My Fling With Addiction

Since I’m just “letting it all hang out”, I figure it’s only fair that I clue everyone in to a major issue that I went through this past year. If you know me, then you know that I have Avascular Necrosis or AVN. If you have no idea what AVN is, or what I go through on a daily basis, please go here before you read further.

So, because I deal with pain on a daily basis, I’ve been going to see a pain management doc for almost three years. For over two years, I stayed on the same drug: Hydrocodone aka Lortab. For those of you who may not know much about the drug, let me fill you in on some fun little details. First off, Lortab is a highly addictive medication. Secondly, if you have to be on it long-term, your body will “adapt” to it, so you must keep raising the dosage to keep your pain under control. Third, Lortab is a combination of hydrocodone and acetaminophen. Acetaminophen is the generic term for Tylenol. If you take too much acetaminophen, it can destroy your liver. The max dosage that you can take per day without blowing up your organs is 4000mg of acetaminophen. In a regular extra-strength Tylenol, there is 500mg of acetaminophen in ONE pill. In a regular Lortab pill there is also 500mg of acetaminophen in ONE pill along with 5, 7.5, or 10mg of hydrocodone depending on what dosage your doctor gives you. Within months of beginning my pain med regimen, I was taking the maximum amount of acetaminophen per day. So, my doc gave me Norco, which is exactly like Lortab except it has a lower dose of acetaminophen in it. I was prescribed ten 10/350 Norco pills a day. That means I was getting 100mg of hydrocodone and 3500mg of acetaminophen per day. Yes, that IS a lot of pain medication.

One HUGE side effect of taking anything with hydrocodone is that you feel a surge of “energy” when you take the pill. I used to call it “project time.” I could pop two of my pills, and for the next hour, I could clean my whole house and feel fantastic while doing it. Of course, my body “adapted” to the amount that I was taking. I started off taking an extra pill when my pain got really bad. After a while, those “extras” became regular, until after several months, I was downing about double my prescribed amount EVERY SINGLE DAY! Yep…do the math. I was taking 200mg of hydrocodone and a whopping 7000mg of acetaminophen PER DAY! Of course, I was running out of my meds extremely early. I was trading pills with people, convincing people at the pharmacy to fill my meds almost a week early, stretching a small handful of pills to get me through that last week before I went to go see the pain doc. I was lying to everyone…including myself. I was justifying every action to myself. I truly believed that I NEEDED this medicine. I honestly didn’t even SEE what I was doing to myself. My pain medicine was ruling my entire life…and I didn’t even know it.

Almost a year ago, my saving grace came in the form of a psychologist who worked for the pain center. I got a call one day saying that I needed to have an “evaluation” done with the psych. The nurse assured me that it was a routine thing, but the sick feeling I had in my stomach told me that this “routine thing” was anything but. I was right. See, every time I had a visit with the doctor, they would do a drug screen. I always thought I was doing great. I mean, I never took any drug that the docs didn’t prescribe to me. I never used any “illegal” drugs. I didn’t even drink alcohol. I couldn’t imagine how or why I would feel so sick to my stomach about seeing this dude. However, it never occurred to me that they also check to see HOW MUCH of a drug is in your system. Mine came back that there was hardly anything in my system. When they asked me before the test how much I had taken that day, I gave my automatic answer that I had taken a few. That was a lie. I hadn’t taken ANY for days because I had run out…again.

