Over the course of my career, I’ve been fortunate to work on health issues and causes that mean a great deal to me. My first job out of college was at a national medical association in the mid-1980s where I developed doctor-patient communications strategies around tobacco cessation and the (then) new public health concern of HIV/AIDS. I went on to work with the National Institutes of Health on programs to educate consumers and health care professionals on such issues as depression, Alzheimer’s disease, AIDS drug clinical trials and cancer. Other important issues I’ve focused on include teen pregnancy and infant mortality.
The common thread for me has always been to effect positive change by clearly conveying critical health information to people who need it. But one issue hits close to home for me more than any other. It’s the reason why the communications work I do on behalf of my long-time client, Maryland-based addiction treatment center Father Martin’s Ashley, is so tremendously fulfilling for me.
My father was an alcoholic. This week, I commemorated the 33rd anniversary of his death. He was only 49 years old; I had just turned 20 a few days before.
The official cause of his death was bleeding esophageal varices (enlarged veins) as a complication of cirrhosis (severe liver scarring). A number of liver diseases can result in cirrhosis, and my father had at least two of them: hepatitis infection and alcoholic liver disease.
When he died, he went quickly. But the process was actually a very prolonged one. My father drank almost my entire life, and probably for most of his own. The only time he made a serious effort to stop was after he contracted hepatitis following a medical procedure to correct a constricted esophagus. At the time, his doctor asked him if he drank. When my father hesitated, his doctor said he wasn’t admonishing or judging him, but warning him that if he had one more drink, he’d die. It was simple, the doctor said: If you want to live, don’t drink.
Dad did stop briefly but ultimately started drinking again. He never sought help because he was afraid of the consequences if his secret got out.
I don’t recall hearing the word “alcoholic” or anyone refer to addiction as a disease when I was growing up. Back then, someone like my dad was called a drunk. Fear of the social stigma attached to that label is what prevented my dad from admitting he had a problem and getting the professional help he needed to save his life. He was ashamed and afraid people would consider him weak and worthless. He’d lose his job and his life would be ruined. The prospect was so unimaginable to him that he only drank at home, never out in public, and he would never drive after drinking.
I firmly believe that if someone had communicated with him in just the right way, he would have agreed to get help. My dad connected deeply with his Irish Catholic roots, so for someone like him, a sit-down with Ashley co-founder Father Joseph Martin and one or two of his Chalk Talks may have swayed him. Ironically, Father Martin opened Ashley a few weeks before my dad passed.
In many ways, things have come a long way in the years since my father succumbed to the disease. Today, alcoholism is widely accepted as a complex substance use disorder that requires professional assessment and a multi-faceted, holistic treatment approach, and Ashley is a leader on the frontlines.
But in other ways, the stigma attached to addiction is as strong as ever. Today, almost 22 million people have some kind of substance use disorder, but only one in 10 goes to a treatment center, according to the U.S. Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration. Compare that to treatment rates for other chronic diseases such as asthma, diabetes, heart disease and high blood pressure, which can be as high as 80 percent.
My father lost his battle. But remembering his struggle drives me to believe more strongly than ever in the power of communications to conquer the stigma of addiction and lead people to recovery.
Do you have a similar experience where some aspect of your work took on great personal meaning for you?