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Those who do not understand the alcoholic personality might be flabbergasted to learn that I was unaware of my addiction when I arrived at the Gateway Rehabilitation Center in 1980. After all, how could anyone who embarked on a ten-day drinking binge, passed out in his car overnight in freezing temperatures, and had lost his wife and kids not know he was an alcoholic?
But it was true. I knew something was seriously wrong with me, which is why I checked into the facility. My assumption, however, was that I was insane. Addiction is never obvious to the addicted. That is why addiction is known in the field of medicine as the most treacherous of all diseases because the body and mind demand the chemical, eventually refusing all of our normal survival instincts toward shelter, food, sex. There had been a chemical imbalance within me from birth that automatically altered my frontal lobe, thereby numbing or desensitizing the area of the brain affecting such thought processes and emotions as critical thinking, fear, logic, and judgment. And because of all the chemical changes and differences in the addicted person, once he or she takes a mind-altering substance such as alcohol or a drug, that substance becomes paramount in that person’s hierarchy of the above survival instincts.
I indeed believed I was insane. I wrongly assumed that if I weren’t insane I would be capable of controlling my intake. I felt that I had proven my exceptional willpower throughout my amateur and professional baseball career and that I could win any battle with determination alone. I had also extensively studied basic and abnormal psychology through books and tapes during my playing days. I ignorantly related what I was experiencing to many of the disorders I learned about. Therefore, I must be crazy. And I embraced that belief with deadly seriousness.
The first week of my twenty-eight–day, in-patient stay proved uneventful and unexciting. It was designed to ensure that I was stable physically and mentally and that detoxification was not necessary. Cutting off alcohol can prove dangerous and life threatening to some alcoholics. It can result in shock and even death. I soon underwent a complete psychosocial interview to provide the Gateway therapists with a synopsis of my emotional and psychological health. The therapists’ initial concerns are depression and the possibility of suicide. I was interviewed during a counseling session to determine if other problems existed within me, such as mental illness or other disorders. But addiction is a primary disease, which means no matter what other issues are present, including mental illness, the alcoholism requires the initial focus and treatment. If the addiction is not addressed first, there can be no help, cure, and resolution.
Since I was deemed stable, the therapy and educational aspects of my treatment began during my second week at Gateway. I underwent one-on-one counseling with a licensed therapist three days a week. That transformed my addictogenic personality and mindset to a normal, healthy one that would lead me to exhibiting more appropriate behavior. During that same period in rehab, I attended seminars that taught patients like me all about addiction, including how we contracted it. The sessions taught us that the disease is genetic. It showed us the chemical changes in the brain and the resulting abnormal workings of the pain and pleasure centers as well as the altered state of the decision making part of the mind, which is in the frontal lobe.
What an incredible learning experience! The relevance to every one of us as we sat in that room was palpable. Those who took the sessions seriously (there were some who had been legally forced to attend, had no intention of changing, and so did not) understood what was being explained to them. I could see it in their body movements, their simple head shakes. I strongly sensed that those who did not physically react allowed the teachings to stream in one ear and out the other. But most of the patients soaked it in and took it sincerely. After the talks, when we were all alone, we discussed what we had just heard.
Soon came the greatest epiphany of my life. I had assumed upon my arrival at Gateway that I suffered from a mental illness because I had tried everything to stop drinking and had failed, though such a claim could certainly be refuted. After two weeks of rehab, I realized I had a bona fide disease. That mistaken identity was greatly a product of the times. Addiction for centuries and well into the 1970s had been considered a character flaw, a mental illness, a psychological defect. Physical research data thought to prove otherwise was uncovered late that decade by a researcher who studied cancer tumors and found tetrahydroisoquinoline (THIQ) in the brains of alcoholics but not normal people. At the time, researchers believed THIQ might be implicated in alcoholism, but this theory is no longer accepted.
