Oxy detox, Chapter VIII
This is an italic post. Deal.
I’ll do this Lucas style. You don’t get to see the first seven chapters. At least not yet.
For a world-famous hospital, Cedars-Sinai is abysmal about returning telephone calls. I called with enough time to get a refill on my Hillbilly Heroin. I’m post-surgery-times-triplicate, remember. Couldn’t get my neurologist to return my call. I’m not sure the message ever made it to his desk. And I’m not brave enough to really stand up for myself on the phone. To tell the lady that it is really important to me that the doctor get this message, so that I won’t be in pain.
So that I won’t be in pain. And so that my entire nervous system doesn’t rebel against me. But I don’t mention that part.
I get a call back at 4:30 p.m. The office is open until 5:00. They’re an hour away. But my prescription will be waiting for me, and there will probably be someone still there.
You need to titrate off Oxycodone. You can’t just stop. You can’t go from months on end, to a day without. It’s approaching 24 hours. Is the worst over? Maybe I should just be done. No. I’ve gone off Dilaudid before. The nights are worse. I’d be facing a couple nights torment, at least. And this goddamn pain. In my neck, down my arm. Down my arm, which the surgery should have fixed.
I have Pearl Jam’s Live at the Gorge seven-disc boxed set. You read that right. Seven discs. Awesome. Pearl Jam is a drug. Sugar is a drug. Benzodiazapines are drugs, and I’ve already taken two milligrams to blunt the withdrawal. Seriously considering nicotine. I don’t fucking smoke.
I make it to the office. There’s someone there. I get my Oxy scrip. I even get my parking validated. Free. Awesome. All this effort, though, and it would have been no extra to get my Lyrica refilled, too. My non-narcotic Lyrica, to block the nerve pain. The nerve pain that should be gone, but isn’t.
Driving away, calling my family, on four different phones, to let them know, mission accomplished. But of course it isn’t. An hour there, an hour and a half back. Then drop off the scrip. Then waiting for half an hour. That’s where I am now.
There are lyrics jumping out at me from these songs, songs I know by heart, that have never resonated in me before. I find myself at tears on the drive home. Maybe it’s the songs. Maybe it’s the pain. Maybe it’s the withdrawal.
It’s all three, of course.
“I’d Rather Be Blading,” the license plate says. “Sports Chalet.” No kidding. Endorphins. When I upgraded to the X-Acto a few chapters ago, it cut really deep. It’s been months, and it hasn’t healed. Scarred. Probably won’t ever heal fully. Two big stripes and a bunch of little ones, just wristward from the crook of my elbow.
Where does the 710 North go? Get a sudden urge to not change lanes, to just drive. There are hours of music left. Surely it leads somewhere with a pharmacy. They have all-night ones, you know.
Play C-3. Let the song protest. Realize I’m completely out of the loop. I don’t know anything that’s happened in the world in the last half year. NPR was my lifeline. Not a lot of radio reception at home, and sitting at my desk to read The Guardian is painful. That damn pain again.
Feel the resonance of distance. In the blood the iron lies. Never understood that before. I need to get back into the world. I need to start reading news, listening to BBC, something. Rewrite the lyric. Feel the resonance of distance. In their blood my iron lies. I can handle the pain. I’m driving, aren’t I? I’ll go to Zazzle, get the t-shirt made. Get it shipped to me. Let my shirt protest.
And where the hell does all this perspiration come from? I haven’t consumed this much fluid in the last three weeks. I could wring out any garment. That’s the great thing about comedy. You can talk about any of the big subjects. Death, religion … clammy weather. But the weather’s not clammy. It’s dry. I’m clammy.
My family are almost done eating. Jenn has promised to go get my meds. And I’ll be dosed again. My neurologist is a good guy. He refilled my scrip. He wants to see me in two weeks, and he’ll titrate me further. Get down to 5 mg Q4. That’s down from 15 mg Q4. Big difference.
Damn. I must look crazed. Can’t help when I’m happy, look insane. You can’t look crazy driving up to a pharmacy window to drop of an Oxy scrip.
I know why my friend wouldn’t watch the season finale of “Lost” a second time, even though I hadn’t seen it. Sometimes you wish actors were just not as good. Sometimes you wish writers were not as good. Good music is good, though. And family is good. And changing into dry garments is good.
It will be all right. Give me another month, and I’ll be off the meds. Gently. It should be easy. I’ve gone off Dilaudid. Just, not all at once. Take me down gently. Mom’s climbed up a tree. Let me down gently.
Compulsive typing is painful. Had to vent. Must go rest. Must go “neck-neutral”, as I’ve trained my family. Have a down pillow just for that. It’s yellow. It’s stained, now, too. That’s my fault. But it’s soft. Soft pillows. And soon meds. Meds, and no pain.
Bear with me.
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July 14th, 2007 at 14h10
Thank you for this post. I love you. Mom is climbing down from that tree.
July 16th, 2007 at 08h37
Three weeks ago, Jaimee went to the psychiatrist for anxiety. The psychiatrist, ever helpful, gave her a three week sample supply of Effexor. It didn’t seem to help, but how much can you expect after just three weeks, right? So she gets her prescription and takes it to the pharmacy this weekend. Surprise, surprise; Effexor is one of the MANY drugs that her insurance (for which she pays an arm and a leg) doesn’t cover, and the full cost is more than Jaimee can afford at the moment. The pharmacist recommends that she call her doctor or the insurance company to work something out. The offices of both are closed for the weekend.
Apparently, you need to taper off of Effexor. Going cold turkey is something that you don’t want to do, although Jaimee didn’t really have a choice. The doctor hadn’t mentioned this. The headaches are bad, but she’s had headaches before. The nausea is the worst that she’s ever had, and this is a girl who’s quite familiar with nausea already. The collapsing-to-the-ground-dizziness was worrying, but not as bad as the “brain shivers” that jolt her entire body every twenty minutes or so.
I spent quite a few years in crowd where recreational drugs were a fact of life, and the withdrawal (which the manufacturer whitewashes by calling “discontinuation syndrome) from Effexor is as bad as anything that I experienced during that time. I’ll be the first to stand up and say that Scientology’s crusade against psychiatric medicine is insane, but the way that this stuff is pushed would make your average dealer of street drugs blush.
July 28th, 2007 at 07h03
I hate to admit this but, I really like that numbing feeling that “certain” pills give you.. and no, I don’t need them. At all. But I use them anyway. Hah, hey, I loved the fact that you called them “hillbilly heroin”.. priceless.
Can I tell you something? This post kind of helped me, in a weird sort of way. So thank you for that.
Oh, and I bought that Pearl Jam boxed set too, the day it came out, however, I haven’t listened to any of it. I don’t know why. It’s there, still wrapped.. I know, sad…
July 28th, 2007 at 18h27
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July 8th, 2009 at 05h16
exercise and sweating also helps eliminates toxins out of the body. aside from taking regular detox diets you should also add exercise to your detox routines.
August 24th, 2009 at 21h52
[...] It appears I’ve gotten along without one for a decade, despite long reflections on various medications and grunge musicians, and this strikes me as a lousy excuse to add one, so it stays under [...]