I took my last opioid this morning and am now “clean”, as though “clean” is a positive thing. Oh goody, I’m clean.
My pain is so bad I can’t even get sleep. I can’t sit in front of the computer for any more than a minute or so at a time.
I asked my doc if I could take marijuana, and she said, “No. Unless you have an MMJ card, in which case I don’t care what you do.” Hippocratic oath leading the charge towards making all healthcare practitioners save their licenses.
Anyhow, with that begrudging approval I decided to stay away from it for now until I get an explicit approval from someone who is thinking about me and not their licenses. The danger is that pharmacists are now allowed to test your urine and refuse prescriptions if you have pot in your system. Isn’t that sweet?
I’m thinking my dying wish should not be to die well and happy as it was originally. My dying wish should be to die clean regardless of how much agony I’m in. Then I’ll request my epitaph to be “She’s dead. Go away.”