One of the commitments that I have had to make to my recovery is to not take pain medications unless absolutely necessary. My definition of “absolutely necessary” has become a lot stricter over the years, as I have learned through NA how to tolerate and deal with pain.
About three months after I got out of treatment, my jawbone started deteriorating in the area where I’d had several wisdom teeth removed years before. Little pieces of the bone would break off, protrude through my gum, and become painfully infected. My oral surgeon told me that the surgery to correct it was too complicated to do in his office, and that I would have to go into the hospital. I agreed, and then told him, “I’m a recovering addict, so I don’t want any pain killers”. He replied, “Forget that, you WILL take them”.
When I checked into the hospital, I also told the head nurse, “No pain meds for me! I’m a recovering addict”. She said that she would abide by my wishes.
I had the surgery. When I woke up in my room, I had 47 stitches in my inside lower jaw, all around my tongue. My doctor was right. I felt like a hand grenade had gone off in my mouth. The pain was intensely horrible, and a lot worse than I had imagined in my worst nightmares. I told my mom to get the head nurse. She came in, and reminded me of what I had told her. I said, “Forget that shit, I want a shot of Demerol in my ass NOW!!!”. She then asked, “When was the last time you used cocaine?”. My mother replied, “My boy doesn’t do that!”. I then told the nurse that it had been about three months, and my mom looked like she was going to faint. She knew that I had been through 30 days of inpatient treatment, but she had tried to tell herself that it was “just alcohol, or maybe some pills”. She was facing her denial before my eyes. Then the nurse asked me, “How long has it been since you took heroin”. My mom replied, “I know he has never done that”. I then replied, “Four months”.
The nurse refused to give me the shot. I was desperate. I told her, “If you don’t, I’m gonna run up and down the hall and raise hell”. She said, “I’ll call security!”. I then told her, "I don’t give a damn. Everyone who comes in contact with me is gonna catch hell till you give me some Demerol.” She finally agreed, and left to set it up.
Then the guilt set in. I had the feeling that I was about to relapse, and throw away my “90-some” days of clean time. But I had no choice. I was experiencing some of the worst pain of my entire life.
Then I got the shot. I immediately felt a warm sensation all over, and I caught a killer buzz. After being clean for 90 days, the buzz was a lot more powerful than it would have been if I was still using. And I LIKED IT!!! What addict wouldn’t? But I knew I had to call my sponsor. When he answered, I told him, “Hey man, I’m fucked up, but I didn’t relapse”. He assured me that I hadn’t relapsed, but told me not to bring any pain meds home. I didn’t.
Though I did take that pain killer, and DID catch a killer buzz, I did what I had to do for my recovery:
1- I told every doctor and nurse involved that I was a recovering addict.
2- I tried to deal with the pain without drugs first. And...
3- The only drugs that entered my body were administered by a medical professional that was aware of my addiction. My hand never touched any “buzz producing” chemical.
I still use those three guidelines to determine when to allow any pain killer into my body. The only thing that has changed about the situation is the amount of pain that I can tolerate now. I can take A LOT more pain today than I could in early recovery. I have never again taken pain killers for dental work.
However, I have noticed one “hippie buzzhead” situation that occurs whenever I am faced with hospitalization. The first thought that comes to my mind is, “I can catch a LEGAL buzz”; legal in that it doesn’t count as a relapse. I hurt my knee at work recently, and as soon as I realized I was going to the hospital, this feeling came to the forefront of my mind even in the midst of the pain. In a way, it seems to me that I should feel guilty for this, and I have shared about it in meetings. But I don’t feel guilty. I must accept the fact that I am an addict. It is very natural for our addiction to play games with our minds, and that’s just one of the ways that mine plays with me. I’m not going to label that feeling good or bad; it just is. At least my Program has taught me that feelings aren’t facts; so I analyze and deal with them accordingly.
