But I'm Also Grateful.

I'm wary, yes, of my husband's comments earlier tonight...but this other thing happened today that was very special.

He gave me a $50 bill. He went to work even though he doesn't feel good, and he worked all day and earned $50. He brought that $50 home, and he gave it to me.

There's so many parts of that experience that are really big for him...going to work without feeling good and working through his detox sickness...making money and having cash in his hands...choosing not to use with that money...choosing to give the money to me. That's big stuff, and I have to acknowledge that it's development.

He's trying really hard to do something. I'm not sure what it is, and I don't think he knows, either...but he's trying. His face looks like it hurts to be him tonight. His body feels sweaty all over, and he's weepy all the time. He's having a hard time, but he's fighting to get to the other side of this stuff, and I'm grateful for the work he's doing. I hope it sticks.

Big, Fat Asshole.

I was wondering when the asshole would get here. My husband's detox has thus far been gentle as a lamb. Today is the 10th day since he quit his methadone maintenance cold turkey, and the asshole has landed.

I was trying to walk through the house this morning, and he'd spread himself out through the middle of the living room in such a manner as to block my way. I had to get into the kitchen to get my lunch to take to work, and he was so busy with his video game that he couldn't be bothered to sit up and let me pass. When I asked, he sighed deeply and struggled to unfurl himself from his elegant prostration. I went into the kitchen and retrieved my 99 cent Michelina's boxed lasagna, and finished packing my things. As I was walking out the door, I approached him to give him a kiss goodbye, and he slammed down his video game controller and sighed hugely, mistakenly believing that I was trying to pass him by again. How dare I interrupt his very important video game playing with my trivial needs, like for nourishment! What a bitch to pack a lunch and go to work!

And tonight, when I got home, his stomach was bothering him, and he said that it's my fault. He's been struggling to poop while detoxing, so I've been feeding him laxatives at night. It's my fault, now, that his stomach is upset. I poisoned him.

There, now. I feel better. It's written down, and it's over. Thanks for listening.

I'm actually holding up quite well in the midst of his latest drama. I'm so very tired of drama with him. I'm just kind of going to work, doing my thing, coming home, and going to bed as if he were doing his normal thing. I try to be as compassionate as I can without letting down my guard and getting too involved in his feelings or too invested in his plans, and it's working for me today. I hope that his little slips into assholery this evening and this morning aren't indicative of some new shift in his mood. I like him when he's docile. I don't like him when he's not.

Detox Day 3: Redux

I should note, however, that in spite of my grumpiness and glumness and insistence on staying in bed and being miserable, my husband is being something of a detox angel. He's not half so crazy and miserable as he usually is. He's miserable, but it's kind of quiet, and it's not mean at all.

I'm grateful.

Detox Day 1

It's not been so bad. I had friends over to help me with a house project, and then we went to dinner together. He feels pretty gnarly now, but it took the whole day before he knew he felt bad.

He's coming of 105 milligrams of methadone, cold turkey, for those of you who are in the know about methadone and would liked to be shocked by how nuts this decision he's made is.

I'm kind of observing...this is a decision. He has a relative who will pay, but he's chosen to detox. He says he realized the only reason he hasn't done it before is because it's hard, and he wants to be clean. He wants his mind back, and he wants to feel like himself.

I hope it works out like that for him. I want himself, too. I'm afraid that it's going to be unbearable, he won't be able to do it, and he'll be disappointed. I'm afraid it will be unbearable for me, and I'll make him leave me. I'm trying not to think about it.

It should be an interesting week. I'd expect the projectiles to be flying by Wednesday. Stay tuned!

"I told everyone that you don't give a fuck."

"I told her that you don't give a fuck about me, or how I'll be detoxing, or whether or not I'm comfortable. I told them you didn't want to be involved at all," my husband informed me.

The relative who he's been working for is planning to nurse him through his detox. I'm glad she will do it. I won't do it anymore.

In a lot of ways, he's right. It hurts me that he's telling folks that I don't care about him and presenting me in a nasty way; however, I can't get involved in his decisions right now. I can't be his nurse. I can't spend my money or my time on it.

It's not my natural inclination. My defaults are set to "Help" mode. I WANT to sit next to him, rub his hair, wipe his face with a cool cloth. I just can't do it. I've done it too many times. Detox nurse is a thankless, painful job, and I can't put myself in his space when that's going on.

My sickness is to be susceptible to sickness in him. When he's hurting, I hurt. I hurt myself to be able to hurt with him. I try to take it into me, to take what I can of it for him. And oh, if I could, I'd detox for him. I'd be sick and crazy and mean and miserable in his place. I hate for him to hurt...

