In the wake of a physically and emotionally painful week I received prayers and compassion today.
Today a long-time friend that I met in my first months of university decades ago called to see how I’m doing. Throughout our friendship we have had healthy debates about the existence of God and the meaning of faith. He has worked particularly hard to influence my beliefs and tries to have me see the world, if even just for a moment, through the lens of a believer in Christ, but I can’t. That ship sailed for me when I was about fifteen and my family and church minister failed to show me how God and Christ could fit into my personal belief system as I grew and started to question the world and my place in it.
As we continue to be part of each other’s lives we are more open to respectfully listening to the other’s point of view, but we know that neither of us will change our beliefs anytime soon. I may not understand it, but I do respect his unyielding faith in God no matter what happens in his life. I still don’t think living your life with the belief that everything is guided – if not already decided – by an omnipotent, omnipresent being is a sound approach, but it works for him. Over the years I’ve explored many religions in search of the same peace that he has. I haven’t had much luck. The only things that come close are practicing mindfulness and meditation, but my practice has little to no discipline.
When my friend called today and I shared the news of the week with him he was very upset for me. His confidence in my reluctant surgeon has plummeted and he believes I should try to get my case transferred to the second opinion surgeon. He can’t see how doing nothing and leaving me to live with this pain and even the slightest chance of developing cancer is the right thing to do. Furthermore, he doesn’t understand how my reluctant surgeon can so easily discard the opinion of the second opinion surgeon that I need to have surgery, or his strategy for the setup of a surgical team ahead of the surgery to cover any issues that could arise; not to mention the surgical pain management plans developed by the pain clinic to diminish the risks of greater pain after surgery. Especially when she doesn’t seem to have a solid plan of her own.
So my friend did the one thing he does understand. He prayed for me. He prayed that I can continue to endure my illness and the pain. He prayed that my doctors will soon find a way to restore my health and end my suffering. He prayed for God and Christ to watch over and protect me. And I was grateful for his prayers. Having him pray for me comforted and calmed me.
I may not share his beliefs but he loves me so much he prays for me often and asks God to grace me with his protection and compassion. I love him for that. And I must have faith and believe that when someone loves you enough to pray for you the goodness of that energy must have a positive effect in your life.
“I just want to see what kind of high they give me,” he said.
Every so often these words pop into my mind. They are a painful reminder that someone I considered a close friend cared so little for my well-being he was willing to take from me the only things managing my pain and keeping me out of the hospital emergency room. He wanted me to give him the tiny, pale, green, opioid pills prescribed by my doctor in meticulously measured quantities to cover two weeks of pain-filled days. He justified his request by saying, “Your doctor will write you a prescription for more pills.”
How did we arrive at “I just want to see what kind of high they give me”? About six months into my illness this friend started to express a lot of interest in what kind of pain medications I was taking and how much of them I needed to take to get some pain relief. I saw it as genuine concern because we had been friends for about a decade and my pain medications just became a natural part of the conversation when he touched base to see how I was doing. We talked about the various pain medications I had been prescribed and I remember during one phone call he googled a comparative pharmacology chart to see the differences between these pain medications. He expressed a particular interest when he learned that the Dilaudid I now take is “3 to 4 times stronger than Morphine”.
About a week or so later he told me he would be in my area of the city for a meeting one day soon and offered to come by to have lunch with me. He said he missed hanging out with me and it would be good to see me for a few hours. The idea of his visit made me happy. He came to my apartment with some delicious Indian food. I didn’t have the appetite to eat very much, but I was so happy for company in the middle of the day it didn’t matter. As it always was, our conversation was punctuated with laughter and sarcastic barbs. He sat with me for a long while and asked questions about how I was coping, why it was taking my doctors so long to figure out exactly what was wrong with me, and when I might get better. Then it was soon time for him to head back to work.
