Turn and face the strain, ch-ch-changes There's gonna have to be a different man          - David Bowie Despite the blogging hiatus, my recovery journey has never stopped. Since I last posted I sold my home of four years, changed cities and jobs. I've discovered a vast, vibrant recovery community in my new hometown. I picked up my FIVE year sober chip, for God's sakes. And  I am ever reminded that working the 12 steps is not a singular linear progression with a beginning and end, but rather a circular pattern of ascendancy in which each successful completion of step twelve is met with a new understanding of step one, a leveling up of a spiral staircase of enlightenment, with each round building on the lessons of the previous.  In reality, climbing the spiral sobriety staircase of so-called recovery utopia is neither steady nor consistent. I'd love to sit there and say that 2021 allowed me to reach levels of awakening and expansion enabli...

As we have now put a dent in 2021, and my bloggerlust is slowly awakening- partially from topic inspiration, partly on the encouragement of my dear one- I recognize that these twelve months have the potential to surpass my wildest permutation of the future. Six weeks ago I rang in the new year with an entirely new (and completely unexpected)  magical pouch brimming with hope and exciting prospects, and as we turn a snowy corner towards spring, many of those prospects are coming to fruition. Work is stable, my physical and mental health continue their upward trajectory, and I am hopelessly and willingly steeped in an amazing new relationship, the bliss of which is gloriously transcendent. My existence appears to be humming along on all cylinders. I finally feel like I've got this “life thing” down. Danger, JD! You are so busy celebrating yourself, gleefully patting yourself on the back that you are subtly distancing yourself from the original source of your stability and growth in y...

 It was a year and a day ago. New Years' eve, bringing in 2020. America was booming, people seemed generally content and social, while on the other side of the globe an unknown virus was stealthily beginning to make its way out of a farmers' market in some city in China most of us had never heard of. Times Square was a sea of faces, as per tradition. All in all, life in America was pretty good. Not for me; it was anything but. Fresh off a breakup of a relationship I thought  was going to last forever, I arrived that evening home from my emergency department shift around 11:30pm alone and full of rage and self-pity. I anguished over the now perennial grief of  my children not in my life, a feeling so built into my daily existence that it had almost become background noise....that is, except, for that evening, where it torpedoed any semblance of serenity. On previous NYEs  Cassie had been with me, at my side, with her soothing presence. I remember being in her home exa...

I hope you slept well last night. When you woke up this morning, history had been made on biblical proportions.  It is zero hour. While you were off in dreamland, as the rain washed over the East Coast, in the quiet blanket of night, dozens of very special refrigerated trucks made off along the interstates. They departed the previous day from Portage, Michigan: legions of them, fanning out to destinations near and far across America, carrying their valuable and historic cargo, en route to over 600 hospitals and clinics. Right now, as you read this, the COVID vaccinations are hitting the arms of its first American recipients. One year ago, nobody outside of a biology lab had ever heard of the novel coronavirus, a.k.a. COVID-19. Now it is standard household vocabulary. In December 2019 we knew nothing. Social distancing was something you did when somebody pissed you off. You occasionally viewed people donning face masks on TV news-  Japanese massing in their commuter railways at...

Daddy worked like a mule mining Pike County coal He fucked up his back and couldn't work anymore He said "One of these days you'll get out of these hills Keep your nose on the grindstone and out of the pills."                         -Tyler Childers Boxer was the workhorse in George Orwell's Animal Farm . His answer to every problem, every setback, was `I will work harder!' which he had adopted as his personal motto.  He labored his entire life for his cause like no other animal on the farm, only to collapse in exhaustion and be ultimately sold to a slaughterhouse, so the ruling pigs could buy themselves a case of whiskey. I will work harder, for myself and my loved ones- not for some pointless politician's pointless vision. I clawed my back from unemployment, loss, and alcoholic oblivion, and found not one but THREE E.R. jobs I love. I work my ass off at all of them, taking on far more hours than any emergency physician s...