But damn it, I've learned my lessons! I've been extraordinarily stubborn, but I've learned that it hurts me more than it helps him for me to do too much. In fact, it hurts me and it hurts him. He won't do for himself what I'll do for him, and I can't do for myself when I'm doing for him. When we get swept up in that cycle, we're both stuck in his disease, sinking. I've found a way out, and I'm not sorry.

I wish the voice in my head that wants to explain myself to everyone would shut up. I want desperately to call his relative and tell her what I'm really thinking when I refuse to pay for things for him or to sit by his sickbed. My sponsor often says that it's not my business what other people think of me, though. I have to keep remembering that it's not my business what his family thinks of me. I'm doing the best I can for myself today, and that's all I can do.

Detaching.

The dogs ate my husband's methadone. I'm not joking. It really happened.

He just phased up, which means that he gets to take home a few doses of methadone at the time. Those of you who have been reading for some time might have noticed that my husband is rather irresponsible. He left one of his doses on a table in the living room, and one of the dogs got it. The bottle was all chewed up, and there was red and sticky methadone goo all over the floor. He likes to learn everything the hard way.

So today, he didn't have a dose. He became convinced that he was dopesick well before it was anything anywhere near physically possible for him to feel the effects of missing a dose, and it sent me to a real bad place. Immediately, I'm trying to figure out how this is a ruse. I'm thinking that he isn't ready for take home doses. I'm thinking he's too irresponsible to live with. I'm thinking that I don't think I'm ever going to be able to be around dopesick again.

I did a good thing, though, I think. I took him to a relative's house and let him lie around and whine and punch his legs and do his thing there. I called a friend and we sent shopping together and had lunch. I cleaned my car and my house. I've eaten good things, and I dyed my hair. I haven't called him, and he hasn't called me. I'm going to bed now, content with life.


Painting by Magritte

Why Won't I Stop Caring About Britney Spears?

When she was sane and a pop star on MTV, I didn't care about her. I shouldn't care about her now that she's out of control. I can't stop staring at her. I actually clicked on the link to see a picture of her period panties. I actually clicked the link. Why? Why would I do such a thing?

Her dissent into madness means nothing. Her music never meant anything. Her relationships with her family are not important to me. I can't stop reading about them.

My difficulty in stopping watching the Britney dramedy is like my inability to get out of my marriage. I don't like the way it makes me feel. I don't like putting this shit into my head. It's spiritually degrading. It's emotionally exhausting. I don't know how to stop doing it.

My husband is downstairs in the first stages of withdrawal. He didn't have his shit together this week, and he's out of methadone money. He also missed his dose last Sunday, which seems to be making this evening a little rougher for him. I feel sad for him. I can't help him. He's got money for tomorrow, so he's only got to make it until 5 a.m. I am furious with myself for expending my mental energy thinking these things. I'm tired of thinking these things. I won't stop thinking these things, and I won't stop being in a situation where these things are required of me. I am tired of myself.

There is a little ray of hope, though. He started feeling bad, and he went to bed. He asked me to come to him, and I did, and he thanked me for being here and told me he loves me. That little moment of gratitude, that morsel of sweetness, gives me hope that there's still a good man inside him.

I Love You Very Much.

Please. Please. I can't be sick like this. Please. Please. Please. Help me. I can't do this. I can't. I can't. It's not working. I can't. I can't. Please. Please. Please.

He's shaking, twitching, sweating. I can't help him. The methadone dose is too low. He's hurting in his body and even more in his mind. I can't help him. I'm terrified and I hate it and I can't help him.

I keep telling him, "I love you very, very much. I understand how hard this is. I understand if you use. I don't like it, and I hope that you don't, but I understand if you do. And even though I understand, I cannot help you with that. I can't pay for that. I love you. I love you. I love you."

I'm really, really struggling. I'm trying to keep focused. I've helped him how I can. I've gotten up with him every day to go to the methadone clinic. I've held him in my arms every night. I've tried to feed him and make him change his clothes and take ibuprophen. I've told him how much I love him and how sorry I am that he's hurting and how proud I am of him for telling me and how it's going to be ok, it's going to be ok, I'm not leaving, I'm still here, he'll get through it, his life is on the other side of it, our life is on the other side of it.

