The Little Gods
Coming home with opiates after surgery….what could go wrong?
A week ago Friday, I arrived at the hospital at 7 am having fasted since midnight, ready for my procedure. Sometime around 10 am — I was unconscious so I can’t attest to the exact time — a surgeon pulled my scarred and troublesome gallbladder out of an incision by my belly button. I came to in the recovery room as a sweet, friendly and very young nurse asked what my pain level was. Whatever my response, hers was immediate — more intravenous Dilaudid.
I had dutifully told everyone who came in contact with me at the hospital — ok, not the admissions person — that as a recovering drug addict it’s important that narcotics are only used when medically indicated.
In my darkest and most secret heart, however, I was counting on those well-trained medical professionals to make the right decision and give me the good stuff. They did. First, it was that flow of Dilaudid directly into my veins. That lasted an hour or so. I floated sweetly and understood at last why every junkie I knew back in Cleveland in the late 1980s was ready to pony up fifteen bucks for those little gods.
I was sent home with a prescription for ten Percocet and fifteen Tramadol. No refills.
