Heroin and the ER

Yesterday something happened to me for the first time in my entire life - I experienced pain that could not be drowned by alcohol or Vicodin. I called my dad to take me to the ER, seeing as I had all that alcohol and Vicodin in my system. I arrived at the hospital carrying a purse full of entertainment and walking like Bill Cosby to find, much to my delight, that there was no line. I walked right up to registration, gave them my information, and proceeded to the admittance area, which consisted of a chair that looked deceivingly like a recliner and a computer. I sat down, got out my book, and prepared myself for an efficient day at the ER. I mean, there was no line! This was going to be nothing.

Twenty minutes later, the mock recliner of death was proving that life was no longer worth living while I sat and glared at the entire admittance staff wandering around discussing their plans for the highly televised college football game that evening. I was getting irritable. They were doing NOTHING while I sat in agony with no visible pain medication. None. I had no drugs in my system. Enter my "admittance nurse." She asked the typical questions; name, age, sex (really - the boobs should have given this away.) Then, the following conversation took place:

Nurse: "How often do you drink?"

Erratic: "In a day?"

Nurse: (with frantic look on her face) "How many drinks per week?"

Erratic: "You want me to count? Okay, how many drinks is a bottle of wine?"

Nurse: "Four."

Erratic: "Okay, so let's say 4 drinks a day at 7 days a week, 28 drinks."

Nurse: "Do you drink everyday?"

Erratic: "No, not everyday. Sometimes I am too hung over. But, I figured those days I probably had 8."

With a look of horror, she typed something in the computer and walked out. I assume I am going to be getting my AA pamphlets in the mail any day now.

I obediently put on my hospital gown and waited. In walks cute male nurse and tells me they are taking me for an x-ray. Down the hall. They want me to walk (which I can barely do) down the hall (in my socks) wearing nothing but a hospital gown (which could double as the wardrobe for a low budget porn.) Right. I looked at him like are you out of your fucking mind and he chuckled and said, I can wheel you in the bed. We have a winner.

So, I am lying in the bed in my socks and the hospital gown being wheeled down the hall like some sort of invalid. I get to the X-ray room and the cute nurse is replaced with a cute X-ray technician. Seriously, I can go through an entire week and not see one attractive male in the entire fucking city. But, show up in a hospital unshaven in a porn gown and they are coming out of the woodwork. I clamber out of the hospital bed and onto the X-ray table.

Then it happens.

X-ray Hottie: "I need you to roll over on to your side."

Erratic: "I can't. It hurts too much and I will get stuck."

X-ray Hottie: (laughing) "You won't get stuck. Please just roll over on your side."

Erratic: "OK, but when you have to lift me back onto the hospital bed, you will regret making me do this."

I roll over on my side and immediately, I am stuck. See, my back injury was in my lumbar spine - I had a ruptured disc. This caused a lot of pain when using my back muscles. Now everyone lay on their side and try to either sit up, roll over, or even move your legs without using the muscles in your lower back. Right. You would think an X-ray tech would know this shit. By the time the ordeal I will call "you fucking ass hole that hurts" was over, I am pretty sure he wanted to shove my hospital bed out a window.

Then the best thing that has ever happened to me happened. My doctor asked if I wanted my pain killer in pill or injection form. I asked which was stronger and faster. Needle it is. It was like someone cracked an egg on my head - I could feel the pain medication just running down my body. Then I lost all control of my brain. The following events took place in the 4 hours I was on this drug:

I told the nurse that X-Ray Hottie should make house calls. I then immediately took that back because he obviously did not listen to women and was a self involved bastard.

I told my doctor that she should sell this shit because I would be their best customer. Then I asked if she ever sat around with all her doctor friends and got high off this shit, because if I were her, I totally would.

I told my father that none of the drugs I have ever done got me this fucked up.

I told the lady from my father's church that we ran into at the pharmacy that "I may not believe in God, but if anything would make me believe, it would be these fucking drugs I am on."

All of this was accompanied with what my father described as a "drunk, weaving, incoherent" version of his daughter.

I am sure that there would be plenty more horrifying stories of what I said/did had I not immediately passed out on the couch as soon as I walked in my front door. I woke up and barely remembered anything that had happened. I have never in my life done a hard drug. I have done some party drugs and some drugs we will call "natural." If hard drugs are anything like what I experienced, I can see why people love them and I also see why they end up crack heads living in a card board box. Because I am telling you right now, if I knew the name of that drug, my ass would be hitting the street trying to figure out how to get more. And by hitting the street, I totally mean throwing myself in front of cars and asking the hospital to give me a shot of the good shit.