Alcohol and the Mind
Daily
Observer
After dinner, S.Q. Lapius bolted his wine, corked the bottle
and rushed it off to the ice box. “We’ll
finish it later,” he mumbled. When he returned
he said, “Help me for a moment, Harry, we have to clear the sideboard. You take the decanters, I’ll remove the liqueurs.”
“What’s going on. Did
they pass the Volstead Act again? Are
you being raided? Is the WCTU paying a
social call?”
“None of those things.
Much worse, Johnny Sipley is coming.
He called earlier. Wants to talk
to me. Hurry, he’ll be here any minute.”
“What’s with Johnny Sipley that we have to rearrange the
whole house. Is he an interior
decorator?”
“As a matter of fact, he is, but he’s also an
alcoholic. Let’s get these bottles out
of the way. He’s been dry for quite a
while. I want neither to tempt nor
offend him. Here take this to the
kitchen.” He handed me a tray filled
with scotches, ryes and what not. Lapius
was quite partisan to spirits fermenti, so clearing away the reminders of his
imbibational hobbies was time consuming.
Just as the bell chimed he removed a Flemish masterwork portraying a
tavern scene, replacing it with a mirror he hurriedly scooped from his
bedroom. Sipley was a tall, blond, pink
cheeked, urbane and smiling. I helped
him off with his coat and could detect no hint of alcohol on his breath, nor
was it hidden by breath sweetener.
There were the usual expansive amenities with Lapius, who
was in truth an effusive host, so that by the time he finished the hellos
Sipley was already apologizing for not having come more frequently. Lapius turned to me, “Harry, Mr. Sipley
wanted to talk privately, will you excuse us?”
“No, Simon, that won’t be necessary. There’s nothing that Harry can’t hear. As a matter of fact, it’s a medical
problem. Two doctors are better than one,
eh?” That was supposed to be a
joke. Before he began, Sipley roved
about, admiring the décor, then said, “Simon, whatever happened to that lovely
Flemish Tavern Scene. The mirror adds
nothing to the room.”
“The museum wanted to borrow it for their retrospective
exhibit,” Lapius said blandly. “What’s
on your mind Johnny?”
“Well, to tell you the truth – “
Lapius interrupted him.
“Please don’t introduce that insipid phrase as preamble to any
discussion with me. What’s your
alternative to telling me the truth. You
surely didn’t think that I expected you to lie to me, did you?” Lapius was clearly picayune. He had, after all, been deprived of his after
dinner Benedictine, and that always made him grumpy. “Never mind, excuse me, Johnny, go ahead.”
Sipley continued, “Well, to be honest, Simon,” Lapius,
resigned, refrained from interrupting again.
“I have a medical problem you might be able to help me with.”
“Have you consulted your physician?”
“Of course I have, several.
And that’s the problem. I’ve had
abdominal pains for about two months now.
They bother the devil out of me and interfere with my
concentration. I have to rest during the
day.”
“What did your doctor say?”
Lapius asked.
“That’s just it. The
first one, I won’t mention names, is my regular doctor, and after a few
questions wanted me to get some x-rays.”
“Not a bad suggestion.
Did you follow it?”
“No I didn’t. He
insisted that I go to Krauser. That’s
what set me off.”
“Krauser is an excellent radiologist.”
“Maybe, but why does he always send me to Krauser. Is he getting a kickback. I asked him to send me to someone else.”
“What did he say?”
“He said sure, pick one.
How the hell can I pick one? I’m
not a doctor. I don’t know the
guys. He wouldn’t give me another
name. So I went to another doctor, told
him my story, and he wanted me to go through a complete physical exam. What the hell do I need that for. I just had one 3 months ago.”
“With that doctor?”
“No, with my first doctor.”
“Well the second doctor sounded reasonable.”
“I don’t think so. I
assured him my physical and tests were o.k.
He was just out to bill me for $100 bucks.”
“What do you want me to do for you, Sipley?”
“I want you to send me to a doctor who will help me. You know all the men in town.”
“Johnnie, I’ll try to help you. But first, Harry and I were just about to
have a drink when you arrived, what will you have.”
“Bourbon straight,” Johnny said, without blinking.
Afterwards I checked the bottle. Johnny Sipley used about a third of it and
had walked a bee-line when I showed him to the door. It didn’t touch him.
“I don’t understand you, Simon.” I said when I returned. “First we spend half hour hiding the drinks,
then you offer him one. That’s no favor
to an alcoholic, you know.”
“He was off the wagon.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he had suffered a change of personality. Normally he’s reasonable. He never gets drunk, when he’s drinking, he
becomes unreasonable, illogical, and slightly paranoid. Everyone’s out to get him. Usually he’s a tractable patient. Some alcoholics are more rational when drunk
than sober. But the main thing, in my
experience is the change in personality.”
“Now of
course the alcoholic is distinguished from other drinkers by the fact that he’s
addicted to it. But it's the change in
personality that strikes me. After all,
you are Harry drunk, and you are Harry sober.
But Johnny Sipley is one person when drunk and another when sober. One problem of the alcoholic, in my view, is
the inability to integrate two personalities.
To develop psychological stability they have to evolve a third
personality that is a compromise of the extremes. But if once they touch liquor again, that
will dissolve in favor of the original personalities.”
“So believing all that, why did you offer him a drink?”
“To be sociable. He
would have gotten it somewhere.
Incidentally, now you know why he started each sentence with ‘to tell
the truth-.‘”