Judith Woods
Dry January? I’ll drink to that...
Cheers! Excuse me for not raising a glass, but by now I reckon my body is at least 78 per cent prosecco, so levering myself off the sofa is good enough.
Let me state for the record that I did not empty all these bottles – I don’t drink rioja. So how much did I knock back? No idea. Tens of units. Hundreds, possibly. I had a busy December, a quiet 25th, a sociable Twixmas and a fizzy New Year.
We charged our glasses twice as often as our credit cards and toasted one another’s health and happiness (repeatedly). We had one for the road, for the neighbour’s new baby, for Auld Lang Syne. It felt great.
Now, truth be told, I don’t feel so great. So much so that it is with the utmost pleasure – actually, relief – that I am taking part in Alcohol Concern’s Dry January. It’s quite the thing; more than two million people took part in 2015 and the number is expected to grow this year. It is to my surprise that I am swelling those ranks, having previously derided the idea as (ahem) stupid.
But this year I’m keen to assess the role alcohol plays in my life. That’s the point of Dry January, to start a national conversation; even Alcohol Concern doesn’t expect us to abstain forever, just long enough to think about when we drink, how much we drink and why we drink – and, as a result, drink a bit more mindfully.
Saying that, even experts are divided over the benefits of abstinence. Under new government health guidelines, reported last week, the public will be urged to abstain from alcohol at least two days a week, to give their livers a break. The recommended alcohol limits will also be cut, so that men will be advised to drink no more than a pint and a half of beer a day.
The British Liver Trust believes that a few alcohol-free days a week, year-round, is more beneficial long-term than a month of abstinence – especially if that month it’s followed by a return to daily drinking. But there are other health benefits to a 31-day “dryathlon”.
But a 2014 study by the University of Sussex showed that, for most participants, a Dry January led to less drinking all year. And research this year by University College London revealed all the participants who went for a month without drinking saw benefits in their liver function, blood pressure and cholesterol levels. Yay!
By the end of my self-imposed, booze ban, I hope to feel less sluggish and more energetic; I might lose weight, as some of them did. Double yay! And not waking up at 03.19am would also be a bonus; this being the hour at which my conscience invariably jolts me out of sleep to remind me that I’m a bad person.
But before I launch into the standard bout of post-Christmas self-loathing, please join me in reflecting on the magnificent inner workings of the human body: at the centre of which is the liver, stoically and heroically taking on all-comers – filtering blood, removing toxins, controlling cholesterol levels, manufacturing protein and fighting infection and illness.
When consultant liver specialist Shahid Khan at the private London Clinic off Harley Street waxes rhapsodical – “It’s so big and shiny! Glorious and powerful!” – he’s referring not to a new car but a healthy liver.
When we drink to excess over a long period, it becomes fatty, inflamed and develops fibrosis, a stiffening and scarring of the tissues that reduces its ability to function properly and gives rise to chronic liver disease – responsible for more deaths (around 16,000 a year) than diabetes and road crashes combined, and the only major cause of mortality increasing year-on-year in Britain while falling elsewhere in Europe.
Why? Because we are all drinking too much. It might not feel like it, but we are. According to Alcohol Concern, among the drinking population 52 per cent of men and 53 per cent of women drink more than the recommended amount at least one day a week.
Like an awful lot of people, I am classified as a “binge drinker”, although I would hesitate to call myself such as I have never ended up in hospital, in flagrante or photographed by a tabloid on a hen night with my bunny ears sliding into the gutter.
But here’s a sobering fact: as a bottle of wine contains 10 units, every time a couple polishes off a chianti with pasta, that technically qualifies as a binge. Over a quarter of men and a fifth of women drink at least twice the current recommended amount, which constitutes “heavy drinking”.
Being a Celt, I’m not one for a civilised glass of wine once the children are in bed to fuzzy the day’s edges. It’s not the Irish way. As a nation of saints and sinners we’re either disapproving teetotallers or designated drinkers. Or oscillating wildly between the two.
When I was growing up, my mother never kept alcohol in the house. On the rare occasions she did entertain, a bottle of Black Tower would be bought from the off-licence, with much ceremony – and explanation, lest small-town tongues be tempted to wag.
As a result, before I went to university I’d never set foot in a pub. By the end of the first term I was plastered – no other word for it – twice a week, on four Happy Hour drinks at the students’ union.
Over the years my palate may have become more sophisticated – Hendrick’s, Mersault, vintage Veuve Cliquot if someone else is buying – but not my drinking habits.
I can do without alcohol effortlessly – until there’s a party or a special occasion or a neighbour pops round. Then there’s no stopping me; worse, I’m one of those bibulous bullies who insists others join me. I’m also of the generation that considers a large glass of wine in front of University Challenge to be an ineluctable human right.
Despite the fact twice as many people from the highest socio-economic groups are heavy drinkers compared with those in the lowest, we dismiss recommended drinking limits as unrealistic scaremongering.
But the brutal reality is that even the resilient liver, which can renew its own dead and damaged cells, has its limitations. While it may take decades to emerge, because young people are drinking more and drinking earlier, it is not uncommon for liver units to have patients in their twenties dying of liver failure.
“Liver disease is the silent killer,” warns Dr Khan. “There are no nerve fibres, patients feel no symptoms and are unaware there’s any issue until they go into liver failure.”
Which is why I went to the London Clinic for a fibroscan, a new non-invasive procedure in which sonic waves are sent through the ribs and into the liver; the speed of the “bounce-back” reflecting the level of scarring.
My readings weren’t bad. I have no scarring and although my fat level was slightly elevated – measured in units of CAP (controlled attenuation parameter), at 223, mine was just over the “healthy” limit of 220, but still within the “normal” range – I feel confident I can get that down now the last mince pie has been eaten and the wine rack is empty.
Of greater concern was my cholesterol level of 8 millimoles per litre. Not only is that well above the healthy upper limit of 5 mmol/L, but I am already taking statins, which don’t appear to be working well. It’s a wake-up call to see my GP soon.
But I’m assuming – erroneously, hubristically perhaps – that my month of abstinence shouldn’t be too much of a problem. As long, that is, as I don’t attend my friend’s birthday party, go out anywhere, have family round or celebrate Burns Night (which is a big thing in our house).
Not drinking my way through January will surely do wonders for my physical wellbeing, but I am a little concerned about my mental health.
See you in a month. If I last that long. For details of Alcohol Concern’s Dry January, go to alcoholconcern.org.uk
When I was growing up, my mother never kept alcohol in the house