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Apr. 1st, 2008 | 11:45 pm
When I was 17, I had a tonsilectomy. This act wasn't interesting, except it served to provide me with a mechanism by which to address the pain of my surgery. As I was 17, my parents mostly controlled this -- I wasn't truly aware of what they were giving me, except to know it abated my pain.
Because this happened at a military base, they were pretty giving with respect to the pain killers. They gave me 2 1 litre bottles (if memory serves) of some amount of liquid containing codeine. I was probably supposed to take 1-2 tablespoons every 4-6 hours for pain. Again, my parents controlled this, and I'm sure it worked out well.
Flash forward a few years later and I am home from college either for a weekend trip or maybe christmas break. The hows and the whys aren't so interesting except to note that I discovered the still mostly-full bottles of codeine. Which I took with me. To this day, I do not know what precipitated me walking out with them. Perhaps I felt that it had been prescribed to me, therefore I ought to keep it. I must've known, at that time, that it had some abuse potential -- I certainly didn't drive back to college with any of the sudafed my parents surely had.
I can recall spending a couple of months in college where I pretty much blasted my brain with many chemicals. For instance, I tried LSD a few times. I tried mushrooms a few times. I'm pretty sure I waited until I was 21, though -- some part of me felt that I needed to wait until I was 21 -- or at least very close to 21. I do recall my 21st birthday as being a birthday that will live in a haze. It involved pot and maybe ecstasy.
I experimented with these chemicals for some amount of time, even coming to appreciate Dr Shulgin for his work. I think ultimately I grew tired of most of these and the usage declined over time. Sometime during the midst of these experimental days, 3 friends of mine died within 2 weeks. Surely this must've been one of the causes of me experimenting with the codeine I had. I discovered it caused quite some euphoria -- mostly deadening the sadness I felt surrounding the aforementioned deaths.
2 years ago, I started experiencing shoulder pains. I visited my family doctor and he prescribed me some steroids to help with the swelling and some vicodin to ease the pain. This started a tumultuous 2 year span. It started rather innocently -- I recalled how I could consume a little more codeine than I was really supposed to, and the pain really abated. Likewise, I increased the dose of the vicodin. Which caused two things: less pain and faster consumption. I scheduled a visit to an orthopaedic surgeon a week later and we discussed my shoulder issues. He gave me a steroid shot and prescribed physical therapy and vicodin. Yes, more vicodin.
I quickly learned that this Doctor was fairly willing to refill my prescriptions. I never really had to worry about running out. Ultimately, the steroid shots and the physical therapy didn't work and surgery was the next option. Post surgery? More vicodin.
And for several months post-op, he continued to prescribe more vicodin whenever I called. Eventually, the post-op period ended, and he stopped prescribing vicodin. I went through some amount of withdrawal, as I no longer had access.
Nearly half a year later and the shoulder pain returns. I go back to the same Doctor, and he is no longer interested in helping me. I honestly don't know why, but his PA (physician's assistant) referred me to a pain management clinic. They gave me a steroid shot in my spine that was, theoretically, supposed to help alleviate pain in the nerves. They felt my pain was neuropathic in nature and not biomechanical. One MRI later we decided it was biomechanical after all, and they referred me to a local orthopaedic surgeon.
Who started me on norco. Norco is 10mg of hydrocodone with only 325mg of tylenol. Vicodin is typically either 5mg or 7.5mg of hydrocodone, with either 500mg of tylenol or 750mg of tylenol. Point being, I now had access to even stronger hydrocodone with less tylenol to cause me concern. Of course, I was never truly worried about the tylenol. After all, I wasn't really an addict -- I wasn't taking enough vicodin/norco to warrant that concern!
3 months of physical therapy and copious pain pills later, surgery became the only option again. This time, the surgeon did a good job of explaining the process and performed quite a successful surgery. I still feel slight amounts of pain today, but its only been 2 months since the surgery.
Pre-op, this surgeon was relatiely forthcoming with the norco prescriptions as well. When I was between sessions with him and did not have my vicodin, I would go to the ER and complain about my shoulder. I would explain to them that I was in pain and unable to sleep. They generally prescribed me more norco.
A month ago (one month post-op), my doc stopped prescribing me pain pills. I was in trouble. I had essentially exhausted my trips to the ER, so could not use that as a mechanism to acquire more vicodin.
See, when my first doctor stopped prescribing me vicodin, I stole some pills from my father and my mother-in-law. I was ultimately caught, and I independently convinced them I would stop. Which, to a degree, I did. But I had already crossed the line: I had snuck into my parents house with the express intent of stealing some of their pain pills. I had snuck into my mother-in-law's suitcase to sniff out her pain pills.
When my second doctor stopped prescribing me pain pills, I again snuck into my parents house to find vicodin. I started going to the ER complaining of my other shoulder. I did whatever I could to get my hands on more pain pills.
A week ago, we received a letter in the mail indicating that the physician from the latest ER visit would "bill us separately." She confronted me about this ER trip that she knew nothing about -- I denied it. I flat out lied to my wife. That night I went to her and told her I had gone to the ER a few times in the past to acquire vicodin. I suggested I might be addicted and maybe we ought to contact a therapist. But I never did -- I let my "busy work week" interfere.
Sunday, my mother calls me and tells me my father has found his bottle of vicodin, with 26 pills missing. I called my father and told him my wife and I were coming over.
