This Is Your Brain On Drugs

I've never been into drug culture. You are shocked. Well, I've never been cool enough to be initiated into drug culture - hard drugs don't circulate in the Calgary choral scene. The one time I did successfully imbibe pot was a total disaster: I was paranoid, sick, and probably would have chosen death over ever using pot again. Blackout drunk has never appealed to me either: I don't want to get out of control or do something stupid because I'll never live down my siblings' teasing. I wasn't, therefore, really looking forward to trying out one of the major drug categories: narcotics.

Until January, Tylenol and Advil had been the only analgesics I'd ever used. Every time I took Advil I was convinced I'd immediately go into kidney failure, be roped into a lifetime of dialysis, force my family members to take me off dialysis and then endure a slow painful death. (That, by the way, is the kind of impression Renal patients will make on you as a nurse). However, I was in more and more pain every day. I couldn't get in to see my GP for about a month, so Dan and I decided to go to the Canmore ER on our romantic weekend away. That actually ended up being the day that Dan proposed, but that's another story. I've previously mentioned that I'm a crier - I cry especially when talking about anything emotional or upsetting like pain and what it does to your thoughts, your feelings and your body. I cried to the triage nurse, stating that I felt bad for using valuable ER time for an issue I knew could be treated in a subacute facility. I'm grateful that she cut off my apologies by saying: this is an emergency for you and you deserve to be here. Her words validated my pain and dispelled the feeling I'd harbored that other people saw me as attention-seeking, fake, or not needing of serious medical care.

Anyways, by the time the ER doctor came to see me, I'd calmed down; his presence immediately triggered another bout of crying. Crying is, by the way, a great tactic for getting male doctors to listen to you. This particular physician had never heard of hip dysplasia in adults or PAO surgeries. He conceded that my condition sounded painful and wrote me a script for codeine and a note that said: This lady has a medical condition that precludes her from being on her feet all day.

When this lady took her first codeine dose, she got a little giggly. In my mind's eye I floated through our house like a butterfly. That wore off shortly after, which is a real shame because I do make a beautiful butterfly. Besides, the codeine didn't help with my pain. Next, my GP gave me a short-acting morphine to try, which did provide a lot of pain relief at first. I soon had to start taking it more and more often; I'd wear a watch so I'd know when I could take my next dose, and time all my activities around when I would be most pain-free. Then I tried taking a long-acting morphine at morning and night, with breakthrough short-acting morphine as needed, which provided consistency so I didn't have as many peaks and valleys. I'm not waking up from aching at three in the morning.

It's funny: when people hear I'm taking narcotics, their inner bro lingo comes out. Sweet Sara, you must get high. Or people will say in clipped tones: Oh, so you're an addict now. (Actually, my grandmother's the only person who has said that to my face; again, another story for another time). Misconceptions around pain medications and addictions drive me crazy: when you have pain, narcotics work to treat that pain. Taking pain medications for pain doesn't make you weak or an addict. Most people do not become medication dependent for the rest of their lives: that's a misconception stemming from the minority of cases. I learned this as a nurse, but after having quite a few patients who call on the hour every hour for their fentanyl/dilaudid/Percocet/magic combo, I became a little biased; maybe they like their painkillers just  a little too much. However I've learned about pain. No one has the right to judge someone else's pain or how they manage that pain.

Sometimes if I take a pill on an empty stomach I feel a little spacey, planet beautiful butterfly looms closer, and I feel a little dizzy. The first time I immediately followed morphine with a glass of wine was a bit of a trip - the most delightful birthday party for my grandmother that I've ever attended. Otherwise I've never had a "high" side effect. I'm naturally absent-minded and with morphine-brain I lose more things all of the time: keys, knitting needles, scissors, pens. What's really irritating is that Dan never loses anything and he gets to be smug about finding my misplaced items. The morphine on my nervous system plus not having to discipline my brain through regular work or critical thinking leaves my mind feeling a little porous, a little more vacuous than it used to be.

I haven't even begun trying any of the really big gun analgesics. I've never been "drugged up" from a major surgery. I can imagine it'll be more nauseating and way more fun than pot.