My New Drug of Choice

Last evening my husband threw his back out.  Actually, it's a back spasm - he wasn't lifting anything heavy, just using a light sprayer-thingy to coat our porch with some kind of sealer.   He cried out in pain, gripped his back and sank to the floor. 

The pain is awful; I had a back spasm about ten years ago and I remember it well.   He basically can't move.   It was bad enough this morning that we took him to the doctor (getting him in and out of the car was interesting).   She looked him over, diagnosed a spasm, and gave him a prescription for some honking ibuprofen pills and a muscle relaxant.   He was on his way out the door, when she added, "How about I give you a Vicodin prescription, too, just in case?"  

Steve hesitated - he has heard enough horror stories about the addictive nature of Vicodin to be wary - so the doctor continued, with a wink, "It won't do anything to cure the back spasm, but it will trick your brain into thinking you're not in much pain."

This isn't a post about how pain meds are over-prescribed - that's a rant for another time.

We picked up the prescriptions, drove home and maneuvered Steve back into bed.   I brought him his pills, and just the chicka-chicka sound of the tablets rattling in the plastic bottle got my inner addict whispering:  Just take one..  you can slip away for an hour or two.   One won't hurt.  Your back has been sore lately, too.   Wouldn't it be nice to relax, just for a little while? 

It has been a stressful couple of days.   I'm preparing to leave on Thursday for California, to go to the Creative Alliance blogging conference.    I had the past few days mapped out - everything I had to get done to be ready to leave - and life hasn't cooperated with my planning.   I have many jewelry orders to fill, grocery shopping and house cleaning to do, presents to buy for friends' birthday parties that are happening while I'm gone, and tons of scheduling for the kids' activities to figure out.

Today fell apart completely.   I couldn't get to anything on my list, and by 1pm I was a nervous wreck.  

Add to all this the fact that I am an extremely nervous flyer.  I hate airplanes; I always have.   My brain has been in overdrive thinking about the flights, visions of impending doom popping up out of nowhere as I go about my days.   One of the reasons I'm going to this conference is I don't want to let my fears cripple me.   I refuse to miss an amazing experience like Creative Alliance because I'm afraid to fly.

So, needless to say, a muscle relaxant or a Vicodin or two sounded downright necessary to this addict's brain.

I know the addict voice well; she calls to me when life feels like death by a thousand paper cuts, when the stress of day-to-day life feels unmanageable:  you can't get to everything you need to do, so do the next best thing - ESCAPE.

An interesting thing happened, though.   I danced with the idea of taking a pill (or two, or seven) - I let myself really see it.  I pictured washing down a muscle relaxant and then floating on the couch in a sea of calm.    I closed my eyes and envisioned how good it would feel as the tension left my body, my shoulders unknotted and my screaming thoughts faded away.   

I didn't want to.   I tried - I really did - to convince myself that of course I wanted to -- I'm programmed to escape, for crying out loud.     But my addict voice never took root; she sounded like a whiny toddler throwing a tantrum because she wanted a cookie before dinnertime.   She seemed puny, manageable, petty.

I thought of the doctor's words to Steve, about how Vicodin tricks your brain into thinking it isn't in much pain.  

I realized that I can do that trick now without medication.     My drug of choice is acceptance.

My day wasn't going as planned, not even close, but it was going just fine.  I will get on a plane on Thursday and go to California, whether or not the house is spotless or all the laundry is done.    The kids will make it to their activities - I'll figure it out, I know I will - and if they miss one or two will the world stop revolving?    I have tomorrow to finish up the jewelry orders.   Or tonight.    There is plenty of time, it's just that my brain likes to think everything is a crisis - especially if things don't go as planned. 

I don't need a pill to trick my brain into thinking everything is okay;  everything IS okay.

These infuriating little details were the sort of thing that used to crush me, make me feel worthless, pitiful, less-than.   Other mothers can handle it all, what's wrong with me?  was my dark angel's battle cry.   My addictive voice would bang that drum until I gave in.    

Even the fear of flying, although it feels very real and very scary to me, is another way the addict voice tries to bang her way in.   In the past, flying was always accompanied by several drinks - it felt medically necessary, dammit.   Now I have meditations on my iPod, difficult crossword puzzles and good books to help me escape.   That addict voice wants my fear of flying to be the back door I left unlocked so she can sneak in, undetected.

But she is a whiny, puny, outraged toddler, and I am a sober woman of dignity and honor. 

She is no match for me.