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?