Doc won’t give me Tramadol and morphine. Period. Says it’s too dangerous (Drugs.com database confirms the danger, flagged as Major, but I’d still be willing to take the risk – it’s a case of possible problems weighed against certain pain).
So we settled on morphine with a free rein for me to find my optimum dose (which I’d have done anyway but with permission he can hardly complain I’m taking too much!), and he’s going to send DHC round later today after I pointed out that I still lacked a fast-acting analgesic.
Should be fun when his colleague finds out. I took DHC for several years – it’s a good drug (it’s also the basis of my suicide kit as it’ll take me off fast and beyond the reach of rescusitation) – until Dr. Numbnuts stopped it because it might cause pleural oedema. Big deal – I might get killed by a meteorite, or a number 190 bus. I care about certainties not maybes and, as with Tramadol, I’m perfectly happy to take DHC if he prescribes it.
I accept I might develop pleural oedema, but balanced against the cast-iron certainty of intolerable pain if I don’t take it, it’s a no-brainer. Anyway, pleural oedema is easily spotted and is treatable. A patient would have to be seriously stupid to neglect it until it became life-threatening (first sign of coughing pink froth, get help, don’t wait).
I was also saddled with the job of tracking down Gabapentin supplies as the local pharmacy can’t get any and, seemingly, doesn’t give a toss about all the customers dependent on it as they don’t have the initiative to get off their arses and find some.
I did – first phone call and Boots, a mile away, have ample supplies in all strengths. And why the surgery reception staff aren’t doing that is beyond me – it’s their bloody job, surely.
Anyway, I’ve done it so I phoned the surgery to get someone to pass on the message to the GP – and the bloody woman gave me an argument because a script had already been issued (to the pharmacy with no stock). I said “Look, I don’t care – all you have to do is pass my message on to Dr. Bates. Please do that. OK?” I felt like saying why the hell aren’t you phoning round, instead of arguing with me?
Has he got the message? I don’t know. The woman wasn’t exactly on the ball, as I’d asked to speak to the young woman I’d spoken to earlier, because she knew the situation and it would save explaining – she’s not working this afternoon. Which was odd as I’d already had a conversation with her this afternoon. So anyway, I passed on the message with no great hope that it would be relayed in time to get me some Gaba today, which was the intention. If it’s not I shall do my utmost to make her life a living hell – just as mine is going to be without Gaba. I gave her the message at twenty to three. It’s now ten past four – I’m putting my money on not getting it!
But my DHC has arrived, so between that, the morphine (supposed to be every 12 hours but sod that if I need it more often in the absence of Gaba. I’ll increase it to every six hours, interspersed with DHC, also every 6 hours so that I’ll have a dose of one or the other every 3 hours – and I stress that this is only in the absence of Gabapentin.
And if you think that’s drug abuse then you have never been in severe enough pain to understand.
One thing I discovered while poking around the morphine section of Drugs.com is that I really shouldn’t be drinking – the consequences, if it all goes tits up are pretty grim. But then, they are if I can’t get the hell out of here now and again, and unwind.