  But when you cross over... time stops. When I came back... I knew... all the things I could see were real. Heaven and hell were right here. Behind every wall, every window. The world behind the world, and we're smack in the middle. -John Constantine You have one. Whether you choose to admit it, or even acknowledge it, your innerworld exists- the reality behind the reality. Your shadow place. The secret refuge from the routine, from the daily grind, where your not-so-guilty pleasures explode and unencumbered fantasies materialize. Much like your outerworld, the landscape there brims with desire and temptation, with one profound difference- in that place, your special place, it is all up close, tangible, and infinitely more vivid; there are zero encumbrances preventing your engagement. Held in check by societal norms, there you are not. Pinned down by regulation, authority, social decorum, or the demands of others, there you are not. So when you find that opportune moment, evening...

  1978 Dad took me to the third game of the World Series at Yankee Stadium. The Dodgers were up in the series, leading two  games to nothing, and game three was a “must win” for the Bronx Bombers. The Yanks were behind  1-0 in a third inning and the Dodgers had runners on first and second with one out. We were sitting in the second tier, third base line. I was staring directly at my favorite player, Greg Nettles, the third baseman. Thurman Munson was standing behind home plate shouting something to him. Lucky for us, Ron Guidry was on the mound.  One pitch later Steve Garvey hit a rocket down the third-base line which Netttles speared, fired to Roy White at second base who in turn threw to first to complete the double play. Inning over, and the Yanks were out of the jam. I remember turning to dad. “If Greg had not made that play it  might have meant  multiple more runs for the Dodgers, and the Yanks would’ve been a deep hole, and if they lose the game they ...

My son Toby and I have been digging for diamond ore. It lies deep- very deep, secretly embedded in the depths of the digital world; you won't come across any in those upper layers Minecraft’s green surface. Finding any at all requires some heavy mining- down many, many levels past the dirt, the cobblestone, the granite. Beyond the deposits of coal and clusters of redstone. I even passed up some gold ore to get to it. When I had finally made it into the bowels of the underworld, it still took a lot of work and dumb luck with my simulated iron pickaxe to reach some of those rare grey cubes glittering with nuggets of sky blue diamond ore. I get there, mark the site, and notify Toby about my discovery. He had tasked me with finding diamond ore for a special purpose. He joins me sublevel and assists in the harvest to bring the bounty to his wizard's crafting table. He can then create all kinds of special implements endowed with magical spells. Every Wednesday, we meet online in this...

Four years ago today was Implosion Day . My absolute worst, my bottom. The day by which all other "bad" days in my life will forever be compared. Nothing since has come close, and although the future is by definition uncertain, I truly doubt any day will. By some quirk of the calendar, Election Day 2016 happened to be November 8th, the second Tuesday of the month. I know this, because it was also my first night spent in residential treatment. I am going to take you back to that fateful evening. Oblivious to any events outside my own skull, I remember being surprised to look up at the TV in the residents' lounge in the Big House to see CNN's John King standing beside a giant map of the U.S., states colored in red, blue, and yellow: After the meeting, I wandered into the residents’ lounge, a large, hospitable room with a sitting area, two computer stations, a refrigerator stocked with high-calorie “nutritious”snacks, a juice fountain, cushy oversized furniture, and a h...

  The following came in yesterday through Netgalley.com, a literary trade industry website where bibliophiles are provided advanced review copies of new books and provide unbiased professional-grade assessments. This is not your feel-good “friends & family” ego-stroking love fest. It’s pretty hardcore, and the reviewers pull no punches:   "Ballad of a Sober Man" was so riveting that I had to finish it within hours of picking it up. Yes, Dr Remy may be a board-certified E.R. physician, but he is also a prolific storyteller. This man can write! I HIGHLY recommend this book to those who are in recovery, and/or to those who have a loved one or friend dealing with alcoholism. It's wonderful to see the humanity behind the disease. This gist of this memoir is that Dr. Joe finds himself, at age 49, "morally bankrupt" and "deep in spiritual debt." In the first few chapters, we meet him as he's "voluntold" into a psychiatric hospital to detox f...

