The
Opioid Crisis * Flip-Side
Part
1
As
always, it’s not about the stated goal, in this case, drugs. It is, however, all about the actual goal, control.
Preface
My
name is Kimiko Kurata Komatsu. I’m a
divorced mother of two wonderful teenage sons and I’ve been a drug addict for
more than ten years. I’m addicted to the
narcotics that help relieve my pain and provide me with some semblance of a
normal life. I’ve been addicted to Fentanyl much longer
than most of you have been aware the drug existed.
I’m going to relate my complete story before I begin. I’ve told bits and pieces of this to various
people but now I’ll give the entire story… because I want you to understand
completely… because I want something from you.
I don’t want your pity, or your sympathy. I don’t want your money. I’m not rich but, financially, I’m well
off. So, what do I want? I want your awareness. I want you to be able to view me as simply
another single mom doing the very best she can do to raise two sons to be
proud, productive, and patriotic American citizens. I
want you to see the other side of the coin that the media will never show you
and the Government would rather you not know.
I would like you, if you ever get the chance, to speak out in favor of
people like me and maybe, just maybe, let your Government know what you think
of their “Opioid Crisis.”
Throughout this article, when I refer to
the Federal Government, I’m referring to the entire legislative branch,
judicial branch and the executive branch including those populating either side
of the aisles of Congress. I make no
differentiation between the two political parties.
The
Beginning
I consider myself to
be a moderately intelligent person but that doesn’t preclude anyone from making
poor choices. A few evenings ago, the
boys and I re-watched the movie, London
Has Fallen. To me, one of the more
memorable exchanges was between President Benjamin Asher (Aaron Eckhart) and
Secret Service Agent Mike Banning (Gerard Butler). The President asked Banning “… seriously… the
Hell you made of?” Banner answered,
“Bourbon and poor choices.” Back when I
was a young woman, I took the tea-totaller route; I left out the Bourbon but,
to compensate, I doubled-up on the poor choices.
My husband wasn’t
perfect, but neither was I. I made
excuses. I overlooked things I shouldn’t
have. I was trying to make the best of a
less than perfect situation. I had two
young boys who were my entire life. I
considered myself no worse off than any of my friends. I did my best to “get along.”
One day my husband
came home from work with the usual chip on his shoulder. He started screaming at one of the boys for
some imaginary transgression and I told him to stop; that he was just being a
jackass and that the poor kid had done nothing wrong. My first clue that I had crossed some sort of
line came when I felt him grab me by the hair and smash my face against the
wall.
He proceeded to beat
me and when that wasn’t exercising enough control, he raped me right there in front
of the boys. After that, while I was
trying to crawl away, he kicked me down a flight of stairs. The doctors tell me that’s probably when I
received the cervical and lumbar spinal injuries. He continued kicking and beating me until
Sean, my oldest son, who was all of six years old, gave him several whacks with
a baseball bat. I’m positive Sean saved
my life. After I saw the jackass limping
out the door, I lost consciousness. Sean
ran next door for help and Mike covered me up, with an old rug, and stayed with
me. I was supposed to be taking care of
them but, instead, they were taking care of me.
I stayed in the
hospital for almost three days before I convinced them I needed to go
home. I made a pretty quick recovery
with the exception of the spinal injuries which caused me a considerable amount
of pain. Luckily, at that point in time,
the medical community was all about relieving pain and I had a practically
never-ending supply of narcotics, especially Percocet, which is a combination
of oxycodone and acetaminophen. When I
first started with the Percocet it quite literally kicked my butt. To say I was “loopy” was a gross
understatement. There was no possible
way I could do anything even remotely hazardous, like drive a car. Just to prove my point I remember almost
gouging my eye out with my toothbrush; my coordination was that poor, but the
situation did lend a bit of dark humor to the common phrase, eye-hand coordination. My doctor assured me that I would become
accustomed to the drug and I could drive again, soon. He was right.
It wasn’t long before I stopped feeling “loopy” and thought I could
drive safely. Being a worrier and not
wishing to harm anyone, including myself or my sons, I asked a local Sheriff’s
deputy to go for a ride with me and evaluate my driving. This was not mandated or suggested by
anyone. I did this of my own volition. The deputy said he was impressed and that he
wished everyone drove as well and as carefully as I did. I wanted to do the responsible thing and I
didn’t trust myself, so I enlisted someone qualified to make an intelligent
determination. If nothing else, I’m a
responsible individual.
Eventually, I had
two lumbar surgeries, the second of which was botched to such an extent that I
easily won a malpractice suit against the surgeon. I understood the depth of his incompetence
when I filed the lawsuit and was told to take a number; that I was number eight
in line. The scar tissue, which was a
result of the surgeon’s incompetence, ended up creating more pain than I had
before the surgery. It didn’t take me
long to realize I was in serious trouble; my pain medications weren’t relieving
my pain like they had in the past. I was
back to being non-functional.
