More Than Twenty Years of Alcohol Dependence, Completely Out of Control in the Final Years
My husband has been drinking for more than twenty years. At first, he only drank at business dinners and social gatherings, but later it became a habit of drinking a few glasses before dinner every day, and eventually the first thing he did in the morning was look for alcohol. In the last few years, he was completely unable to control himself, drinking from morning to night every day, barely eating, so thin that he was all skin and bones, and unsteady on his feet when walking. I searched every possible hiding place for alcohol in the house, but he still managed to get his hands on it by every means imaginable. We argued, we cried, we begged—none of it worked. That feeling of watching someone slowly disappear right before your eyes while being powerless to do anything is something that is hard for anyone who hasn't experienced it to understand.
It's not that we never sought help. Over the years, we went to several hospitals, tried outpatient treatment, and had inpatient stays. Every time he was discharged, he made all kinds of promises, but he would usually relapse within a week or two. After this happened repeatedly, he gave up on himself and said, "This is just how it's going to be for the rest of my life." As a family member, that sense of helplessness nearly dragged me down too.
Arriving at Zhengzhou North Hospital: Starting with a Comprehensive Assessment
Clinging to our last shred of hope, we came to Zhengzhou North Hospital. Unlike our previous experiences, the doctors didn't rush to "draw conclusions" upon admission. Instead, they first arranged a very thorough physical examination and psychological assessment. I remember one thing the doctor said that left a deep impression on me: "With long-term heavy drinking, multiple systems in the body may already have been damaged. We must first get a clear picture of the underlying condition before we can develop a safe treatment plan." When the test results came back, I learned that multiple liver function indicators were already significantly abnormal, and there were also signs of severe malnutrition and peripheral nerve damage. All those years, hidden beneath the alcohol, his body had already been riddled with damage.
Afterward, the medical team developed a phased treatment plan based on the assessment results and explained it in detail to our family. At that moment, for the first time, I felt that this time might really be different—not about toughing it out through sheer "determination," but about having a clear medical pathway supporting him.
The Detoxification Period: The Hardest Stage, with Professional Support
The detoxification and withdrawal reaction period was the most agonizing part of the entire process. In the first few days, he experienced hand tremors, sweating, agitation, and sleepless nights. His mood swung wildly, and sometimes he couldn't even say where he was. Watching from the side, I was both terrified and heartbroken. But what gave me some reassurance was that the medical staff on the ward seemed well prepared for these situations. The nurses made regular rounds and recorded vital signs, and the doctors dynamically adjusted his medication regimen based on his responses—neither over-sedating him nor letting him suffer more than necessary. One time, he suddenly sat up in the middle of the night saying he saw something on the wall. A nurse was at his bedside within moments, calming him down while managing the situation. Afterward, she specifically explained to me that this was a perceptual disturbance that can occur during withdrawal, and told me not to panic excessively.
During those days, I hardly left his side, but it was also during those days that I began to understand: quitting alcohol is not something you can get through on willpower alone. It requires medical support, and it requires people who know when to intervene and when to simply be there.
During Rehabilitation Treatment, I Saw the Light Return to His Eyes
Once his body gradually stabilized, he entered the inpatient rehabilitation phase. This period was completely different from what I had imagined "staying in the hospital to recuperate" would be like. In addition to routine medication and nutritional support, the hospital arranged various forms of rehabilitation activities. He participated in group psychological counseling, sitting with people who had similar experiences, listening to their stories, and slowly beginning to share his own. At first, he was very uncomfortable with it, thinking, "What's there to say to a bunch of strangers?" But after a few sessions, he came back and told me, "So I'm not the only one like this." That was a sentence I had been waiting years to hear.
There were also cognitive function training, relaxation exercises, and schedule management to help him re-establish a daily routine. What left the deepest impression on me was one visit when he was participating in a group activity. He looked up, saw me, and smiled. That was a smile I hadn't seen in a very, very long time—not the dazed smile brought on by alcohol, but a clear, slightly embarrassed, genuine smile. At that moment, I knew he was slowly coming back.
One Year After Discharge: Rebuilding Life Takes More Patience Than Quitting Itself
Discharge is not the finish line—we've learned that lesson deeply. In the period right after coming home, he was actually quite lost. With more than twenty years of his life filled by alcohol, suddenly there was a huge void, and he didn't know what to do with himself. Fortunately, the hospital provided follow-up rehabilitation recommendations before discharge, including regular check-ups, maintaining a daily routine, and how the family environment could support him. We also proactively learned about some family support approaches, trying to stop relating to each other through blame and surveillance, and instead building a new daily life together.
Change happened little by little. He first started eating regular meals, his weight gradually recovered, and his complexion improved. Later, he took the initiative to look for a job, saying, "I can't just stay at home all the time." Now he goes to work and comes home on time every day, helps the kids with their homework in the evening, and on weekends we go for walks in the park together or just cook a meal at home. These days that seem utterly ordinary to others are, for us, a hard-won sense of stability.
It's been more than a year since he was discharged, and he hasn't touched a single drop of alcohol. I asked him how he managed it, and he said: "It's not about toughing it out. It's knowing that someone is helping me, and knowing why I can't drink anymore." If you ask me what the hardest part of this past year has been, I would say: it's not quitting the alcohol itself—it's learning how to live again after quitting. We're still on that road, but at least we're walking it together.