When I walked into the psych’s office, I jokingly said, “I feel like I’ve been called to the principal’s office.” He chuckled, but didn’t seem too amused. That scared me. He told me about my test results. Then he looked me square in the eye and said, “You’re taking too many of your meds, aren’t you?” We talked for a long time. He was some kind of mind reader, I tell you. He “knew” that I was experiencing some major stress in my life. He “knew” that I wasn’t a “true addict”, but that I used the drug for something other than my pain. He informed me that abusing my medication could actually make my pain WORSE, which explained why I kept feeling like I needed more to make the pain go away. The entire time he talked, I looked at him in amazement, wondering how he could’ve had any idea that I didn’t even see what I was doing. He said, “It feels like you’re drowning, and all you’re doing is trying to keep your head above water. Am I right?” I burst into tears. Immediately, everything became clear to me. I sobbed and sobbed and dripped snot on his pretty mahogany desk. I asked him if I was being kicked out of the program. He said he was there only for the truth. And for the first time in months, I could see that truth…that horrible, UGLY truth…staring straight back at me. I felt a rush of emotions…none of them good. I felt utterly ashamed, guilty, dirty…I was all at once a failure and a disappointment to myself and to everyone else who loved me. Why hadn’t I seen it? Well, now I could see it, and it was going to STOP…right then and there.

The docs wanted me to wean off of the drug, to monitor me better. Nope. Once I saw the truth, there was no turning back. I told them to take me off of them immediately. They couldn’t prescribe me anything different for three weeks, until it was time for another month of meds. I still said no.

Those were the most horrible three weeks of my life. I went from taking 20 Norco a day to absolutely nothing. I refused to go to a detox facility. I refused to ask anyone for help. I went through withdrawals for three weeks, all on my own with no outside help. I felt like it was what I deserved. I felt like I needed to be punished for what I had done. Once the three weeks were over, the docs put me on a totally different medication…one that has NO hydrocodone and NO acetaminophen. I am beyond blessed that all tests on my liver have come back perfectly normal!

At the end of the process, I told G and my mom everything. Proving once again how amazing they both are, they concentrated on being proud of me for immediately coming off of them…all on my own, and by my own choice…than berating me for getting to that point in the first place. Since that very first day, almost a year ago, when I walked into the “principal’s office”, I haven’t had a single pill that contains hydrocodone. I’ve been seeing the psychologist ever since that day, and he has gone from “principal” to “papa.” He brags on me all the time about how I should be the poster child so that he can tell my story to others who go through the same thing. I tell him all the time that he saved my life. He claims he did nothing but find the truth. The man is ALL about the truth. 

The week after Mom died, I had to go by the pain center to pick something up. I asked the receptionist if she could give "papa" a message for me. She told me that he was in an appointment (which I'm pretty sure is what they tell everyone, regardless of what the doc is really doing!) So, I asked her if she could give him a note telling him that Mom had died. She told me to wait just a minute. About 30 seconds later, he came flying out of the hallway and grabbed me up in the biggest bear hug I’ve ever gotten. He took me back to his office and let me talk his ear off while he should've been eating lunch. You gotta love a free session! Ha! "Papa" has become so important to me. Not only is he my psychologist, counselor, life coach and guide...but I also feel a bond of friendship, gratitude, safety, pure trust, and above all...truthfulness! I wish there were words in my vocabulary to express how thankful I am to have "gone to the 'principal's' office" so many months ago.

Anyway…so, yes, I’ve been “clean” for almost a year. And yes, I am getting professional help during all of this. I’m so grateful that I already had established a great relationship with “papa” so that I didn’t have the extra stress of getting used to a new psychologist while this was going on. I had another session with him last week. Instead of the usual 45 minutes, we ended up talking for over an hour and a half.

This little story DOES have a happy ending! I am now taking new meds. I’m actually taking a lot LESS than prescribed. I’ve even been able to have the doc take it DOWN a notch instead of increasing it. My pain has been more than bearable since I came off the Norco. I feel happier. I have MORE energy. I’m finally “me” again. It feels wonderful. 

                                 

I am immensely blessed that my story turned out to have a happy ending. So many people out there end up with not-so-happy endings. My own experience was a blink in time compared to some who deal with addiction their entire lives. My heart and prayers go out to them. I hope and pray that their saving grace walks through their door any minute!

