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Sunday, 10 November 2013


Having never been a drug taker and positively stoic about pain, along with the rest of my family, this new introduction into the world of Morpheus is a strange and not entirely pleasant one.

And yet, it is a seductive one.

I remember discussing drugs with HWISO and Dr W, including morphine, and Dr W and I staring wide-eyed at HWISO when he asked about me becoming addicted.

"What does it matter?"

So I am now, I think, officially a morphine junkie.  My patch fell off in the shower - it was due to be changed this morning - and, as I haven't taken any other kind of pain relief for a couple of days, the resultant wave of "fingernails on blackboard" pain literally knocked me sideways.  I went bleating to HWISO with a patch.  I love him but tenderness and noticing distress are not his strong points.  He was "just doing something". you're not anymore.

So the full tsunami of my pain is numbed and I have to remind myself not to be a bird with a wounded wing, curling my hand protectively beneath my coat but to keep it moving, keep the blood flowing, despite the pain, to keep it alive.

The edge of my world is also numbed.  Visually the corners of my eyes no longer catch the details.  Mentally, neither does my mind.  The emotional filter is going and I have been reduced to actually crying and ... Wait for it...expressing my emotions recently.  I have stopped being afraid of not putting other people first. I used to automatically compute other people's feelings first.  Now it is not that I put myself first, merely that the edges are blurred and the details are too fleeting to catch.

It is not entirely unpleasant.  It is not entirely comfortable.  It is not a me I am comfortable with but it is the new me and I don't suppose there is any going back.

Morphine me?  Or bad Dr Who baddie?

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