As many times as I've tried to "quit" in the past, I have failed.
I am an addict.
This is my story.
Because this happened at a military base, they were pretty giving with respect to the pain killers. They gave me 2 1 litre bottles (if memory serves) of some amount of liquid containing codeine. I was probably supposed to take 1-2 tablespoons every 4-6 hours for pain. Again, my parents controlled this, and I'm sure it worked out well.
Flash forward a few years later and I am home from college either for a weekend trip or maybe christmas break. The hows and the whys aren't so interesting except to note that I discovered the still mostly-full bottles of codeine. Which I took with me. To this day, I do not know what precipitated me walking out with them. Perhaps I felt that it had been prescribed to me, therefore I ought to keep it. I must've known, at that time, that it had some abuse potential -- I certainly didn't drive back to college with any of the sudafed my parents surely had.
I can recall spending a couple of months in college where I pretty much blasted my brain with many chemicals. For instance, I tried LSD a few times. I tried mushrooms a few times. I'm pretty sure I waited until I was 21, though -- some part of me felt that I needed to wait until I was 21 -- or at least very close to 21. I do recall my 21st birthday as being a birthday that will live in a haze. It involved pot and maybe ecstasy.
I experimented with these chemicals for some amount of time, even coming to appreciate Dr Shulgin for his work. I think ultimately I grew tired of most of these and the usage declined over time. Sometime during the midst of these experimental days, 3 friends of mine died within 2 weeks. Surely this must've been one of the causes of me experimenting with the codeine I had. I discovered it caused quite some euphoria -- mostly deadening the sadness I felt surrounding the aforementioned deaths.
2 years ago, I started experiencing shoulder pains. I visited my family doctor and he prescribed me some steroids to help with the swelling and some vicodin to ease the pain. This started a tumultuous 2 year span. It started rather innocently -- I recalled how I could consume a little more codeine than I was really supposed to, and the pain really abated. Likewise, I increased the dose of the vicodin. Which caused two things: less pain and faster consumption. I scheduled a visit to an orthopaedic surgeon a week later and we discussed my shoulder issues. He gave me a steroid shot and prescribed physical therapy and vicodin. Yes, more vicodin.
I quickly learned that this Doctor was fairly willing to refill my prescriptions. I never really had to worry about running out. Ultimately, the steroid shots and the physical therapy didn't work and surgery was the next option. Post surgery? More vicodin.
And for several months post-op, he continued to prescribe more vicodin whenever I called. Eventually, the post-op period ended, and he stopped prescribing vicodin. I went through some amount of withdrawal, as I no longer had access.
Nearly half a year later and the shoulder pain returns. I go back to the same Doctor, and he is no longer interested in helping me. I honestly don't know why, but his PA (physician's assistant) referred me to a pain management clinic. They gave me a steroid shot in my spine that was, theoretically, supposed to help alleviate pain in the nerves. They felt my pain was neuropathic in nature and not biomechanical. One MRI later we decided it was biomechanical after all, and they referred me to a local orthopaedic surgeon.
Who started me on norco. Norco is 10mg of hydrocodone with only 325mg of tylenol. Vicodin is typically either 5mg or 7.5mg of hydrocodone, with either 500mg of tylenol or 750mg of tylenol. Point being, I now had access to even stronger hydrocodone with less tylenol to cause me concern. Of course, I was never truly worried about the tylenol. After all, I wasn't really an addict -- I wasn't taking enough vicodin/norco to warrant that concern!
3 months of physical therapy and copious pain pills later, surgery became the only option again. This time, the surgeon did a good job of explaining the process and performed quite a successful surgery. I still feel slight amounts of pain today, but its only been 2 months since the surgery.
Pre-op, this surgeon was relatiely forthcoming with the norco prescriptions as well. When I was between sessions with him and did not have my vicodin, I would go to the ER and complain about my shoulder. I would explain to them that I was in pain and unable to sleep. They generally prescribed me more norco.
A month ago (one month post-op), my doc stopped prescribing me pain pills. I was in trouble. I had essentially exhausted my trips to the ER, so could not use that as a mechanism to acquire more vicodin.
See, when my first doctor stopped prescribing me vicodin, I stole some pills from my father and my mother-in-law. I was ultimately caught, and I independently convinced them I would stop. Which, to a degree, I did. But I had already crossed the line: I had snuck into my parents house with the express intent of stealing some of their pain pills. I had snuck into my mother-in-law's suitcase to sniff out her pain pills.
When my second doctor stopped prescribing me pain pills, I again snuck into my parents house to find vicodin. I started going to the ER complaining of my other shoulder. I did whatever I could to get my hands on more pain pills.
A week ago, we received a letter in the mail indicating that the physician from the latest ER visit would "bill us separately." She confronted me about this ER trip that she knew nothing about -- I denied it. I flat out lied to my wife. That night I went to her and told her I had gone to the ER a few times in the past to acquire vicodin. I suggested I might be addicted and maybe we ought to contact a therapist. But I never did -- I let my "busy work week" interfere.
Sunday, my mother calls me and tells me my father has found his bottle of vicodin, with 26 pills missing. I called my father and told him my wife and I were coming over.
As many times as I've tried to "quit" in the past, I have failed.
I am an addict.
This is my story.