As we walked toward my front hallway he stopped in front of my kitchen doorway and asked if he could see my medications – all my meds were in plain view on top of the fridge. Being more than a little bit spaced-out and very naïve I didn’t think there was any reason for concern. I showed him the various bottles and explained the contents of each. He noted that the Dilaudid pills were very small considering their strength. As I was putting the bottles back on top of the fridge he asked if he could have some Dilaudid. I laughed because I thought he was joking. He asked again and I realized he was serious. I told him I couldn’t give him any for a number of reasons: they were prescribed for me; they are narcotics; they are a controlled substance and it’s illegal to share them; I needed all of them to manage my pain; and if I ran out of them I would end up in the emergency room because of the pain. That’s when he said, “Your doctor will write you a prescription for more pills.”
This disregard for what would happen to me if I ran out of pain medication stunned me. He kept asking and trying to persuade me until I felt uncomfortable and all I wanted was for him to leave; so I gave him one pill. He wasn’t satisfied with just one. He said one wasn’t enough to see what kind of high he would get from them and whether it would be worth having his “guy” go to the trouble to get some for him. I felt instant nausea. He wanted me to give him pills I was depending on to cope with debilitating pain for his recreational use. I held firm and told him even one was too much for me to spare. He finally stopped asking. He was clearly disappointed. He walked to the front door. Put on his shoes. Gave me a hug and left. I’m not sure how long I leaned against the door feeling numb because my anger couldn’t break through the muddiness of pain and medication.
I will never be able to forget this happened.
He wanted my pain medication to get himself high.
He also confirmed what I suspected for a long time. He is an addict.
He labels himself a “recreational drug user”, but there was no fun in what he did to me that day. He has often said that he ingests substances – cocaine, mushrooms, MDMA, Oxycodone, marijuana, alcohol, caffeine tablets, and energy drinks – to enhance and heighten his experience of life. From what I have witnessed it’s more likely he’s trying to escape parts of his life.
He didn’t care about what would happen to me if I didn’t have enough pain medication. But I knew: if I ran out of pills early I would have to call my pharmacist to get a refill; my pharmacist would look at my file and see that it was too soon; he’d tell me he could not be refill them yet because they are narcotics and Controlled/Monitored Drugs and question why I had taken that quantity so quickly. Then because of strict regulatory policies the pharmacist would not contact my doctor’s office on my behalf to get authorization for a refill, but he would advise me to contact my doctor immediately to be assessed.
My doctor would hear alarm bells when I told her I was out of Dilaudid before the end of the two-week period. She would assume I had taken them all and she would be concerned that my pain was becoming more severe, or worse, that I was abusing my pain medication. She would bombard me with a million questions and I would most likely lie to shield my friend, to hide the crime I had committed – giving someone even one of your narcotic pain pills is breaking the law – and to get replacement pain medication so I wouldn’t land in the hospital. From that point forward she would monitor me even more closely and probably request that I pee in a cup more often to check the level of Dilaudid – and other possible substances – in my system. And I would have degraded my doctor’s trust.
Thankfully these things didn’t happen. But his actions and words caused me to feel so stressed and paranoid I started hiding my pain medications in dresser drawers in my bedroom. I also distanced myself from him because he made me feel unsafe and I didn’t want him to believe what he did to me was ok. I haven’t seen him since that day over a year ago. And I can no longer consider someone who would put me at risk my friend. Nonetheless, my hope for him is that one day he recognizes the harm his addictions create and then engages in the work needed to repair and balance his life, family, and his relationships.
I had a few good days last week. Not because I didn’t have pain – assume until I tell you otherwise that I live every minute of my life in pain – but because I was able to spend time with friends I hadn’t seen in a while. I made the effort to make sure those hang outs happened. I rested on the days leading up to all the activity. Actually, I napped a lot because otherwise I might not have had the energy to do the things I wanted to do with my friends.