Even so, since that researcher’s discovery, new research has confirmed that addiction is a disease. One study at the Carnegie Mellon Research Center in 2005 showed that in alcoholics and other drug addicts, the frontal lobe, which controls our fear, logic, and sense of reality and decision making, is anesthetized. It also demonstrated that the frontal lobe regenerates after sixteen to eighteen weeks of proper recovery from addiction. Doctors have marveled in recent years at what they see in their patients after recovery. This is no longer a theory. It is a proven fact based on nearly a half-century of research and to which I can personally attest.
I was truthful about my thoughts, feelings, and life story from the start at Gateway. But I was quiet and noncommittal. I felt skeptical that the struggles and commitments laid in front of me could solve my problems. The ignorance of my belief system had been so cemented over the years that I could not see any light at the end of the tunnel. But I opened up quickly. I could see that all of us were in the same boat. We were all drunks or drug addicts with similar behavioral issues.
Twerski came to the rescue willingly and passionately. My amazement at his story and admiration for his work continued to grow with time and exposure. He was an orthodox Jewish rabbi who had graduated from the Marquette University medical school in 1960, trained in psychiatrics at the University of Pittsburgh, and later headed the Department of Psychiatry at St. Francis Hospital, specializing in alcoholism and addiction. He combined his Rabbinical teachings on morality and ethics with his education in psychiatry before opening Gateway, which has helped thousands of people gain new leases on life. Twerski was a strong believer in the Twelve Steps program embraced by Alcoholics Anonymous (AA). I embarked on it after my stay at Gateway. It allowed me to remain on the path to mental, emotional, and physical health.
Other therapists worked the day-to-day therapy and counseling during my time at Gateway while Twerski served as the medical director who provided physical examinations and ran most of the educational seminars. We watched films about addiction and received a tremendous amount of educational material, including one book simply titled The Big Book, which is the bible of AA and a pathway to success for those in recovery.
Carol and the kids were invited to the facility to confront me with their thoughts and feelings. That was quite an eye-opener. It proved very emotional for me because I had been so wrapped up in my own life that I had been deaf and blind to how my addiction was affecting them as well as my parents. My mother called my therapist unbeknownst to me and asked for advice regarding my return. Should we hide the booze in our house? The answer was no. Should we talk avoid talking about our son’s alcoholism? No, talk about it often. Should we make sure he attends his AA meetings? No. If he goes, he goes. But show faith in your son.
Toward the end of my time at Gateway, all the misconceptions I had about my drinking problem had been educated out of my mind. But my recovery had barely begun. The potential of falling back into bad habits was frighteningly real to all of us who left the premises. The seminars in our final days at the center focused on our new, sensitive, realistic, healthy psyche and how to maintain it. It was all new to us as recovering addicts. We were told never to get too hungry or lonely or tired or angry. Those were cues that could launch a relapse process. They might start a chain reaction and trigger a setback into old and dangerous behavior. We were warned that the old addictogenic thinking within our subconscious would remain for quite some time. It would yearn for that old feeling and would give us an excuse to start drinking or doing drugs again.
I had to be aware of my thirty years of thinking a certain way. Now all of that had changed. We had been therapeutically taught a new way of reasoning and acting. The goal was to continue that path so we could ultimately change into realistic, honest, logical, decent human beings.
Gateway was a test. But it was not the ultimate test. Gateway was a controlled environment. My honesty with Twerski and the therapists, my willingness to soak in all I learned, and my desire to rid myself of a debilitating disease were positive steps. Yet they would mean nothing if I could not apply my new knowledge practically. My understanding that alcoholism was a treatable disease rather than a reflection of my weaknesses gave me hope and strength. Now I needed to continue the path to sobriety and wellness.
Though it takes up to four months for a recovering addict to recognize a magnificent change in themselves that might be perceived as a miracle, my loved ones noticed a nearly immediate difference. Before leaving Gateway on May 1, I was taught what to expect internally after six weeks and beyond if I embraced the Twelve Steps program.
Among those who required far less time to recognize a positive trend was Tim. I have spoken often with him about his observations at the time. He detected that I began living my life so differently that he felt in his heart that I was destined for a permanent and wonderful change. He observed my mindfulness about everything I did, particularly my attending AA meetings as if my life depended on it, which I believed it did. Tim told me that he was unaware that I felt my very existence hinged on strict adherence.
