73 Hours Later

So our superheros made it through another weekend. It was a tough weekend, and many hours were spent with insomnia, depression, anxiety, restless legs, and our old friend chronic pain. It was surprising how long each hour was. How each time I checked the clock, only 10 minutes passed when I was sure it was 40.

But time, as it so naturally does, it passes, slow and relentless and determined.

And now, just back from the pharmacy, I have taken the prescribed amount and wait. The next 30 minutes will be spent smoking cigarettes, drinking fruit juice and waiting for the pain to go away.

The rest of the withdrawal symptoms should dissipate as well, however I suspect that the diarrhea will continue for a bit longer. Not that I mind - when I was self medicating with alcohol to numb my body from the pain (or render me unconscious at the least), I seldom enjoyed a solid shit. So whether it is the runs or constipation... it can go either way. Don't matter to me.

Looking back, after I got the apples on Saturday, I was anxious and optimistic. I wanted so much to get some comfort, and to get some sleep, that by Sunday I was out again, and as each hour passed the pain and symptoms began to rear their ugly heads.

Ideally I would have just stayed in bed, but I had work to do and had to spend the afternoon with clients looking over contracts. I kept my ground, which was probably due to the 4 percs - referred to as "regulars" - that I found. They got me through my meetings, and even got me through my evening family dinner. That is until I made the mistake of playing "airplane" with my nieces and nephews.

The kids love me so much and they are so precious to me. One of the hardest things for me to deal with is not being able to play with the kids. The youngest boy always asks if my back is better yet. I know he is hoping that I will pick him up for "airplane" and hugs, and I usually do. I pick him up without thinking about the pain that is going to come on later when I get home. And after a night of tossing them around, my back was one big muscle spasm.

Thankfully, I managed to beg a few dollars to pick up a pill to get me over the pain and get me to sleep. I held my optimism for Monday.

As Monday woke up and carried on, I went to work and saw my clients. I was in pretty rough shape, but when it comes to work I am able to turn on auto pilot and get through the performance and even managed to get a pill late in the day.

Then realty hit me with a big fat fist: due to the new Family Day holiday, the banks were closed and my paycheck did not clear, leaving me with no money for my prescription.

Beg, Borrow or Steal. By Hook or by Crook. I found an old lottery ticket for $3, a bunch of change and after counting every last dine, I managed to get enough to fill half my prescription, which brings me to now.

Now. Now I can take a moment to look back on the last few days, and ask myself some serious questions about this current treatment for my back pain.

At my age, how do I feel about potentially using opiates for the rest of my life?
How will I feel about dependency in 3, 5 or 10 or 20 years?
Have I truly explored all options, western/eastern medicine, holistic, spiritual?

I am not ready to accept opiates as my only option and with some relief, I can now afford to be introspective.