One Hundred Kisses

**Previously written in another blog...updated and edited for your viewing pleasure!**

As far as memories go, I have no idea how far back they go for most people. I know for me, I can't remember but a few foggy things before the age of 4 or 5. Maybe that's normal. I haven't done a nationwide survey, so I wouldn't know. What I do know, however, is that I am blessed with an abundance of memories of my beautiful mother. From the time I was 4 years old, she raised me on her own. And I can tell you that it wasn't easy. There are a few very early memories of moments with my sweet mama that I hold dear to my heart. One in particular comes to mind quite often, and every time I think of it, my heart fills, and I'm taken back to a place where innocence was still alive, and love was pure and unconditional.

**When I was a very young child, my grandparents lived in the middle of Ensley. Their house was the ugliest green color you'd ever seen, but I loved it. They had a concrete porch with a wrought iron railing around it. A sidewalk stretched past the house and up to the two cement steps of the porch. You could walk through their tiny front yard, right up to that porch, stand next to it and still be about a head taller than the iron railing. I was only allowed to play on the porch if no one was outside with me; in the yard if someone was. One day, a beautiful day as I recall, my mother had to go somewhere and leave me at my grandparents house. I was posted in my usual spot on the porch sitting on the cold cement with my legs dangling through the iron bars. As I watched my mom walk away towards her car, she turned and gave me that grin and wave that only a mother could save for a daughter and suddenly I couldn't let her go! Before she could go any further I shouted to her, with all the challenge I could muster, "Mommy! Would you kiss me ONE HUNDRED times through the railing before you go?" I clearly remember, to this day, feeling a sense of giddy anticipation almost fearing she would say no, that she would be late or that she didn't have time for such nonsense. Yet my mother, my beautiful, caring and sensational mother, grinned even wider and turned on her heels. She marched right back to where I sat. She stuck her face right through those bars and looked me straight in my eyes. My eyes that she gave me. "Ready?" she asked. "Ready!" I yelled. And the kisses began. *SMOOCH* "ONE!", we both said. *SMOOCH* "TWO!" Back and forth between the bars of that railing. *SMOOCH* "THREE!" And on it went until we reached exactly ONE HUNDRED kisses and our lips were numb and we were both giggling uncontrollably. It took less than three minutes out of my mother's day, but it's lasted an incredible lifetime for me.**

She Was Alive Two Weeks Ago

I can’t believe that it’s been two weeks already. Two weeks since she was lying in the hospital bed…unconscious…but still breathing, still warm. I could touch her just two weeks ago. I could lay my head on her chest and hear her heart beating. I could run my fingers over the soft skin of her hands. I could talk to her, and believe she was listening. She was alive two weeks ago.

When I was four years old, Mom divorced my father. From then on, it was me and Mom as a team. When I was young, we were very poor. I only know that because, now being an adult, I can look back and “see” that we were lacking quite a bit. However, when I was so young, I never once thought anything was wrong. Mom taught me to use my imagination and creativity. I could play for hours with two crayons and a paper towel tube. Mom never let on that she was stressed about money or anything else. My memories of my childhood with my mother are nothing but pure happiness.

I can’t believe that she’s not “just a phone call away” anymore. I can’t quite wrap my mind around the fact that I will never speak to her in this life again. Never. It’s such an absolute word. Never ever. I will never ever feel her arms around me. Forever. She’s gone forever. How am I supposed to get used to that? She was alive just two weeks ago.

As a teenager, I was the typical “spoiled brat”. Recently, I watched a video of me and some friends getting ready for prom. Watching myself, I wanted to kick my OWN ass. I don’t know how in the world Mom was able to stand it. When I was sixteen years old, I broke my mother’s heart. She was on her knees, arms wrapped around my legs, sobbing, literally begging me to stay. I pried her arms off of my legs and walked away from her. I walked away from her loving arms into the arms of someone who harmed me every chance he got. Two and a half years later, when I was finally done being a punching bag, I called her and sobbed and literally begged her to let me come home. She didn’t hesitate. I had the next flight home. She never once said, “I told you so”, even though she had every right to. She never said, “You made your bed…now lie in it!” even though she probably should have. She never let me know how much I destroyed her while I was gone, even though I deserved every guilt trip she could’ve thrown at me. She showed me what unconditional love truly meant.