It's tearing me up. Everything is tearing me up. I want to sit with him, with my husband, the man who is suffering and needs my hands on him and my voice in his ear, but that's not the only person there. There's always that drug addict who lives in my husband's skin. Sometimes, I can comfort my husband, but that cold, lizard drug addict is lying in wait, looking for a chance to manipulate, to start working me, looking for something to steal. I want to be there all the time. I don't want to be there ever.

If you're reading, and you're inclined towards prayer, please pray for us.

Opiates and the Military

I found this woman's blog about her husband's experiences with opiates and the military. He was prescribed the opioid Tramadol for pain, and he wasn't apprised of its rather miserable side effects or the possibility of withdrawal syndrome when he stopped taking it. She also includes a few other stories about strange experiences with prescriptions from military doctors. Pretty disturbing stuff...

From Princess Bitch's Truth Without Mercy:

There are many stories coming out about the Army's failures in the health care sector. I am about to tell you one that the news has yet to break but someone needs to tell the tale.

In 2004 my husband was out at the range working with the MK-19 Automatic Grenade launcher simulator. In the middle of his firing order he felt a pop and a tear in his left shoulder. He continued his firing order and by the end was firing one handed with his left arm cradled against his body like a broken wing. It was obvious to anyone around that my husband was injured but he continued with the range for the day as the pain progressed. I have spoken before about the "suck it up and drive on" mentality that is ingrained into our soldiers. This was that thinking in action.

The next day my husband went on sick call and was informed that he had torn the tendon in his left shoulder and was given a physical profile against lifting anything over 5lbs or doing any upper body exorcise for two weeks. He was prescribed two drugs one was Tramadol and the other was naproxin, an anti-inflammatory. My husband worried about being able to do his job and asked his flight surgeon if Tramadol would interfere with his duties. The flight surgeon told him that Tramadol had narcotic-like effects but was not a narcotic and that he could function in all of his duties safely by Army standards while on this drug.

My husband was a UH-60 Black Hawk mechanic and a technical Inspector. He also was the armor for his unit. All three positions require the utmost alertness in carrying out their day to day tasks and if you are on a narcotic you are not allowed to perform your duties. The reason for this is that if you make a mistake someone will most likely die. He was told that Tramadol was a non-narcotic and he was fine to work while taking it.

My husband carried out his duties and stayed on the drug for quite some time. The pain in his shoulder never fully got better and to date it is one of the disabilities that we are taking up with the snail-like VA system.

Almost a year later my husband starting having problems urinating. The mild annoyance quickly became a source of worry and back to sick call he went. The Flight Surgeon informed my husband that it was a side effect of the Tramadol and took my husband off the drug. My husband spent the next three days with his entire body aching, vomiting and shaking, the list goes on… he was going through withdrawal.

I did an online search to find out why he would have this kind of reaction to being taken off Tramadol when it was not a narcotic. My husband and I both had a history of drug abuse in our youth and knew the symptoms of detoxing. This was classic. He never used more than he was supposed to and most days he didn't even use the full amount prescribed to him. What I found blew my mind and made me sick to my stomach.

http://www.drugs.com/tramadol.html

Withdrawal symptoms may occur when you stop using Tramadol. Withdrawal symptoms include anxiety, sweating, nausea, diarrhea, tremors, chills, hallucinations, trouble sleeping, or breathing problems. Call your doctor at once if you have any of these withdrawal symptoms after you stop using Tramadol.

Well thanks for telling me that NOW! That sounds a lot like someone coming off of a narcotic. Surely it would hinder someone's job performance.
NIH at that time listed it as a narcotic. It is, in fact, an opioid. An Opioid is a drug that is synthetic. All this means is that it is a man made opiate. Think heroin and you have the opiate family. NIH has since changed their wording to state it is "narcotic like".

There is a reason why most soldiers are not given narcotics when most people would have been taking them hand over fist, the Army regulations are very clear on the fact that soldiers may not perform their duties while under the influence of a narcotic.

After my husbands ordeal he started asking around and found countless soldiers that were now on Tramadol for all kinds of varying conditions. One of his NCO's made a statement that has never left my mind "Tramadol is this war's wonder drug." How sadly right he was.

The medical professionals that treat our military have found a way to skirt the rules and hand out a drug that is addictive and has narcotic-like effects while still being able to tell our soldiers to go back to work and "suck it up and drive on". Multiple soldiers in critical positions under the influence of a drug that is not much different than Vicodin or Percoset carrying out vital missions and tasks that lives depend on, all on a loop hole. It's not that the information doesn't exist or that they are unaware… remember, my husbands flight surgeon said "It has narcotic like effects" it is that they have found something that masks the pain long enough to use and abuse these men a little while longer.

