I was admitted to the hospital in September of 2007 to induce labor with my first child. I was experiencing high blood pressure and with my advanced maternal age, the doctors thought I needed to be admitted to the hospital. In the middle stages of labor, I really believed I could have a simple pain free birth. I accepted the epidural and the fentanyl. After 27 hours in labor and three hours of pushing, it was clear I needed a c-section.
I was upfront from the minute I landed in the hospital- I am a addict. More like- I was a junkie. They already could figure it out when they could find no veins for my IVs. They debated putting a line for medication in my neck because they could find no other veins. Luckily, I insisted they find another doctor. He found a vein in my arm. Pain medication pumped like liquid gold into me for four days. I was to be released with a bottle of Vicodin, a newborn baby, and no plan for pain management for me. In fact, I insisted they give me half of what they wanted to prescribe- 30 Vicodin instead of 60 pills.
The next few weeks, it was me verses the pills while caring for my baby. I NEEDED those pain meds. I was in pain from major abdominal surgery I had gone from fentanyl to Iv morphine to percs to Vicodin. My addict was revived from a deep sleep. The junkie inside of me was saying feed me bitch. In addition, my baby had some health issues. Stress upon stress was felt in those days. The pills and I were at odds with each other. I had to figure out a way to use them for pain, not relief of my emotions.
Within the two weeks of my taper, I realized this was a problem. I called people to let them know I was taking my meds as prescribed to me, but I needed help. I had someone hold my pill bottle. I called a friend to come and sit with me. I did what I needed to do to nit abuse my medication. I was rewarded with a nice case of withdrawal at the end of my taper. I went to a meeting. I cried and I suffered for a few days. I did not use and I did not give up in my struggle.