After reading this I wonder is are they doing the show Gratis? Or is money coming off the donations to pay the band? 10% of the money in their budget is from donations.
It's still a good article.
Four CeDAR grads tell stories. The CU Anschutz Medical Campus showed them they weren't alone in their struggle.
By Kristen Browning-Blas
The Denver Post
POSTED: 01/20/2011 01:00:00 AM MST
If becoming addicted is like stepping into an abyss, finding help for the addict can be an equally mysterious journey. Where to start? The county mental health center? An AA meeting? A psychiatrist's office? Residential treatment?
One local option is the Center for Dependency, Addiction and Rehabilitation at the University of Colorado Hospital Anschutz Medical Campus in Aurora. The 5-year-old program treats addicted adults and their families through 30-, 60- and 90-day residential programs that include detox, therapy, 12-step groups and psychiatric care. Its affiliation with the hospital gives access to psychiatric services for additional disorders, medical care and integrative medicine.
Based on university research and client demand, CeDAR recently opened a second residential cottage, which allows gender-separate living quarters and has added a coping-skills group and yoga to its clinical model.
The nonprofit center's budget is 90 percent private pay, with 10 percent coming from donations, says executive director Franklin Lisnow. CeDAR will host Bon Jovi in a sold-out benefit concert Friday night at the Colorado Convention Center.
While loved ones and co-workers might wonder why an addict can't "just quit," most researchers now agree that addiction is a disease. Treatment requires understanding the complex brain functions that cause an addict to say "yes" even when he or she wants to say "no."
Four graduates of the CeDAR program agreed to step outside traditional 12-step anonymity and share their stories.
Mike Holtzer, 56, surprised some of his closest relatives when he checked into CeDAR for an addiction to pain pills and alcohol. The former marketing vice president now works at the center.
Billy Woodward, 21, descended the ladder of addiction from smoking a joint at age 12 to carrying heroin, Xanax (an anti-anxiety drug), LSD and marijuana when he was arrested at age 20.
Caroline Fisher, 49,
Alumnus Caroline Fisher at the CeDAR center. Its chapel is in the background. ( Photos by Cyrus McCrimmon, The Denver Post )
never touched alcohol until her 40s, when the successful consultant and athlete sought solace in a full bottle for her unexplained emptiness.
John B. Moore, 61, went from driving to his surgical practice in a Porsche to taking the bus to court-mandated Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. He lost his medical license, as well as his license to drive, after three DUIs.
They each arrived at CeDAR thinking their stories were unique, a hallmark of addicts' tendency to isolate and to believe they can control their cravings.
From patient to volunteer
In a way, Mike Holtzer checked in and never left. When painkillers and alcohol ceased to numb the grief of losing his brother to cancer and the stress of a corporate
The CeDAR center at University of Colorado Hospital, Anschutz Medical Campus, 1693 Quentin St., Aurora. (Photos by Cyrus McCrimmon, The Denver Post )
career, he told himself, "I've got to get some help because I can't do this on my own." After completing treatment, Holtzer started volunteering at CeDAR and taking counseling courses.
"The big thing for me about CeDAR is they address the whole person, physically, emotionally, spiritually and mentally. As a patient, I meditated there every day," says Holtzer, who has continued the practice since he began working at the center in September.
The new architecture on the 7-acre campus on the grounds of the former Fitzsimons Army Medical Center seems to embody the program's spirit of hope, with high ceilings and large windows that let in natural light, and a chapel that is used for prayer, meditation and family therapy. The spiritual aspect of recovery (as practiced in Alcoholics Anonymous) is an integral part of the journey at CeDAR. Which leads us to the "God" question.
"AA doesn't preach God. AA preaches a higher power, that you're not the center of the universe. The addict is a very selfish person until they get humility and have some gratitude — that's not about God at all," says CeDAR's Lisnow, who keeps two rocks in his office, one etched "Humility" and the other "Gratitude."
"I recently gave a lecture and asked people to define 'higher power.' One lady said 'Jesus Christ,' another said 'the universe,' and one said 'a belief that there's something bigger and we're all connected.' Those are three very different concepts, and all are correct."
Billy Woodward, 21, went through the CeDAR progam in summer 2009. ( | )
Lisnow takes issue with the assumption that 12-step programs tell people they are powerless. "AA does not tell people they're powerless; it tells them they are powerless over the use of chemicals. Because of how their brain is made up, once they start using, they can't stop. All you have to do is see people in recovery to see how powerful they are."
Her well had run dry
"I thought my story was really unusual. I thought I was the oddest person on the planet, but I came to realize there are a lot of folks just like me," Caroline Fisher says.
An athlete through college and adulthood, Fisher moved to Vail at 27 to be closer to the outdoor activities she loved. She earned a doctorate in organizational psychology and started her own consulting business, specializing in corporate culture.
"On paper, I'm really an unlikely prospect to go down this path. But I started to become exhausted. I was about 45 or 46, had kind of checked off all the boxes and said, "This is all there is?" It wasn't that I was not satisfied, but my well had really run dry."
She filled the well with vodka.
"I thought I was going insane. I turned to alcohol, I believe now in retrospect, to calm down, to fill some empty spaces. I was drinking every day, and it really impacted my body. I knew nothing about addiction, even though it runs in my family. I didn't understand the power of the genetic component."
The woman who ran marathons, played tennis and climbed mountains saw her performance diminish. When her assistant told her she needed help, Fisher was relieved and grateful.
