergency department by EMS unconscious with almost no blood pressure. I placed my ultrasound probe on his heart and saw it was beating alright,  just very little blood was entering his ventricles. This is because he was bleeding to death. When I intubated him I saw pooled blood in the back of his throat. His liver was so far gone, so cirrhotic, that blood could not easily pass through it, and the backup and created high vein pressures on sensitive areas like his esophagus and stomach, whose linings themselves were eroded from the caustic effects of constant boozing. He was literally hemorrhaging internally, and it took many units of blood to even get a pressure back. He made it to the ICU, and later that night, died. We later learned from family that he had moved back to town "to get sober." Case two was  a 53 year old chronic alcoholic who came to me con...
Read more

Whiskey on the Walls

Image
Alcoholics in long-term recovery maintain a keen awareness  of any booze in our immediate vicinity. Whether sober a week or twenty years, we keep a heightened sensitivity to its presence in a room. So when my hospital chose to line the hallways with it, needless to say the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. These days hand sanitizer has become as ubiquitous as cellphones, face masks, and Bradley Cooper; you can't swing a dead cat without hitting a dispenser. Companies simply cannot keep up with the demand. This being the case, a local valley distillery came up with the brilliant idea to temporarily convert its operations from whiskey to full-time sanitizer production, and began to supply local medical facilities. My hospital has been buying the stuff in bulk, restocking its depleted stores,  and filling all its dispensers with it. Here's the problem. Distilleries using equipment which had been continuously producing hard liquor for years can't magically c...
Read more

Baby Soul

Image
It’s  Baby Soul Day! In my younger teen years, I worshipped the iconic band Rush. At age 14 I was small, nerdy, intellectual, and afraid of my own shadow. Geddy Lee's voice, Alex Lifeson's guitar, and Neal Peart's lyrics encapsulated perfectly how I felt growing up in 1980s suburban North Jersey surrounded by big studly Italian boys and athletic Irish kids.  Neither the albums  Moving Pictures nor  Signals left my turntable *ever* unless I was simply swapping out one for the other. I hid in my room, pretending how I was going to somehow be cool, be accepted, break out. 30 years later, as I felt myself inevitably sinking in alcoholic quicksand, I read Neal Peart's memoir  Ghost Rider . Having lost his daughter to a car crash and wife to cancer within the same year, the legendary drummer one morning mounted his motorcycle and embarked on a two-year tour of the Americas, riding wherever the wind (his HP?) took him. While journaling his geographic advent...
Read more