Would you give someone a couple of beers and a gun and throw them into combat? That's about the same as what our Army is doing daily to our troops. I have taken Tramadol myself and I can tell you its effects are comparable to many narcotic pain relievers. It puts me to sleep better than vicodin does.

So as we probe further into the Army health care scandals here is just one more to write your congressman about. Get the word out and let people know that our soldiers are being drugged, strung out and told it's no big deal. They are being given a medicine that covers the pain, pain they should be paying attention to, and leaves them with permanent disabilities when the drug can no longer cover the pain and it is too late to reverse the damage. It's not just Walter Reed, it's not just this war that is harming our troops; it is the entire medical command of the military and their shady tactics.

Maybe on another day I will tell you how they gave my husband a medication for seizures and shingles to use for the nerve pain in his knee and it made him psychotic. Or I can tell you how I was prescribed a medication for insomnia by the military in Germany that is not FDA approved for that ailment and how it caused my limbs to jerk and move without my consent.

Maybe I will tell you about the shots to the shoulders and back many of our troops are receiving for injuries so they don't feel the pain and end up injuring themselves worse. It's all true. It is happening everyday but today we start with Tramadol, This war's wonder drug. Making junkies out of our soldiers and masking injuries when they are treatable so that the soldier can suck it up and drive himself right on into permanent disability.

Do the research, make the calls, write the letters. Our troops deserve more than a band aid, they deserve the best medical care for the injuries they sustain while serving our country and their cries wage on unheard. It is unconscionable to give men a drug that is addictive and tell them it is not that bad when in truth it is far worse. It is beyond unconscionable to give them a drug, a band aid, to mask the pain of real ailments and ruin their bodies when there are treatments that could give their joints, bones and muscles back years of viability. It should be criminal.

As for my husband, the Army didn't care that he was disabled. They kept telling him he had tendonitis in that shoulder and never listened about his neck and back pain. They told him he was going to Iraq even though he had a profile that said he couldn't run, jump, kneel, squat or stand for long periods due to his blown knee. We took the med board because he was told by DA "I don't care what disability you have you're going to Iraq and I won't give you any other placement." To my husband, this was wrong. He would have been a liability to every soldier around him if they came under fire. He couldn't foresee carrying the weight of the basic gear with his neck, back and shoulder hurting as bad as they did even with all the band aids the Army kept giving him. We took the med board and got out and are still waiting for VA to assess a disability rating because the Army refused to rate anything other than his knee.

For a fractured knee cap, two screws holding your ligament on in your knee and a partially severed tendon you get 0 percent disability from the military but you are found unfit for service. Since leaving, those neck, back and shoulder pains that were "no big deal" turned out to be two bulging disks in his lower back, 3 compressed disks in his neck and he has permanent nerve damage from all the flare ups in his left shoulder coupled with the degenerative disk disease in his neck. He is left handed. The tendonitis in his shoulder will remain a fact of life for him, the knee is a bit better with multiple fluid injections and an electronic unit he must wear 12 hours a day to rebuild cartilage but his neck and back and shoulder have no end in sight for the pain. He currently takes 4 prescriptions a day for the pain and still has mass amount of crippling pain on most days. He was a good soldier, he always decided to "suck it up and drive on" to serve his country and when he needed them the most they failed him again and again. We are awaiting our appeal with the VA, it has been 14 months and we still wait, medical bills keep piling up and the good old Army marches on, right over the men and women that are giving their all for our nation.

How it works

Here's another explanation of the function of heroin in the brain from PBS.

Last night was beautiful.

Last night was so nice. He said that instead of feeling awful all the time and having occasional flashes of feeling normal, he feels normal all the time and has occasional flashes of feeling awful...but I think that doesn't quite capture what is happening to him. He doesn't feel just normal. He has these moments of being able to feel really good. We have been having sex, talking, touching each other again, and it's been so good lately and so special. I am remembering why I love this man. I am forgetting why I was so angry.

We spent a few hours last night lying on the couch together, naked, just talking and talking and holding each other. I rubbed his back and it was like he'd never been touched before. It's amazing watching someone come out of the misery of withdrawal and the haze of active addiction to realize that life really is beautiful.

It's the perfect time for it, too...the birds are singing, the weather is pretty, the flowers are blooming. Spring is an excellent time for withdrawal.

I should go check the Soberrecovery forum. I posted a question yesterday about alcohol use, and I'd begun to get a few responses. It's amazing how helpful these silly forums can be.