Mr Happy, The Drug Flinging MD

It never rains, it pours.

I find myself once again laid up in bed. Whether it's from the horrific 'vacation' I found myself taking - blizzards and icy mountain roads when one is expecting desert vistas does not a fun time make - or helping my sister move, I pulled something in my back.

This has happened before. I'm rather used to the ER procedures for this injury. I'm hooked to an IV, usually a catheter is inserter, blood is drawn, X-rays are taken... it's quite a process. As well it should be, on the chance I've done serious damage.

At midnight, Saturday night, I was admitted to the ER. By 12:40, I was on my home. I was asked all of two questions by the ER doctor. "Has this happened before?" and 'Can I give you an injection to take the edge off?". No, make that three questions. Question number 2 was followed by 'can I make it a big one?'. And he was so enthusiastic about it, grinning and bouncing as though his greatest joy is prescribing pain medication.

I should have said no. I realized this when the nurse came in and informed me that I needed two shots, because the dose prescribed wouldn't fit in one needle. Yes, you read that right. I was injected in my tender flesh with two needles, and within fifteen minutes, I was out of my mind. I had been warned I would be 'loopy' - lovely professional term, that - for the night. I didn't realize that meant 'more stoned than if I'd smoked a bowl of Columbia's finest'.

My prescription? 50 500mg vicodin tablets. two every five hours. I think not. I refuse to spend my days doped up on 1000mg of that stuff.

I can't help but wonder... what if I had been some druggy, looking for a fix? I certainly would have succeeded. I'd never even visited that particular hospital before. I could have been some random young junky, just desperate for those sweet, sweet pills.

I don't think I shall return to that place of medicine ever again.