Pulse newmasthead 10th anniv 2252x376px

About More Voices

Every month More Voices invites readers to contribute short nonfiction prose pieces of 40 to 400 words on a healthcare theme.

submittomorevoices

Subscribe/Energize


new subscription

Join the 11,000+ who receive Pulse weekly



energize subscription 
Energize your subscription
with a contribution and
keep
Pulse vibrant



I live a "say no" life -- as to drugs, cigarettes, and alcohol. Yet on my twenty-first birthday, I deviated from my rule and, with a group of fellow graduate students, sat at a bar and imbibed one celebratory drink after another. I cannot remember what the bar looked like, but I do recall that it was loud -- filled with voices and music -- and that it got progressively louder with each drink I had. I cannot remember what I wore on that warm August evening in Evanston, Illinois, but I can still feel the clamminess of my skin as the alcohol began to take effect. I also cannot remember how I got back to my apartment; the next morning I found myself atop my bed, my shirt stained with drops of saliva and bits of vomit. 

Since then, I have had many reasons to celebrate -- from my marriage to my much-desired divorce, from the birth of my children to their graduations from college. I have had birthdays that brought me joy -- my fortieth -- and ones that made me anxious -- my recent seventieth. Yet at no time since that long-ago night did I turn to alcohol as a way to express my emotions. Instead, I became a lifelong fan of Ovaltine -- served warm, with a chocolate chip cookie. 

I like to be cognizant of my surroundings, but drinking blurs the environment. I like to be in control of my words, but drinking lifts all inhibitions. I do not like when my head feels like a top that spins and spins without any intention of stopping. I do not like when my stomach rebels with unusual noises and uncomfortable cramps.

Though I abhor alcohol and its effects, my paternal grandmother's second husband embraced them. He was an alcoholic who rarely showed love to his son or to my father, his stepson.  While he did not physically abuse any member of his family, his drunken words left scars that never healed. I knew him only a short time, but I understood even as a child that I did not want to be him.

I do not need alcohol to celebrate -- books and theater bring me joy. I do not need alcohol to drown my sorrows -- naps and writing calm me. My twenty-first birthday, then, introduced me to alcohol and made me forever avoid it. And that's just fine with me.

Ronna Edelstein
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania