For over 26 years my only mission in life has been to stay clean and sober. And, you know, after a while living without chemicals in my body has become a way of life. A good way.
I don't have to get up in the morning and wonder where I'm going to get my next drink or fix. Instead, I get up, meditate for half an hour, then get about my day.
A brief workout, a wholesome, mostly raw, vegan breakfast, then down to my office. It's a peaceful life, one where I feel like I'm accomplishing something worthwhile as I work with the addicts in our program.
But then nothing runs along smoothly forever. Does it? What I never took into consideration when I first got clean is that we get older as the years pass.
And like an old car, parts start wearing out and one spends more time at the doctor having repairs made. And along with the repairs, comes pain.
Now my doctor understands that I'm an addict. But he really doesn't understand addiction and how easily it can grab a hold of an addict.
I remember when I had six inches removed from my lower intestine back in 2004. When I awoke from the surgery I thought I was in heaven.
"I sure feel wonderful," I told the nurse. "What did you guys give me?"
"Dilaudid," she said.
"Don't give me any more of it," I told her. Then explained to her that Dilaudid was a heroin addict's dream.
When the doctor came we made a compromise. And he kept the pain down with Oxycodone, which didn't have near the potency.
After a few talks with my sponsor, I did alright with the Oxycodone. And he explained to me that there was a legitimate use of pain medication. That it wasn't made so that people could get high and nod out - that it really would kill the pain. And that it was for physical pain - not the emotional pain I experienced as a teenager.
So last week when I fell down stairs and fractured my lumbar I made it through the pain okay with something called Tramadol.
But I doubt that there'll be a point in life where opiates won't present a threat to my recovery.
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