Photo by Lance Reis on Unsplash
Let's talk about opioids. Who said they hurt people? I’m an opioid addict, and I never hurt anyone. Well okay, anyone other than myself. Sure, I landed in the emergency room five times after overdosing on them. I don’t necessarily call that hurting myself. It was like playing some iteration of solitaire, only with my friends Vicodin, Codeine and Morphine. Valium was my initial numbing drug of choice. When opioids merrily came along, they were more efficient (an upgrade if you will) in my path to feeling nothing so I shifted gears, gobbling those pills for years on end. Yet, somehow, I’ve been on the straight and narrow for four decades. Still, my history follows me wherever I go. In my mid-to-late 70s, I made myriad visits to the hospital for inexplicable reasons. Each time, upon entry, the stern hospital triage nurse queried about my drug history. "It's complicated; how much time do you have?" is how I usually responded. You know, to break the ice. Their days are long, but mine are longer. The slogan “once a drug addict always a drug addict” is true. I know that in my bones. And yet ... . When people know you are a former drug addict or alcoholic, they make assumptions about you that are not always true. Some of my best friends are sober, some are not. When does the labeling stop? We are not let off the hook for past digressions. Ever. My current dilemma is this: as an addict suffering from a chronic illness, namely Parkinson's disease* (but for argument's sake, consider cancer, ALS, etc.), should I be denied relief in the form of painkillers? When does the patient get to say to the doctor: ”Enough is enough! Bring on the pain relief measures, including but not limited to opioids!" As of this writing, I am suffering from Parkinson’s and diabetes. It's the opposite of wonder-twin powers activate which is to say it's hell on earth all day, but mostly at night. Who decides who gets pain medicine and who doesn’t? God? Doctors? Me? The correct answer, in these times, is draconian doctors. Since I was diagnosed with Parkinson's in 2022, believe me when I tell you that I've bargained. "What if the drugs are kept under lock and key and only administered through my health team?" "Nope, it may lead to active addiction," Dr. Jane Doe said, depriving me of a dignified, pain-free death yet again. Bullcrap! I wake up every morning in pain (if I was fortunate enough to sleep for a few hours the night before). Insomnia is my cross to bear. Dr. Jane Doe also refuses to give me meds to sleep because, she says, I could become a fall risk. As if I’m not already. Better I should be perpetually tormented by sleeplessness. I should send her video of me pacing throughout my home, startling the dog, at 2 a.m. on the regular. I should share episodes of me falling asleep in the middle of conversations. Insomnia does not bring restorative powers to my system. We all need a strong immune system and insomniacs don’t have one. Now that I am infirm, all I want to do is boost my immunity by getting a good night's sleep while not screaming in pain in the wee hours (to one one, in vain) when my back hurts. I'm a recovering alcoholic who does not want to die in pain. Mea culpa. More power to the people on this planet who have not taken aspirin for pain—who grin and bear it. I’m no better or worse than you despite my labels. For today, I’m a recovering alcoholic/addict who is tired of being in pain and happens to believe that my God approves of pharmaceutical interventions. * a chronic brain disorder that affects movement, mental health, and other systems in the body. er that affects movement, mental health, and other systems in the body
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