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(Excerpt)

When I poured out my last bottle—what I pray was my last bottle—I again trembled with fear. In my heart, I knew that if my multiple sclerosis (MS) got worse, I’d surely drink myself into the ground. No one would dare to stop me. After all, if my MS got worse, I would deserve to drink.

MS is a chronic, disabling, and incurable neurological disease that steals from its victims many physical abilities most people take for granted. It’s particularly cruel in that it steals these things sporadically, and then if one is lucky, it just as sporadically gives them back, until the next exacerbation. MS has taught me to thank God for things that most people take for granted: the ability to see, to speak, to walk, even the ability to go to the bathroom.

In the summer of 1995, my worst nightmare came true. The symptoms got so bad that I was no longer able to perform my job. Within weeks, I got worse and for the first time in my life, I was actively suicidal. My rage at God soared. Sobbing uncontrollably, I screamed at God, “Why have you abandoned me?”

Initially, I had a burning resentment against anyone with strong legs. My anger served as an iron shield, and I refused to remove it for fear God would send me still more pain.

I didn’t want to ask for help. I wanted everyone to marvel at how stoically I coped with adversity; and I hated to bother people. I figured they were too busy doing more important things with far more important people than me. But without a drink, it’s tough to be stoic. Once I was able to swallow my pride and pick up that hundred-pound telephone, I discovered that there were a few people in AA who actually cared about me. For example, when MS affected my ability to drive to meetings, a friend gave me a lift.

Much to my amazement, I survived that summer from hell and have regained some of the physical abilities I lost. Every morning, I thank God for the ability to see my partner and my cats, to hear the birds outside my window and to hobble over to my meditation chair, where I start the day with a prayer.

Eventually, I realized that God hadn’t abandoned me at all but that I’d abandoned him. Yesterday, missing my old body, I burst into tears for the umpteenth time and tasted that old craving for a bottle of wine. Just go to the liquor store and get a bottle, I told myself. It will make everything feel better.

Instead, I picked up the phone and called my sponsor, even though I knew she was at work. Sometimes it’s easier for me to talk to an answering machine. Then, because I still wanted to drink, I picked up the phone again and called another friend, who was able to talk on the job.

I’ve never taken my sobriety for granted because I know I’m only one drink away from ruining my life. Having MS can be hard some days, but doing it sober usually makes it tolerable one day at a time. Each day, I ask God for serenity to accept the unacceptable. The Big Book never promised me a life without problems (although I still keep looking for it between the lines).

If anyone had told me I’d still be sober despite MS, I would have thrown a drink in their face. Learning to live life on life’s terms—not on my terms—has been the ultimate miracle. If you’re new or coming back, don’t quit before your own miracle happens.

MARSHA Z.

Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts