So I'm a drug addict.
Or at least the praise team at church says so. Can I help it that I'm bouncy in the morning - with or without coffee - and I happen to have a love for the good stuff the hospital gives you when you're in pain?
No. I cannot be blamed. Pain is a disease! And it should be treated with the utmost care, in the form of Vicadin.
I know the hospitals have the good stuff. I've had kidney stones, and I've given birth - so I know where they keep the drugs that make you go, BYE-BYE SLEEPY TIME. They're awesome-pants. And all you have to do to get the magic pills is puke up your lungs from the pain of a tiny, jagged pebble lodging itself in your renal tubage, or push a watermelon out your hoo-ha.
Honestly, I don't recommend either form of drug obtainage. Both require more than an adequate amount of pain, plus the ripping of internal vessels and tissues. Not a good way to go. But on the off-chance that you find yourself in a similar situation, in which your level of pain is quite possibly the most horrible, blood-curdling, ebola AIDS-level of pain, then by all means, go to the E.R. and get yourself some of the good stuff. You deserve it.
As someone who has been through the blood-is-about-to-spray-from-my-eyes kind of pain, I have a profound appreciation for pain-relieving drugs. If that makes me an addict, so be it. Bring on the rehab, baby!
No. In fact, don't... Because if I ever give birth again, I'm going to want the good stuff. I was dumb enough to go through it the first time drug-free. Don't know if I'm willing to do that again.
Then again... I'm kind of a pride-whore... at least when it comes to being Super Mom. And by Super Mom, I mean going through labor, delivery, and the stitching of the crotchal area without an epidural. At the beginning of labor, I will admit, I had a little Nubain. When that wore off, I begged for Stadol, which did nothing for the vice grip on my uterus. By the time my son was born, all forms of pain-numbing goodness had worn off. Then it was just me, my girl, and a giant hook-shaped needle. Fun times. Let me tell you. FUN times.
Looking back, I think I may have been a real-life addict for about a weekend. I kept asking the nurses for the good stuff they gave me during labor... They did not give it to me. In fact, they ignored me. Not even that - my request never even registered. At the time, I thought they just forgot. I mean, nurses are busy people, right? I kept asking. It wasn't until I got home from the hospital that I realized CVS hadn't filled my prescription for Demerol. What!? This is a mistake. Hubby, go back to CVS and ask them for my pills. I'm sorry, but in what psycho-twisted-pants universe is it okay to give a woman who has just birthed a hippo only half a day's supply of oxycodone? Really? Are you freakin' kidding me!?
Apparently, the only way to get the good pills is to give birth again. Guess the nurses are keeping them at the hospital for themselves. Oh, just you wait. I'll be back. With a kidney stone. Or a contracting uterus. And I'll get those drugs. I'll get them. And stuff them in my cheeks, take 'em home and hoard 'em all!
Just kidding... No, seriously.
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