I've watched alcohol-related cancers kill my family. Surgeon general is right. | Opinion
Alcohol is America's favorite drug. I've seen clients overtaken by it. I've seen family members die because of it. The link to cancer is well-established, and there should be warnings.
Amid the post-New Year’s celebrations and thousands of hangovers from the festive season, U.S. Surgeon General Vivek Murthy called for a cancer warning on wine bottles, beer cans and other alcoholic drinks.
I, for one, cheered and commended his recommendation. In Murthy’s Jan. 3 advisory he noted, “Alcohol is a well-established, preventable cause of cancer responsible for about 100,000 cases of cancer and 20,000 cancer deaths annually in the United States.”
With imminent changes in the U.S. government, and the all-powerful alcohol lobby, his suggestion on cancer labeling might never be realized. But as a therapist with more than four decades of experience treating alcohol addictions, and as someone who has seen the ravages of alcohol-related cancers in my family, I believe, at the very least, that Murthy’s declaration means we can collectively end our agreed oblivion of “Oh, I never knew.”
We do know, and I certainly do, from insights gained on the professional and personal battlefield of a war that has not been fully waged since Prohibition a century ago.
Alcohol is dangerous, and yes, it's clear that there is a relationship with cancer. Of my five siblings, two brothers died of pancreatic cancer after years of excessive alcohol intake. My youngest brother, a former college athlete, only made it one month past his 40th birthday. He left a wife and four children behind.
My oldest brother self-medicated his post-traumatic stress disorder after serving in the Vietnam War, and was also taken down by the same cancer. His wife, three kids and three grandchildren lost a dear loved one. To add to this grim death list in my own family alone are five uncles, one grandfather and multiple cousins who succumbed to various cancers linked to heavy drinking.
I've seen the ravages of alcohol-related cancers in my family and patients
My story is repeated in families across America, and I have seen the evidence firsthand.
In 1986, while studying for my master’s degree, I took my first job as a counselor at the Bedford Stuyvesant Sobering Up Station, a storefront at 944 Bedford Ave. When not cooking the meals or doing the laundry, I received inebriated people dumped on the doorstep by the police, clearly not worthy of occupying a jail cell. We let them sleep, eat and shower. Later, a nurse assessed folks for medical issues. I then referred some for quick three- to seven-day inpatient hospital detoxes and others to lengthier treatment at 30-day inpatient alcohol rehabilitation centers or a city shelter.
Our clients were 95% men ranging in age from 30 to 60 years. I remember one 29-year-old veteran who would not go to the Department of Veterans Affairs hospital and who panhandled and slept on Court Street in downtown Brooklyn. He had tremendous pain from pancreatitis, later pancreatic cancer. A frequent resident, he always stayed one night and then went out looking for a drink. One day, he just stopped coming. The cops hadn’t seen him on the streets.
Our society praises men for being two-fisted drinkers who can drink with the best of them. Women suffering with alcohol addiction rarely present for treatment due to the stigma of being of ill repute. During Christmas 1986, my first female client at the Sobering Up Station arrived after years of suffering. But it was too late. She died with stomach cancer at age 39, leaving two beautiful daughters. She had no resources. In the middle of her funeral, the funeral home directors closed the coffin due to lack of full payment. We had to pass the hat to collect enough to continue. Her elderly mother and two girls were a big ball of grief and panic.
Most of the station’s clients left to find alcohol by their second day. Alcohol withdrawal is dangerous, and cold turkey is not recommended for most heavy drinkers. We lacked transportation and other types of support that our clients needed. We had a park bench in front of the facility that had about the same success rate as the program.
From the mid-1980s, I worked from that park bench to Park Avenue as I increased my education and credentials in addiction. I have since worked at the Kingsboro Addiction Treatment Center in Brooklyn, upstate New York's Canton/Potsdam Hospital inpatient detox unit and Phoenix House therapeutic community on Brooklyn’s Jay Street, among others.
In government, I have served under the Office of National Drug Control Policy and have received commendations from Attorney General Janet Reno and the U.S. attorney for the Eastern District of Virginia, Helen Fahey.
Alcohol is America’s favorite drug. In most lives, alcohol is present before any other drug use and during and after the continuation or cessation of any other drug. Legal, cheap and socially acceptable in most environments, alcohol consumption is tough to beat. Indeed, the alcohol industry is powerful and, certainly, not struggling.
Surgeon general Vivek Murthy's cause is a noble one
Alcohol is a psychoactive drug that suppresses the central nervous system. Once hooked on the stuff, the person begins on a path that is chronic, progressive and often fatal.
According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, excessive alcohol use is a leading preventable cause of death in the United States. About 178,000 people die from excessive drinking each year. Cancer is a large part of the fatalities, per the surgeon general’s warning.
Murthy’s attempt to wage a war on America’s historical drug of choice is a noble one. If this battle were fully waged, it could vastly improve public health and eclipse Prohibition and the "war on drugs" as poor efforts.
Regardless of the future, I still approve of the surgeon general's public warning and labeling call, for the – loud or subtle – ripple effect it might create for those struggling with booze.
On his deathbed, unable to speak as a result of stomach and esophageal cancers, my grandfather made one last motion.
He turned his hand up to his mouth, as if he had a whisky glass in his hand, and then put it down. To his family before him, he waved his finger to caution: “No, don’t drink.”
His warning was heeded by some in my family, but sadly not by all.
Edith Langford is a veteran psychotherapist and doctoral recipient specializing in addictions. She most recently wrote about problem gambling for The Guardian. She offers her takes on life’s pressing issues on Instagram: @DearDrEdie