I can’t believe she’ll never see me get married to the man I’ve loved for over a decade. I can’t believe that she won’t be there to witness the vows I’m planning to say to the man who taught me what real love, trust and respect is all about. G and I had decided to move the wedding back. We picked a date that we were “sure” she would be around to see it. She died exactly one month before we were going to tie the knot. She was going to walk me down the aisle. I can’t believe that I’ll be walking down that aisle without her. She was alive only two weeks ago.

In my mid-20’s, I was diagnosed with a rare bone disease which was incredibly painful and debilitating. By this time, Mom had already been living with cancer for a few years. I picked up and moved in with her in Mississippi. We took care of each other. I grew emotionally in leaps and bounds. I lost 90 pounds. Mom told me at least every other day how proud she was of me. As she went through her own treatment, she helped other women who were “new” to cancer. Nurses would seek her out just so they could ask her to talk to someone who was scared. Those “newbies” always had a smile back on their face by the time Mom was done talking with them. I was immensely proud of her. I probably should have told her more often how her strength amazed me. I should have told her more often how proud I felt walking beside her because I was HER daughter. I drew from her strength and her will to live no matter what her doctors told her. She gave people hope. She gave ME hope. She was my best friend. I could and did tell her every single thing about my life. I craved her approval…sometimes too much. Mom worried that I was too emotionally dependent on her. She was probably right. But, the thing is, she always GAVE me her approval. All I wanted was to make her happy. I wanted to be the reason she smiled.

I can’t believe she’ll never meet the child that I’ve desperately wanted for so long. She was always telling me how she couldn’t wait to be “Grammy”. I can’t believe I’ll never experience her talking to my tummy and feeling the baby kick. Growing up, I was never the girl who dreamed of the frilly, white wedding. I’ve wanted to be a mother for as long as I can remember. She made me want to be a mother. I can’t believe I won’t see her tears of joy while watching me get an ultrasound. I can’t believe she’ll never get the chance to spoil her grandchild rotten. She’s been gone for two weeks.

I am, however, grateful beyond measure that she is now “Grammy” in Heaven to the child I lost so many years ago.

For the past year or so, taking care of her became somewhat of a full-time job…although I never saw it like that. She constantly worried that she was becoming a “burden” to me. I did my very best to try and convince her that I never felt like she was a “burden”. Never. If anything, spending so much time with her allowed us to bond as adults…as very best friends. She literally knew every single detail of my life. Never once did she act like I was boring her when I called to tell her some random thing that had happened, or that I had seen or heard. She always sounded completely genuine when she would laugh at my not-so-funny jokes, or when she would validate me for some silly little thing. I was blessed to become her confidant as well. She knew she could call me any hour of the day or night just to talk about something that was seemingly insignificant. I knew how she felt about everything and everyone. We used to say that we had ESP…but only between the two of us. We used to say we were soul mates. I feel like she took half of my soul with her when she left. She left me with half a heart and soul just two weeks ago.

I can’t believe my soul mate is gone. I can’t bear not knowing what she’s feeling right now. I wish she could peek down and give me a glimpse of her, so that I know she’s ok. So many people say they can “feel” their loved ones. As close as we were to each other, I can’t believe I can’t feel her.  I can’t believe I won’t see her at my wedding. I can’t believe I’ll never see her holding her grandchild. I can’t believe this happened to such an amazing person.

I wish it had happened to me instead of her. Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt this bad. I’m empty. I’m broken. I can barely breathe without her here with me. I can’t believe she’s never coming back.

Thank you, Lord, for letting me have her as a mother, best friend and soul mate for 30 years. She’ll be the best angel you’ve ever seen. You see, she had plenty of practice here on earth.

I love you, Mom!

Beth DeVore Ausborn – (Born September 25, 1960 -  Died September 24, 2010)