The Ultimatum

My surgeon’s office says that he isn’t a pain doctor and he can’t treat chronic pain. He renewed my prescriptions a few times and then finally hot-potatoed me over to pain management.

Pain management says there’s a block they can do…in 3 weeks. Uh, I’m in extreme pain NOW. My last prescription fill was over a month ago, when I picked up 15 low-dose tablets. Obviously, I’m not tearing through this things irresponsibly.

That is where the pain doctor completely dismissed me as a human being. I was crying out of pain, at the end of my rope. Desperate. All this vicious and cruel waste of human life had to say for herself was, “well, there’s nothing stopping your surgeon from continuing to prescribe. The pain management department does not do opioids.”

My boyfriend was emotional too, because he can’t just keep seeing me in the kind of pain where I want to die.

Out of the entire conversation, this monster only charted that when she wouldn’t refill, I “became upset and left.”

I’d like to see her just exist for three weeks with someone following her around and stabbing her in the abdomen every few minutes, since that’s what it feels like. Human beings are not meant to withstand prolonged and extreme torture.

Obviously, living like that wasn’t an option. So, like so many of you, I was left with the ultimatum: kill yourself to escape the pain, or go buy off the streets. Sure, someone might sell me fentanyl and I might OD. But when the alternative was already death…who cares.