Twenty Days.  It took a year to write. It took six months to edit, and three to promote. Ballad of a Sober Man: An ER Doctor's Journey of Recovery has been up for sale twenty days.  It made the front page of my local newspaper. Saturday was the big book reading with Amber and her book of poetry under the autumn color of the Virginia Blue Ridge. There was music, food, and and fellowship. I sold books. The river of texts was flowing fast. My friends helped with the celebration, and I continue to surpass my expectations of sales online. Funny though, I'm ready to put it all behind me. In the rearview mirror. In the experience timeline of any project, there seems to be the concept, the fantasy, the work, the implementation, the process, the buildup, the moment of release, the celebration, the self-congratulation. I am now experiencing the aftereffects...the reflection, and even, in to a certain degree, the subtle hangover. This morning I took out a large cardboard box and stuffed...

 Dear friends, There’s no other way to describe it. These last two weeks have been wickedly fucked up, but in a good way. Since the book’s release, I have been grabbed at 360 degrees between interviews, podcasts, responding to emails, and getting ready for Saturday’s book reading/signing. I’m experiencing social media fatigue. Oh, and my phone is on fire. Let’s throw in the mix that I am working a string of night shifts in an emergency department out of town. I’m tumbling, mentally speaking.  All of this attention is very humbling and to be quite honest I look forward to the dust settling a a little. One of my interviews ended up on the front page of my hometown paper, which I did not expect, and have mixed feelings about. I am very much feeling like an imposter these days. Dammit Jim, I’m an ER doc, not a real author! But, I have some time off work coming up, and Saturday should be fun. For those of you coming, thank you- enjoy the food, the music and the atmosphere! For thos...

Happy Saturday, By this time many readers have bought the book in both digital and paperback form. I thank you from the depths of my soul. I know sales of Ballad have gone way beyond purchases by friends, family and work associates simply by looking at the stats on my "Author Central" page- I simply do not have a relationship with nearly as many people in this world as total number books that have sold.  Be that as it may, I want to make an appeal for honest   reviews on Amazon . Among other things, reviews are a driving force that spurn more sales. In the year 2020, it appears to me that Amazon's software transcends merely highly complex status, having essentially evolved into artificial intelligence (the sci-fi geek in me is beginning to think entities such as Amazon and Google have moved past simple internet programs and have become living, sentient life forms). If it senses “unusual” review activity- such as faked or paid-for reviews, Amazon will dispatch its gremlin...

The month of October had traditionally been an exciting and festive time of year in my life, dating back to childhood. I savor the memories of planning Halloween costumes, going on hayrides, watching scary movies with friends, and apple picking excursions. In my college years it was all about homecoming, the first chilly morning runs, and the best parties on campus. Later in life, as a dad, it was the month two of my children celebrated birthdays- I would take them to haunted forests or we’d hike through autumn foliage. At age 49, October took on a much, much darker element.  On October 19th 2016, I lost my father.  That month my drinking derailed me as I began my my final alcoholic death spiral. I went on the most severe bender of my life, which would ultimately lead to the death of my old existence and resurrection into my new one. While my sobriety date may be celebrated every November 4th, preceding it are the series of cascading events which would eventually lead to Implo...

I was completely ready to post some heavy, thought-provoking blog entry today full of drama and emotion, but seeing it is the kind of dreary Monday morning seemingly enhanced by a bit of nostalgic humor, I decided to go with something lighter. For some reason, upon awakening I thought of this scene from the original Blues Brothers movie with John Belushi and Dan Ackroyd. But it is the Carrie Fisher scene in the sewer tunnel that resonated with me:  Elwood Blues, face down in sewage, about to pay the ultimate price for all his sins at he hands of Ms. Fisher, who plays the ultimate woman scorned. Um...kinda reminds me of myself circa 2016... Funnier than hell, and a wonderful tribute to two actors for whom I pay my respects....  https://youtu.be/ftt4f2H3GDs

