Turbo Cancer: Day 165 - November 23, 2022
Fentanyl
This day, last year, was the eve of Thanksgiving.
My mom had been dreaming of being home on Thanksgiving Day.
On this day, last year, I wrote:
My mom’s pain has continued to worsen, each day she has been in the hospital. The decision was made to take her to the next level of pain control. In addition to her Oxy, she will be started on a Fentanyl patch. Because that narcotic is so strong, she will need to be monitored for twenty-four hours. She will stay at the hospital for one more day.
My mom’s condition had worsened dramatically during her hospital stay.
The first night she had been there, she had been assigned staff members who were unwilling to help her. It had been as if she had been living her darkest nightmare. She had been left alone, and helpless. She had cried out for mercy, and she had been ignored.
My mom was scared of the hospital at night. She was terrified. She was hiding food in her drawers, in case she got hungry. She didn’t want to ask for anything. She didn’t want to make the nurses mad. She was afraid that, if we complained, they would withhold her pain medicine again.
She hated it there.
She wanted to be home for Thanksgiving.
It was the day before Thanksgiving. On my way to the hospital, I stopped at the grocery store. I was buying some snacks and supplies for my mom.
While I was shopping, my phone rang. A doctor had been there to speak to her. My mom said that the doctor had said that she had become Oxy dependent, meaning that Oxy, alone, could no longer control her pain (as if it ever had).
The doctor suggested that a Fentanyl patch should be added to my mom’s pain regimen.
Over the phone, I could hear the sadness and disappointment in her voice when she said: “But if I get the patch, I have to stay in the hospital until Friday. I’ll miss Thanksgiving. Do you think that is what I should do?”
I asked: “Do you want to try the Fentanyl?”
“I think so.”
On an emotional level, I still cannot quite grapple with the idea of Fentanyl. This was the substance that had been used to murder my son. It is the weapon that continues to kill one hundred thousand young Americans every year.
Fentanyl is sold to us as a drug with the potential to cure pain. It is said to be dangerous in the street, yet safe, when prescribed by a doctor.
In Fentanyl, addicts find a mystical substance giving them the power to forget. They see it as a way to escape from their demons. As it turns out, the empty promise of escape is spoken from the mouth of the biggest demon of them all. Ultimately, those who become entrapped sacrifice their mind, their body, their spirit, and their life.
It was suddenly being offered to my mom.
All that she had to sacrifice was Thanksgiving.
To receive this twisted magic, all that she had to do was spend one more day in that horrible place.
If she gave up the day that had held her hope, she might, finally, receive pain relief.
She was asking me what she should do.
I was standing in the produce aisle of the Jewel-Osco in Harvey, Illinois. The store was filled with last-minute shoppers, preparing for their Thanksgiving feast. People were buzzing around me with their shopping carts, but I was frozen. Time had stopped.
Fentanyl had the potential to take my mom’s pain away, but it also had the potential to take my mom away. I knew what it was.
I hated what I had to say, but I had to say it.
The pain had been unimaginable before. Now, it had become incomprehensible. It was ruthless. It was vindictive. It was brutal.
The day before, my mom had been moaning and screaming in her hospital bed. I didn’t think that I would be able to get her to the car, if nothing more was done.
I needed them to get her pain under control. That was the only way that I was going to be able to take her home.
“I think the doctor is right. I think you need something stronger. I think we should say yes.”
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I share each installment of your story with my husband. I want him to face the horror of what the medical system has devolved to. He knew it was bad from when we interacted with it for my health. I told him never again, I never want to step foot in a hospital EVER again. He asks "but what if you're dying??" I say, "then I stay home and die surrounded by people who love me". Anything short of guaranteed death, I will figure out how to solve myself.
Beautiful photo. Thank you for sharing your family with us.