Attorney
General Jeff Sessions comment to chronic pain sufferers: "Sometimes you
just need two Bufferin or something and go to bed”
Dealing
with My New Life
Soon, I’d fenagled a
referral to a local Pain Clinic. During
my initial visit, the doctor asked me a battery of questions, one of which was
“On a scale of 0 to 10 how would you rate your pain level at this moment.” I thought about it for a minute and answered
“six.” He put down his clipboard and
stared at me. He said “Kim, you can
barely walk. I watched you hobble in
here.” He looked at his clipboard again
and said “You’re not even thirty and my 90-year-old grandmother gets around
better than you do. Please, explain why
you answered ‘six.’”
I responded “Nobody
can claim a ‘ten’ because they would be unconscious with that much
pain. I’m assuming that being burned alive,
traumatic amputation and gunshot wounds
would take care of
‘7’, ‘8’ and ‘9’. That leaves me with,
at the maximum, a six.” The man got off
his stool and walked across the room and very carefully gave me a hug and said
“Honey, we’re going to get you fixed up.
I promise.” He was as good as his
word.
Within a few months
he found a regimen that worked for me.
He put me on the highest dosage fentanyl patch, arranged to give me
spinal injections, under x-ray, every ten weeks and made sure I had a supply of
pain relievers that could be tailored to whatever type of “break-through” pain
I may be having. I still had my
Percocet, but he also prescribed Tramadol and Toradol injections. He taught Sean to give me the injections and
we were all set. The doctor went so far
as to swear me to secrecy before he slipped me a pre-loaded syringe of Demerol
with the instructions “If the pain should
ever get so bad you need to go to the emergency room, have Sean give you
this. It’ll make you comfortable until
the hospital can do something for you.”
This was back in the good old days before my Government’s latest crusade
to save what it sees to be a group of valuable citizens; in this case
recreational opioid abusers.
“Of pain you could wish only one
thing: that it should stop. Nothing in
the world was so bad as physical pain.
In the face of pain there are no heroes.” — George Orwell 1984
Settled in for the Long Haul
Thanks to the best Pain Clinic doctor on the planet I began to feel
like a normal person again. I could do
housework and I could do the shopping. I
could go to the gun range for a day and, within reason, shoot anything I wanted,
right up to and including full power loads for my .300 WSM. I could do the volunteer medical advocacy
work I love so much. I slept when I was
supposed to, and I was awake when I should be.
I felt so good that, on occasion, I over-did it and I paid for it with
pain. I didn’t mind that pain. That pain served to remind me of how good I
felt 95% of the time. That pain was
actually welcomed and appreciated.
Several years passed without incident but I was beginning to notice the
effects of long-term narcotic use. In my
case it was most noticeable in my teeth.
I was spending too much time, and money, with my dentist. Then I began hearing about a new method of
pain control that was providing a lot of people with a high level of
relief. I began researching electronic
spinal cord stimulators and liked what I was discovering. I talked to several people who were actually
using one and I received nothing but rave reviews, so I brought the question to
my doctor. He thought it could work for
me and I was scheduled for the temporary implantation of the trial version of
the device. I was warned that this
method of pain relief wasn’t for everyone and that I should be prepared for
disappointment. It worked very well and a month later I had
the permanent version surgically implanted.
Immediately I was off of all my drugs with the exception of the fentanyl patch. This little device is wonderful. I can tune the machine by adjusting the
frequency, amplitude, and waveform of the pulses it sends to my spinal cord. These pulses block my body’s pain impulses
from reaching my brain. It’s like tuning
a complicated radio but it works. As
with everything else “good” is temporary.
Due to the continuing degeneration of my spine I began experiencing
lower back pain again and sciatic pain I’d seldom had before. I was back to the drugs along with my
stimulator. I wasn’t crazy about the
idea of the drugs again, but I was less excited about the return of the
pain. Under my doctor’s approval I went
back to some of my old drugs. Again, my
pain was manageable.
“The nine most terrifying words in the English language are: ‘I'm
from the Government and I'm here to help.’” — Ronald
Reagan
My Government to My Rescue
In the interest of brevity and clarity I’m going to simplify this part
of my account or, neither you or I, will understand the lunacy involved. At one visit, when I was ordering my prescriptions,
I was informed that I couldn’t have two of my normal drugs. I hadn’t been using Toradol very much and I
had a large supply, so I gave it up. In
addition, I had to make a choice between Percocet and Tramadol. Previously I had access to both so I could alter
the strength of my drugs to match the severity of my pain. More often than not I used the weaker of the
two, Tramadol. This arrangement made so
much sense the Government just had to “fix” it.