Silly me. I thought that once the book was finally released and out there, I could sit sit back and relax. No sireee...the launch of the Ballad  has only accelerated the intensity of the work to promote, as well as the time commitment. Many people who were kind enough to pre-order took me up on my offer for some swag, so I have been diligently writing thank-yous and stuffing envelopes full of bookmarks and book plates. I'm trying to keep up with the Facebook posts and tweets.  My phone has been blowing up for two days, and I'm running around to book retailers large and small to offer up my little creation for selling on store shelves.  Oh, yeah...and when I have a spare moment, I work as an ER doc. Most importantly, I must find time to continue my program of recovery, TODAY (and every day). Because like some very smart people once  told me in rehab four years ago,  I MUST put my recovery first. If I lose my recovery, well....everything goes *poof* and I'm just ...

Excerpt from the book’s Preface: I wrote these pages while I learned how to live an alcohol- and chemical-free life. Strangely enough, ditching the vodka (my drug of choice) was the “easy” part. It was maturing in sobriety that required massive effort. With the ever-present help from the Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous, sponsors, therapists, family, and friends, I was able to successfully navigate between my own personal Scylla and Charybdis to this moment. Sirens’ songs were resisted, and my cyclops was smote. Alas, even while I wrestled with the challenges described in these pages, a new mammoth one presented itself: I found myself facing, as a rehabilitated emergency physician, the biggest pandemic our planet has seen in over a century. Within these chapters, you may recognize phases of growth, drawing parallels to the challenges that every baby, toddler, child, and teen goes through in “leveling up” to the next change of life. There could have been no other way; there were no ...

There is a place nestled deep in the Shenandoah Valley, way off the interstate; a tiny hamlet with it's peaceful little main street and single traffic light. Hundred year-old homes with chimneys and porch swings line it's small stretch. On any given autumn morning, it’s quiet enough to hear a squirrel jump branches, or a backyard dog bark. Proudly in its midst stands the artisan boutique, existing longer than any old-timer can remember- With its display of pottery and watercolor paintings, and crafts created by local artists. The owner, a soft-spoken grandma with country elegance and a grey ponytail will cheerfully offer you an apple ...picked from her orchard, for you to nibble on while browsing her shelves overflowing with offerings.  This is quite the opposite of Amazon. *Which is why* ...if you happen to be a touring leaf-peeper visiting Massanutten Mountain, a wandering driver from Skyline Drive, or maybe even someone lucky enough to live there... A full week before Amazon...

Yesterday transcended typical earthly human interaction. The moment I opened my eyes next to my S.O. on her birthday I knew in my gut things would unfold in a way beyond my mortal comprehension. I rolled to face her, wished her a her a happy one, and got up to go on my on my usual morning run. My pace seemed far swifter than normal. I got back, showered, and suited up for her late uncle's funeral. We had to take separate cars and I ended up driving her 17 year-old son to the church. It was our first time "hanging out" together and we were able to make a nice connection, chatting the entire drive. Good kid....smart, mature, vegan...would make a great match for Hannah... I had met her uncle alive only once, about three weeks prior when we dropped off the kitten I had rescued to give to her cousins. He seemed a nice man, an honest salt-of the earth fellow who spent 50 years in the steamfitters' union and was a member of the local VFW and Moose lodge. At the church mass I...

It's been almost two years since I have been two years sober. An excerpt from Chapter 5, "Five Minutes Before the Miracle," details what I was thinking in a meeting, just before receiving my chip: “My sober network, my sponsors, and God could now assist me in life’s decisions for this day because I was letting them in. I was no longer sacrificing my here moments to panicky, egoic future thinking, frantically chasing after decisions that did not yet need to be made because they were the product of some imagined future. I finally began to allow God and people to inspire me to calmly make only the decisions that needed my attention in the moment . This was an epic shift in thinking for me. I was now strolling and breathing instead of sprinting and gasping through life. It was an imperfect miracle, if such things exist. I had not yet completely rid myself of the self-pity or ego character defects. Hannah, Robert, and Toby’s estrangement from me continued to weigh heavily, t...