Posted by Atticus on January 4, 2005, at 22:34:05
In reply to Please Get Better Atticus, posted by Gabbix2 on January 4, 2005, at 19:18:12
Hullo Jai, cubic_me, alex, anastasia, B2Chica, partlycloudy, gardenergirl, Gabbi, and everyone else who was kind enough to drop me a line. Alex, I tried to send you a Babblemail, but being a charter member of the Home for Mechanically Inept Poets (and Their Equally Mechanically Inept Pets), I’ve no idea if the bloody thing went through or even where to check to see if you sent a response. Sorry.
At any rate, here’s what happened: About a week ago, I developed pleurisy (extremely painful build-up of fluid on the lining of the lungs – in this case my left lung), which tends to be the calling card of a nasty case of pneumonia. So my PCP gave me a three meds: an antibiotic (to fight the pneumonia), and two kinds of powerful, concentrated forms of the opiate morphine to fight the pain (which is analogous to expanding a lung onto red-hot steak knives). Thing is, even though I asked my PCP doc, an internist, if something as strong as concentrated opiates might interact with all the powerful psychotropic meds I’ve been taking for bipolar disorder with rapid cycling, I was told, “No worries, lad. Off you go.”
As it turns out, concentrated morphine does NOT play well with others (especially lithium, Effexor, Klonopin, and trazodone). And I began a weeklong series of hallucinations worthy of a major acid trip. Thank God I live in a city and don’t drive, although it’s amazing I didn’t find my way onto the third raid on the No. 6 line at some point.
Essentially, I imagined that I was one of Sir John Tenniell’s (sp?) original black-and-white, intricate Victorian-style illustrations of the Cheshire Cat from a first edition of Lewis Carroll’s “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” and that I was sending dispatches from aboard the original animated version of the Beatles’ Yellow Submarine (complete with animated Beatles – got on well with John, but Paul was a bit of a wanker – kind of full of himself) about some kind of rescue mission, which I think was related to the tsunami somehow. It’s all a bit muddled now.
This may sound like smashing good fun, but after 72 consecutive hours the glamour tends to wear off. Also, trying to type when I looked down and saw four-fingered fuzzy paws where my hands used to be proved to be a real nuisance. It was all very trippy, but frankly, as crushedout noted to me, once you’ve hit the 30 mark, you’ve not the stamina for this kind of down-the-rabbit-hole sh*t anymore. When my mother came into the city yesterday, concerned about the rubbery sound to my voice, and I asked her how soon ’til New Year’s, she got a little (alright, a LOT) wigged out and got the docs on the phone. I was pretty much useless and exceptionally irritated that no one had thought to wake me for New Year’s Eve. The docs said I needed to just let the morphine ride itself out.
Unfortunately, that’s a little easier said than done. Sans morphine, it hurts like the devil to breathe. With morphine, I can breathe without pain – I just can’t do it in this dimension and retain my faculties (granted, they’re a little dinged up already, but not this far gone). Without it, the pain kind of overtakes everything else. AND I’m supposed to return to work this week from a two-month disability leave. Lovely. I’ve decided to wing it as a loon and muffle the pain. I’m taking as little of the liquid morphine as possible, but to be perfectly honest, I’m still pretty f*cked up. It feels like that scene from Mary Poppins where Uncle Albert is floating up by the ceiling, and trying to get Mary and Bert and the kids to join him for a weightless tea party. Honestly, I don’t know how Dr. Bob bounces back from this sort of thing as easily as he seems to. Everything seems to have that Dali-esque wobbly “Persistence of Memory” (the painting with the melted pocket watches) feel to it.
I think I need to crash (not literally, I hope – this is the only serving kettle I have). But if one of your docs suggests opiates for a non-psychological illness and you’re already flying above the clouds in full psychotropic formation, break off and try to bring yourself down. I’m so tired of having everything look like it’s made of honey swirling in tea.
Thanks again for your kind concern and support. It really IS appreciated when something like this snatches away an entire week of your life. Ta. And I hope I passed the audition, Mr. Epstein. ;-) Chris
poster:Atticus
thread:436364
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/social/20041226/msgs/437936.html