Nickering

I’m equal parts intrigued and disturbed by my blossoming Dilaudid habit. Who knew that after a life time free of substance abuse, or any inclination towards it, I would get the chance to glimpse addiction from the consumer side, always helpful if you want to actually understand something like that.

In the emergency room on the night of my accident they’d given me a couple of shots-in-the-ass of Demerol to no avail whatsoever. Awaiting surgery, I had spent the next three days taking as much Oxycodon as the doctor prescribed. Truly my mother’s son, I would never take more. On the day of the operation, in addition to the general anesthesia, they gave me a “pain block” which was stunningly effective. I woke up in the recovery room groggy but pretty much pain free. The block was still in effect, I was told. A few hours later a persistent thrum of pain set in, and I drifted in and out of CNN dreams, unable to see out the window but told that there’d been a big snow storm and that the whole city was paralyzed. I became an expert at using the “1—10” pain scale, and for the next twenty four hours, whenever asked, I consistently answered the nurses with a terse, “Ten”. I finally arrived at Dilaudid by way of Oxycodon and IV Morphine. I could never tell exactly when it went into effect; only that roughly two hours after ingesting it, the pain became just this side of bearable. And that was enough for me. I wasn’t looking for recreation, just something to stave off misery with a sharp stick.

A week later at my follow-up appointment I was told that I needed to “begin to taper the Dilaudid”, my persistent pain not withstanding. This edict was delivered to me about the same time that somebody told me that they’d googled Dilaudid and discovered that it was highly habit forming. I’ve always been somebody who hates putting pills of any kind into my mouth and whose addictions don’t tend towards pharmaceuticals, so I wasn’t that concerned. On the contrary I found it a little annoying that I wasn’t at least getting a pinch of pleasure in exchange for this enforced breach in my behavioral norm

Still, I remember that in the morning, after each horrible tortured night, I’d toddle out of my borrowed patio chaise lounge into pre-dawn darkness, pop three pills, turn on the TV, and wait for deliverance by the Early Bird news. And in those moments, sipping my unnaturally cherished cup of coffee, I’d get just a sliver of a back door feeling of peace. My friend, who had been an addict for several life-destroying years, told me that Dalaudid is a heroin addict’s favorite substitute, but you could have fooled me because my use of it was strictly tied up with my pain, one end of a miserable teeter totter between wretched ache and oblivion. But there was that nickering of peace.

So now it’s six weeks later, and even though I’ve been tapering, I was sitting on the couch in therapy this morning and it dawned on me that, as my friend so aptly described it, “the curtain” had come down. I was at peace just sitting there in my little pillow posture on the couch. I’ll be damned if my life isn’t in a breath taking careen of change, but at that moment I didn’t care, because I was behind the curtain.

My friend warned me that this was a good moment to be careful, and Dear Reader, I agree.