He also remarked that he began to see me as the humblest human being he had ever known—quite a departure from my pre-Gateway reality. I had before my recovery been quite opinionated. If I did not know something I would always hazard a guess so as not to be perceived as ignorant. I have to smile when he recalls the first time during my recovery he asked me something about addiction. I replied, “I don’t know… let me check with my sponsor.”
Tim has also reminded me of an incident when I was running late to an AA meeting, parked illegally, and got a ticket. He asked me if I was planning on getting one of my police friends to fix it. After all, even though it was years after my retirement from baseball, I was still a big name in Pittsburgh. But I replied to my son, “No, I screwed up. I need to pay this fine.” When Tim relived this story, he expressed a sense of wonderment about his changing father. “I didn’t know this new guy but I loved what I was seeing and couldn’t wait to see what was next.”
He believed what was next was continued sobriety. Tim was quite aware that I had gone five or six months without drinking at times previously and that only a month had passed since I had graduated from Gateway. But his “Dad radar” was telling him that this time something was different. He said he would have bet his life that I had taken my last drink. He was right. The effort I put into my recovery and the drastic changes I was making in my life were beginning to tear down the protective wall he had built between us. It allowed him to promote within himself a sense of hope and belief that I would remain sober.
My stay at Gateway and resulting optimism about my future as Sober Sam freed my mind to consider potential options in my personal and professional life. Among them was reconciliation with Carol. I had before my rehab visited her and my then-teenage children at her apartment. I mentioned the possibility of getting back together but she had grown beyond skeptical of my promises, which I had always broken. She replied that if I got help and proved myself with one year of sobriety, she would think about reuniting. Nobody knew at the time I was heading to Gateway—that was a spur-of-the-moment decision made after my breakdown at my parents’ house.
After my month-long treatment I visited the kids often but nothing was said between Carol and me about our future together though I learned she was dating other men. I dropped the idea in part because as a more clear-headed and thoughtful person, I felt she deserved some peace and happiness for a change and I did not feel it would be right to interrupt the new lifestyle she had adopted. Soon she was living with another guy and I had begun dating as well though not so often as I had my schedule quite full meeting AA obligations, selling insurance, undergoing special counseling with Twerski, and working with neighborhood children. The latter endeavor would prove particularly rewarding. I assumed for a couple of years after leaving Gateway that it would be my next career.
Another curve that life might have thrown at me was a return to baseball. I did some serious reflecting on the viability of a comeback. I was only thirty-seven and, heck, some pitchers thrive into their mid-forties. My arm was certainly fresh after five years away from the sport. I competed in an old-timers game in Jacksonville, and not just for fun. While warming up I tried to capture my previous form. I lobbed throws during the game for hitters to blast out of the park, as is expected in such an exhibition, but I was not the only person in attendance thinking about a comeback. Another was a scout waiting for a Triple-A game to start who clocked my fastball in the upper-90s during the warm-up session. He asked me if I would be interested in returning to the game. Given the million-dollar contracts that were being tossed about with the advent of free agency, a new phenomenon in major league baseball from which I could have benefitted if I had stayed on the straight and narrow, it was a proposal I had to consider. I mulled it over and even discussed it with Twerski.
I ultimately decided that my sobriety was too important to be jeopardized by a return to baseball. My priorities had changed dramatically. They had shifted from what the so-called celebrity lifestyle offered me, which led to dishonesty, self-loathing, and guilt, to what recovery had provided. And that was honesty, pride, and self-respect. Perhaps I could have revived my baseball career successfully. But I simply could not take the chance.
Maybe a return would have been possible had I established a permanent sobriety. It was still too early in the game in 1980. My focus remained entirely on maintaining sobriety and becoming a good man, living a productive life, helping others. My name was still Sam McDowell. But those who knew the old Sam could hardly recognize the new one. They liked what they saw. And so did I when I looked in the mirror.