In January of ‘96, I got my third tattoo. I had several years of recovery when I got my first two, and the pain wasn’t bad at all. But this one was to be different. It was a “Crown of Thorns” that went all the way around my arm, with the inside of it being in my arm pit. The Tattoo Artist, Johnny Kane, asked me repeatedly if I was sure that I wanted it with so much detail and with three different colors, because it would be “more painful than you can imagine”. I told him, “I’m a man, I can take it”. Johnny then proceeded to send me back into my childhood. As soon as he started the first pass over my armpit, I knew that I was in trouble. The pain shot all the way down to my toes, and even the SPLIT ENDS of my hair hurt.
Everyone at American Tattooing was watching me. As customers entered, they asked me, “Man, doesn’t that hurt?”. My answer was always, “Hell yea!”. I was laying on my back on a weightlifting bench, with my elbow on Johnny’s knee. I became soaked in sweat, and soon two long puddles had formed on the floor on each side of the bench. It then started running, and they had to mop it up several times.
I was trapped. I wasn’t about to give up, but neither was I going to take anything for pain. My only avenue of escape from the pain was to use what I had learned in my Eleventh Step. Meditation.
As he worked on the outside of my arm below my shoulder, the pain was tolerable, so I started with my usual breathing meditation. It was working nicely. Then I felt “that pain” in my toes again. I had to get away from the source of the pain. There was no time to walk to the door in my meditation, so I shot straight up through the ceiling. As I looked down, I saw a big hole in the roof of the tattoo shop, with shingles flying in all directions away from the hole. Then I saw the entire roof of the building. Then I saw the parking lot, and my pickup truck in it. Then I saw the entire neighborhood. Then the city. Then the state. Then the country. Then the Earth. Pretty soon, comets and asteroids were whizzing by.
All was cool until Johnny asked me, “Hey man, how in the hell can you sleep through this?”. I replied, “I ain’t. I’m meditating. It’s the only way that I can get away from you, because you’re killing me!” I then went back to my meditation, as someone else laughed while mopping the floor. I don’t care how weird this sounds to others, because today I am willing to do whatever it takes to maintain my recovery. If I find a method that allows me to successfully deal with pain, I'm going to use it! And I’ll do so without first consulting with the NA nazis, or with any other Guardians of Recovery!
Eight months ago I had two root canals at the same time, on my two front lower teeth. It produced the worst dental pain I’d faced since my operation. Aspirins, which usually work better for me than anything else, wouldn’t touch it. The pain was so great that I decided that I had no choice but to do something, so I took four aspirins and four ibuprofen. This low grade “speedballing” did the trick, but was a last resort that I haven’t had to take since then.
Now, when I have a headache, I revert to my three rules, which tell me to wait as long as possible before taking aspirin. Reaching for instant relief as soon as pain appears is the addictive way of dealing with pain, and I don’t want to engage in that type of behavior today. I have found that, as I must face my emotional pain in recovery, I must also face my physical pain. I now wait two hours after a headache starts before taking any aspirin. I’d like to meditate headaches away, but I have never been able to meditate when I have a headache.
The reason that I am unwilling to take painkillers today is that I know that they will adversely affect my recovery. The only thing that I have seen lead addicts to relapse more than prescription drug usage is relationships; which are addictive in and of themselves.
I don’t like the term “Chemical Dependency”, because I don’t feel that I’m addicted to a chemical, or any other substance, such as alcohol. I am addicted to the buzz they produce. Period. If they didn’t give me a buzz, I wouldn’t abuse them. I’m powerless over MY ADDICTION, and the use of chemicals is just a symptom of my disease. I have never heard of anyone getting addicted to a chemical that didn’t alter their mood in some way. Narcotics Anonymous is a program of complete abstinence from ALL drugs. Mood altering substances, IN ANY AMOUNT, are dangerous to us. My addiction is always there, like the pilot light on my stove, waiting for me to ignite it. And if I serve my addiction alcohol, or give it pain killers, it will be exactly like turning the knob that sends gas to that pilot light. It will consume me from the inside out.
No thanks. Today, I choose to live...
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