There’s a reason we call them magic mushrooms

Picture of three bright red mushrooms with white spots on them

Last week, I replaced codeine with morphine in my pain-vanquishing arsenal. Dr. Blood Lite prescribed me a low dose that I could take up to four times daily. He then sent me away for a week to give it a try.

The first day, I took the drug at the prescribed dose. I can’t tell you if I had any pain because I was busy sleeping. I had 4 deep couldn’t-keep-my-eyes-open naps during the day. I couldn’t even make it through a half-hour Food Network show. My eyes kept closing, and one hour later I dragged myself back to life, until the next wave of exhaustion took over. At bedtime, I was sure I would not be able to sleep since one of those naps was in the early evening, but as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out cold.

I realized that I would have to manage my morphine dosing so I could stay awake during the day. There’s no point eliminating my pain if I’m too busy sleeping to notice. So I tried to split my hard little pills. This was not easy. I made a mess. The little line on the back was deceptive; I ended up with chunks rather than halves, and considerable white powder was left behind on my cutting board.

So what did I do? I took one of the small halves I had created, and then, like any true addict, I refused to let the remaining pill residue go to waste. I was not going to lose one microgram of my dose. At this point, I could have retrieved a mirror and a straw, like I see addicts do on television. You may find this surprising, but my life experience does not include snorting high-potency drugs.

Instead of inhaling the drug (and I’m not suggesting I took a more civilized approach), I licked my finger, dragged it through that residue, and stuck it in my mouth. Really, I was trying to ensure the next time we cut vegetables, we didn’t get high from dinner, although I realize that washing the cutting board might have been just as or more effective to this end.

Then I told J. how much trouble I was having splitting my pills. She responded with, “You didn’t…” Yes, I did. She started laughing as she envisioned me sucking drug residue off my finger.

Need I remind you that most people do not become addicted to pain medication used to target pain? Sure, those more prone to addiction may develop an drug dependency over time, but I am addiction phobic.

I decided it would be best for all if I took the pills to the pharmacist and told her I did not want to waste my remaining days mangling my pills. The pharmacist agreed with me and assumed the task willingly.

I’m still working toward 100% pain elimination but I’m close. Turns out, some days the pain is worse than others, and I have to adjust my dosing on those days. I am so much better that I can assure you I will no longer start crying if you ask me how I am. Also, if you come for dinner, I can assure you our mushroom lasagne will not result in hallucinations.



4 thoughts on “There’s a reason we call them magic mushrooms

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