With the fervor of her A-student/type-A personality, Fisher threw herself into researching alcohol-treatment centers and selected a 28-day program out of state. Like many addicts, Fisher tried another, larger program and relapsed before something clicked at CeDAR.
"I think they've taken the best of what is known out there and moved to something very progressive and very customized for the individual. It's not just about running people through but about helping people thrive and grow, even long after they leave."
Patients leave with an after-care plan that can range from support groups to halfway-house placement.
"Coming out of the clouds"
A year and a half into recovery, Billy Woodward, 21, has reversed the course of his past nine years. He's studying psychology, contemplating law or medical school and speaking with evangelical delight about how he got sober.
"Being arrested and facing prison time is very humbling," Woodward says. "I realized at that point I was no longer able to run the show. When I ran the show my way, I got loaded. I was no longer afraid of dying; I was afraid of staying alive."
After a month at CeDAR, "coming out of the clouds, waking up to reality," Woodward spent nine months at a residential program in New Mexico, putting what he learned into practice. For Woodward, the AA aphorisms ring true.
"This is a daily thing for me, but it's not that I'm starting over; it's building on a foundation. People think, 'This is for the rest of my life,' and they end up with a rig in their arm thinking about the rest of their life," says Woodward. "We are not bad people; we are good people with a bad disease."
Driving a ruinous path
When the clerk at the neighborhood gas station told John B. Moore he didn't have any leftovers for him to take to his chickens, Moore saw himself through the clerk's eyes: a scruffy man who takes the bus and rides his bike, who begs for old hot dogs from the convenience store, someone to be shooed away.
"I went from a star trauma surgeon to a guy without a driver's license," says Moore. "The character traits that made me achieve — my pride, my ego, my arrogance — all of those things were my demise."
"There was never balance in my life. It was very up and down, like an EKG," says the doctor. On his way "down," Moore became addicted to Oxycontin after a gastric bypass, went into a 90-day treatment program and "kicked the opiates" but started gambling and binge- drinking. He lost his job and spent 10 days in jail for driving under the influence. After he got out of jail, his wife left him.
He checked into CeDAR and stayed for three and a half months. "I became a dishonest person; I lied to my wife. I was insane, I had no job, nothing to do, I felt sorry for myself. It's been a humbling experience, but it's also been good."
Moore raises chickens and peacocks now, and he hopes to get his driver's license back after completing the year-long Inmate/Outmate Program in Jefferson County.
"I've got to make living amends. I've got to live a straight life. You've gotta understand, I've been lucky. My whole identity was being a trauma surgeon, but I'm still smiling, I'm happy now. You can make behavioral changes. At least I can can recognize now if I had a bad day, if I'm angry, isolating — the signs of leading up to relapse."
Is relapse a sign of failure, that treatment didn't work?
"That's only one piece of a puzzle," says Anne Felton, CeDAR associate director. "In a chronic relapsing disease, it's almost like faulting a cancer patient for having their tumor come back. If you put into place a good relapse plan and you've addressed some of the shame and guilt, if the patient slips or starts to slip, and they are comfortable coming back and saying, 'Help, I'm here,' that is, I think, one of the big definitions of success."
Caroline Fisher has spent her career defining success, and she sees her time in treatment as part of her personal triumph, as well as a professional challenge. "It wasn't about beating me down, but building me up, reconnecting with my personal purpose in life, the best parts in me that got lost along the way," says Fisher, who turns 50 in February. "It's kind of like I've been in training for the rest of my life."
One might think that a corporate consultant would prefer not to share her personal rehab details, but Fisher has found a renewed sense of mission.
"How can we help people with recovery and healing in the workplace? It has opened the door for real conversations with people, the minute we think we can leave all our personal stuff at the door of the office, then we leave the best parts of ourselves out there, as well," says Fisher. "I actually would go through it all again to get to the place I am now."
Kristen Browning-Blas: 303-954-1440 or kbrowning@denverpost.com
Learn more about addiction and treatment
• The Signal Behavioral Health Network offers a list of treatment providers and research at signalbhn.org, 1-888-60-SIGNAL (607-4462).
• The Center for Dependency, Addiction and Recovery, University of Colorado Hospital, Anschutz Medical Campus, 1693 N. Quentin St., Aurora, CO 80045, 1-866-464-0052.
• "Pleasure Unwoven: A Personal Journey About Addiction" is a one-hour DVD that clearly describes the landscape of the brain. Dr. Kevin McCauley Institute for Addiction Study in Salt Lake City presents a clear, research- based answer of "yes" to the question: "Is addiction really a disease?" Available through amazon.com and instituteforaddictionstudy.com, 801-456-0765.
How much does treatment cost?
At the Center for Dependency, Addiction and Rehabilitation, 30 days of inpatient treatment costs $22,500. That figure may sound high, but CeDAR director Franklin Lisnow says it's "the low end of private — that's what treatment costs."
The fee covers room and board, psychiatric care and medications at the nonprofit center, a department of the University of Colorado Hospital. "It's not cheap to treat someone for 30 days," says Lisnow. "If you compare that to a hospital stay, that's pretty reasonable."
Why not just go to an AA meeting or a community mental health clinic?
"A lot of people try that," says Lisnow. "You need to learn how to use AA. To get into recovery, there are a lot of other elements you have to look at in your life. Most county mental health centers see people once a week for an hour. When people get to the level of unmanageability in their lives, they need to get away from it all, from the street, friends, family and focus totally on themselves and their recovery."
Look at it this way, says Lisnow: "People will pay $30,000 for a car; we're spending that to save a person's life."
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