I started by hanging out with my friend ‘P’ on Friday evening. I’ve known her since kindergarten. It amazes me at times that we have managed to maintain a connection that started when we were five. That’s not to say we haven’t lost touch at various points over the years, but we always reconnect in the strangest ways. Right now I’m just happy she tracked me down about five years ago. I enjoy spending time with her because she’s always positive and has a smile that can light up the darkest day. It amazes me that I’ve known her for so long and she’s still the same person: honest to a fault and funny as hell.
P knows what foods I crave, but can’t go out to get for myself, so she brought me some treats. She also took me out for a short drive so I could run an errand, and on the way back we picked up ice cream. We spent the bulk of the evening sitting in my living room eating, chatting and laughing. It felt good and I felt normal for a few hours.
On Saturday I was still feeling positive, and I was single-minded about my plan to go to a movie and dinner with my friend ‘J’. I’ve known J for about a decade and she has been an incredible support to me since my illness arrived. Unfortunately, in the last month or so I’ve had to cancel our plans repeatedly because of my pain. Last week I decided that I was going to go out with J no matter what.
I was up early on Saturday morning – I didn’t sleep much on Friday night so I’m not sure if saying I was up early is accurate – and just before 10:00 AM I started to feel extremely tired. I was being overcome by the need to take a morning nap and started to feel anxious that I might not make it out the door for the day. To solidify our plans I sent J a message and we picked a time for the movie. With that done I set my alarm so I would wake up with enough lead time to get showered and dressed and rest a bit before the movie.
This time out J let me pick the movie. We got lost for a few hours in Cinderella. We enjoyed it. Cate Blanchett’s portrayal of the wicked stepmother was outstanding. After the movie we went for dinner at a restaurant that is a short walk from my apartment. I ordered a hamburger, which is a big deal for me because I generally don’t eat beef – or other red meats – but since my illness arrived I’ll eat just about anything when I have the appetite to eat. While we were waiting for our meals to arrive my evening medication alarm went off. I took my pills then focused on enjoying a meal and conversation with J.
After dinner the plan was to walk J to her car that was parked across the street. As we started crossing the street I was overwhelmed by a wave of nausea. I was certain I was going to vomit, but nothing came up. As we continued walking toward the car my stomach turned again and again nothing came up. J became very concerned and decided that it might be best if she walked me home and stayed with me until I felt better. I wouldn’t feel better for hours.
When we got to my apartment the nausea reached a high. I started to dry heave. At one point I actually vomited in my mouth a bit. J’s concern climbed. She wondered if I might have eaten too much in a short space of time (popcorn, a large Coke, peanut M&Ms, a hamburger, and fries) or if the nausea might be a reaction to my medications. She got me a bowl from the kitchen so I didn’t have to keep getting up to go into the bathroom each time I heaved. She checked my temperature to rule out the possibility that I might have a fever that could be an indication of a bug or some other infection. It was normal. Then she started to wonder if she should take me to the hospital emergency room – a valid concern considering my not at all straightforward illness. I decided against the emergency room and continued to sit in my living room heaving into my stainless steel mixing bowl for another hour.
Around 10:00 PM when it was clear that I wasn’t going to vomit and I had no other worrying symptoms, I told J she should go home. She was a bit reluctant to leave me alone. Before she left she made sure I had everything I needed (water, juice, and a blanket). And she asked me to send her a message after I took the last dose of my medications before going to bed because she was worried that I might vomit them up, which would probably mean a visit to the hospital emergency room would be necessary later that night. Thankfully I did not vomit up my medications and the dry heaving came to a halt around 11:30 PM.
I can almost laugh about this now because, except for the dry heaving on Saturday night, I did have an enjoyable weekend. Sometimes I feel it is crazy how unpredictable my life has become, but if I’m being honest with myself that’s not true. Life is never predictable. Even when we’re healthy life throws unexpected things our way. And just like when I was dry heaving on Saturday night, we deal need to deal with the unexpected by taking deep breaths and hoping for the best.
My Small Surrenders 