A couple of weeks back, I sat in an emergency room for nine hours, working on my book, and journaling the day.
There’s a protocol for when you are over 40 and say you have chest pain. We’ve been there before and it’s always been something else, just like it was this time. It’s just what they do.
It was surreal, really. In addition to the number of times Dave was asked if he wanted something for his pain (after repeatedly saying he would not because he was recovering from prescription drug addiction — 8 years clean), we heard the ER doc give the guy next door Dave’s former drug of choice Tramadol (plus Percocet for good measure) for his pain and send him merrily on his way.
I overheard the entire transaction loud and clear and if I was not the reserved, shy person I am, I’d have given him a piece of my mind. I was reading this framed document on the wall of Dave’s room during the exchange and the irony was palpable (you don’t need to read it all, the point is that there are guidelines to provide the “safest, most appropriate pain relief for patients and to prevent the misuse of prescription pain medications”):
I get that an ER is a crazy place. I have friends who are ER nurses, friends who’ve been the doctor on duty, family who have worked the desk. I know, too, that the prescription drug epidemic is unreal and there are multiple ideologies out there for treatment. I get that.
But when a recovering addict tells you repeatedly that what you are offering to him might as well be poison, there has to be a way to make sure you don’t hand him a death sentence in a tiny paper cup.
Dave and I discussed for hours afterward what could be done to prevent a recovering addict from being barraged over nine hours with, “I can give you something for your pain” as though they were being tested by Satan in the wilderness. Our answer was, there’s a whiteboard in the room, there’s a chart outside the room: WRITE IT DOWN.
It’s as deadly serious as any allergy or any other underlying condition and for the love of decent medical care, something has to be done to stop the madness.
And believe me, this was NOT the first time we’ve had this experience. When you look like a nice enough person, very few people take “I’m a recovering prescription drug addict” seriously. I have watched this happen over, and over, and over.
Today’s news hits the importance of this message out of the park. So much so, that it prompted Dave to write on Facebook about his recent experience:
Heartbreaking and important that you read this.
The Young Woman Whose Addiction Story Touched Obama’s Heart Has Died
As someone in recovery (8+ years clean), this story hits far too close to home. I recently had some health issues that required a trip to the ER. I told everyone at the start that I was in recovery for pain pill addiction and could not have narcotics or pain medication.
I told the triage team, the primary nurse, the tech in the ER and the techs in the nuclear medicine area, and the ER doctor. I told everyone. An in spite of this, I was asked if I needed “something for the pain” on SIX DIFFERENT OCCASIONS. [actually, it was seven]
I know they were attempting to be compassionate and helpful, but it could have been tragic.
Thank goodness I had Deborah Beddoe sitting with me to help keep me accountable, as well as tools from my recovery work to keep me from saying, “yes”. It is an incredible temptation at the best of times and more difficult when vulnerable.
Let’s support any law, best practice or system that helps avoid this and helps someone in recovery who might be just barely hanging on. A color coded card on the door. A bold note in the chart. A software solution. Or maybe just continuing to take recovery seriously.
I’m still clean, alive and thankful for every day. I want that for everyone who struggles with addiction and I believe we have an opportunity to help those who have chosen to address their issue by refusing to add unnecessary temptation.
— Dave Beddoe
By the way, the ER doc never did quite figure out what was wrong with Dave. Turns out he may have had some sort of virus…jury is still out on that one.
But I can’t forget the last thing the doc said to him when he released Dave, “You know, the way I’d treat this is to give you something for the pain, but…”
Number 7. Giving him one last chance to say please.
Friends, please share this message. And if you want to wander over to Facebook and follow Enduring and After or Jackson’s Light (written by a woman in our community who lost her teenage son to a prescription drug and is shouting this message from the rooftops) for news updates you can read share about the prescription drug addiction epidemic, please do.