It’s hard to describe what it feels like to be dismissed from a facility I’d been part of for over four years. Dr. Smith administered steroid injections, he prescribed my pain management protocol and above all — he was approachable and humorous. Once he remarked “You’re the only patient I have that knows how to read, there’s no one to show it to” when I tried to comment on a New York Times article I’d recently read about how to rate pain. I considered my relationship with his staff to be above the cordial receptionist-nurse to patient repartee.
and so the story continues, if you don’t read these posts in reverse order, there might be a bit of confusion, so go back to July 18, 2016 and start there, moving toward each post. BEGIN: Oxycontin, the patent-protected time-release pain medication and its kissing cousin, oxycodone the generic non-time-release, had only been around since 1995. Was there really enough research on long-term use? Back to the scene, me on the bed, a pinch of stomach gut in my hand, getting […]
I was 60 years old at the time, just a few weeks shy of my 61st birthday. Planning to live at at least 80 (statistical possibility for sure), I glimpsed myself shooting up, in my gut, for 20 more years. Or what? What else was the Oxycontin going to shut down? It already rewrote my neural pathways, trying to subvert my pain into reasonable bits allowing me to function — or so I thought. It shut down my intestines. What was next? My liver? My kidneys?