That Night in the ER, I Realized How Close I Came to Losing Him
My son is 32 years old. He started drinking in college, and I always thought it was just young people socializing, so I didn't take it too seriously. After graduation, he joined a fast-paced company with lots of overtime and business dinners, and the frequency and amount of his drinking slowly spiraled out of control. It wasn't until late one night last year that he was rushed to the emergency room with severe abdominal pain and diagnosed with alcoholic pancreatitis. The doctor on duty called my husband and me aside and said very directly: if he keeps drinking like this, the next time there may be no chance to save him.
Standing in the hallway, my hands wouldn't stop shaking. It wasn't anger—it was a deep sense of self-blame. Why had I spent all these years only saying "drink less" without ever seriously confronting the fact that he might already be out of control?
"It's Not That Serious": Admitting There's a Problem Is the Hardest Step
After he was discharged, the atmosphere at home was very heavy. My son shut himself in his room and barely spoke. We cautiously suggested he go to a professional facility, and he immediately pushed back: "It's not like I'm getting blackout drunk every day—is it really that bad?" During that period, any conversation about "quitting drinking" would escalate into an argument.
The turning point came when his best friend came to visit. That young man didn't lecture him—he just sat quietly for a long time, then said: "My grandfather ruined his liver from drinking, and I don't want to see that happen to you." My son was silent the whole night, and the next morning he told us he was willing to give it a try. We chose Zhengzhou North Hospital, partly because it's a member of the Zhengzhou People's Hospital Medical Consortium, and partly because it's close to home, making it easy for us to accompany him every day.
In Family Therapy, I Realized I Was Actually Making Things Worse
After my son was admitted, the doctor quickly arranged family therapy. The first time we sat down, the therapist asked us to recall how we usually handled his drinking. I told the truth: when he drank too much and couldn't get up, I'd call his company to ask for leave on his behalf; when he ran up drinking debts, I secretly paid them off because I was afraid his credit record would be affected; when he was in a bad mood, we tried not to bring up drinking at all, afraid of triggering him.
After listening, the therapist told us gently but very directly: these actions may look like protection on the surface, but in reality they were taking on the consequences of his drinking for him, making it even harder for him to realize how serious the problem was. I was stunned. It turned out that what I had always believed was "love" might, from a professional perspective, be exactly what was delaying his recovery.
The therapist taught us several specific principles: don't ask for leave for him, don't handle his debts for him, don't cover for him—but maintain emotional companionship. For example, he could call his company himself to explain the situation, and we could sit beside him, but he had to hold the phone himself. These small details were far more effective than any grand lecture.
Quitting Drinking Isn't Just Stopping Alcohol—It's Putting Your Whole Life Back Together
During his hospitalization, my son received medication-assisted treatment and individual psychotherapy, and also participated in group counseling. He later told me that sitting with a group of people who had similar experiences made him feel, for the first time, that he wasn't an outcast. After discharge, he continued regular outpatient follow-ups and also joined a mutual support group outside the hospital.
Change came gradually. He quit his high-pressure job and moved to a smaller company. His income dropped, but he became much more relaxed overall. He started running three times a week—from barely managing two kilometers at first to easily finishing five kilometers now. Last autumn, he met a girl who doesn't drink, and on weekends the two of them often go hiking or cook together. These ordinary moments are things I never dared to imagine before.
Some Honest Words for Family Members
In the year and a half since my son became sober, my biggest takeaway is this: family members need to learn too. We aren't born knowing how to deal with alcohol dependence, and many of our instinctive reactions may not be right. If you're going through something similar, here are a few things I learned the hard way:
- Seek professional assessment as early as possible. Don't judge for yourself whether it's "serious" or not—alcohol dependence has a set of clinical diagnostic criteria that a doctor needs to apply.
- Stop taking on the consequences for the patient. Let him face leave requests, debts, and relationship issues himself. This isn't coldness—it's letting him see the real cost of drinking.
- Set clear family boundaries. For example, "no drinking at home" or "no contact with the children after drinking." Boundaries aren't for punishment—they're for protecting everyone.
- Take care of yourself. My husband lost more than ten pounds during that period and later went to see a psychological counselor himself. If the family members collapse, the whole family system falls apart.
This road isn't easy, but there are methods to follow at every step. If you feel isolated and helpless, you might start by learning some basic information through the family support channel, or consult a professional directly. Our family made it through the darkest stretch, and looking back now, that decision to walk into the hospital was truly the beginning of the turning point.