I had a 10 plus year long addiction to codeine, 100 pills a day, I rattled when I walked and had a bowel motion perhaps when every 2nd month, I had sought aid from a couple of physicians who had actually rolled their eyes and sardonically suggested cutting back by one pill a day, then telling me that I was just another example of the worthless breeders, felching from the tax payers for my 3 feral children I was dragging up on a pension and a sad opium dependency. I was extremely working, working 80 plus hours a week in a highly difficult management position at the worldwide airport, a single parent, supporting 3 kids solo, no kid support being payed, I was servicing an $800 per week home loan and my kids were all participating in the local private school, I was anything however a concern on society.
Up until boxing day night, without any prior pain or warning, I put my boy to bed, read him a book and talked quickly, until unexpectedly feeling rather unhealthy, kissed him and hardly made it back to my bed room prior to collapsing and unable to breath correctly, I could not inhale more than a whisper and completely immobilised by the most excruciating discomfort I ‘d ever felt, I was maybe 2 inches far from my phone, yet not able to transfer to reach it, I actually believed I was dying. I’m not sure how long I was there for, before a good friend arbitrarily appeared all of a sudden and without knocking on my front door, once again, weird, strolled directly into my home, passing my bed room and without stopping, called out some saucy comment on my lazy arse requiring to get up and play xmas host, as soon as he ‘d completed his trash talk he back marketed, head glimpsing around the door and instantly aware of the seriousness called an ambulance and then my mum, the ambulance officers were not very kind or concerned, and dominated me would like to know what I was searching for and checking me over for needle marks, they presumed I was an introvenous Heroin addict, putting on a show searching for a totally free hit. I couldn’t even speak the discomfort was all encompassing, my pal told them my codeine history which I literally swallowed the pills, no needles or street Heroin, took a fair couple of very agonizing minutes prior to they revealed me any real medical response or treatment, they gave me the silly and non discomfort easing green tube, obviously cleaned in morphine to inhale, when breathing was a problem and after that asked if I might stroll to the ambulance, my good friend lost his cool at this stage and I was put on a gurney, sobbing silently and carefully, convinced that this was the very end of my life. The drive to the hospital was excruciating every bump in the roadway sent out the discomfort up another notch, when I was being handed to the emergency resident medical professional, the same bullshit began again, arms folded standing over me and informing me it was the worst performance of an addict he ‘d seen. My mum had actually joined me at this phase and was vocal in my defence and again in advance with the details of my codeine love affair. This prick of a medical professional was not convinced that I was legitimate and ran no tests at all. He provided me something that allowed me to rest briefly and parked me on my stretcher in a ward with 4 senior women, my brief relief was shattered by all 4 of the senior ladies all pushing their emergency buzzers and screaming for the medical professional to get in the room and assist this poor girl, me, who had been weeping out even in my sleep and the sweet girls were pitbulls in ripping this arsehole of a physician a brand-new arsehole. I was put through a body scanner while chastised for not laying directly like required and curled in foetal position unable to move. As soon as through the scanner, shit started to occur with urgency, medical professional running my stretcher with mum hanging on the side, people shouting to get prepped right away for my surgery and latest things I knew was him informing mum that I ‘d be coming out minus my entire bowel and bag connected permenantly. If I made it through.
I got up in intensive care with 60 plus staples from my breast to my public bone and a physician informing me that my surgical treatment was the comparable to a shot gun blast to the stomach. Devices attached all over and discomfort. Much discomfort.
I ‘d apparently been growing a fairly impressive stomach ulcar that had not simply burst but rather exploded and stomach acid had actually made it to my chest. They stated 10 years of 100 tablets a day had actually left a thick slime of white ibuprofen and whatever else all through my gut covering my organs in slime. They described removing my organs positioning them on the table next to me and thoroughly cleaning my stomach and then each organ one by one until they were all cleaned and back inside me.
Okay, cool. Have some codeine for the pain Cassandra.
What the fuck? A morphine pump directly to the chest, beautiful, and nurses determined to see me shower the same day as the surgical treatment, 2 days later on released with codeine, for fucks sake,
Not remarkably readmitted next day by way of emergency situation, they ‘d missed a worryingly big pocket of stomach ulcar acid in my upper chest and plunged a needle, much like in pulp fiction, in between my chest plate bones and drew out green goo, while I lay there enjoying and frightened. 8 more days in hospital then discharged with???
Mutha fucking codeine for the discomfort.
I ended up like you see a Heroin junkie in a film, going cold turkey and doing it hard, secured my room thrashing about sweating crying asking and hallucinating, for approximately 4 or 5 days, until it was over.
By far, not a situation any person knowingly puts themselves in.