I’m not a fool so I picked the Percocet, the stronger of the two. Had I picked Tramadol I would have
encountered days where I didn’t have enough drug to dull my pain. I chose the peace of mind of the stronger
drug.
The next shock was that instead of a 90-day prescription I was now only
allowed a 30-day supply and, just to add insult to injury, I was informed that
I needed to pick up my prescription, at the doctor’s office, as quickly as
possible after the day the drug became available to me. Supposedly it “looked bad” if I weren’t
there, frothing at the mouth, the second my prescription was available. So now, in the Winter time, I sometimes have
to drive on horrible roads to pick up my prescription on time. Doc tried to make me feel better by telling
me that some patients were allowed only a three-day supply and that some drug
stores were placing their own additional restrictions on the handling of legal
opioid prescriptions.
From time to time some of the people I knew, who were patients at the
Pain Clinic, were randomly drug tested.
I know a lady who tested positive for Marijuana and was told that if it
happened again, she would not be seen at the clinic in the future. This was shortly before medical Marijuana
became legal in Michigan. Finally, my
day came, and I had to pee in the cup.
When Doc came into the examining room, he wouldn’t look at me. I knew something was wrong. He had a little piece of paper in his hand
that he tore into a hundred tiny pieces and then tossed them into the
trash. Finally, he looked up at me and
said very softly “Kim, we have a problem.” My mouth literally dropped open.
I began defending myself and told him I had never smoked Marijuana in
my life. He motioned for me to stop
talking and said he knew that but that wasn’t the problem. I was speechless so he explained “Kim, we
didn’t find any Percocet in your system.”
I was trying to process how this was a bad situation. I’d had a very good week and I hadn’t needed
to take any. I thought that was a good
thing and I said so.
That’s when he explained that the Government, in its infinite wisdom,
was “cracking down,” even farther, on opioid abuse. I was slightly ahead of the learning curve
because a few weeks earlier I’d skimmed an article explaining there were an unacceptable
amount of opioid related deaths among recreational drug users. Fentanyl was extremely popular because of its
strength and wide availability. The one
fact that did stick in my mind, from that article, was that when one recreational user died of a
Fentanyl overdose, other abusers would attempt to purchase from that same batch
because an overdose death was a testament to the potency of that batch and
potency made it more desirable.
In other words, the more likely the drug was to kill them the more they
wanted it. These are the members of society we’ve singled out as needing to be
saved. I’d also like to point out that
sacrificing law-abiding members of society, who used those drugs in a positive manner
that enabled them to be comfortable, if not productive, was acceptable
collateral damage.
Then we got back to my drug test.
Doc explained that since I had no Percocet in my system the Government
suspected that I may either not actually have a need for the drug and be
abusing it myself or that I may be selling my drugs to recreational users. I can’t begin to explain that
rationality. I’m not the sharpest knife
in the drawer but I still can’t dumb myself down enough to understand a
bureaucrat.
It’s nice to know jackasses like Chucky Schumer and Nancy Pelosi
believe, with no real evidence, that I’m a criminal and not a lucky person who
hadn’t needed all their drugs that week.
To avoid this problem he
recommended that if, in the three days prior to my next appointment, I had no
legitimate need for Percocet, I should take one or two anyhow, so it appeared
in my next drug screening. Just to
make certain this is understood; my
doctor had just instructed me to take unneeded drugs, in order to pass a
Government ordered drug test designed to determine if I was a drug abuser.
I asked what would happen to me if I showed up Percocet free the next
time. He told me that I would be
required to bring in all my opioids for a mandatory pill and patch count. If it happened again “action” could be taken
against me. I must have looked at him
like he was insane because he immediately said “Kim, this isn’t my doing. I have to comply, or I can lose my license. This is the same man that, several years
earlier, told me, very quietly, “Kim, never, ever throw away a pain pill. Stored correctly, 25 years after their
expiration date, they’ll have lost only a few percent of their potency.” I do what frugal people tell me to do. Mixed among the many .50 BMG ammo cans that
are full of ammunition, there’s a few whose inventory code is slightly
different from the rest of the cans. Those
cans contain more than ammo.
So, I suggested I tell this story back to him to see if I really had a
handle on it. He agreed. It went something like this:
“In order to protect the lives of those imbeciles who
go out of their way to purchase from a batch of Fentanyl that has killed
previous abusers, I’m forced to use stronger opioids than I would sometimes
select because I’m not trustworthy enough to have a variety on hand. Also, there are times, I need to take
powerful drugs, that my Government has declared war on, for the sole purpose of
passing a Government mandated drug test.”
“I’m also reduced to 33% of the amount of these drugs
I’m allowed to have on hand so, in the Winter, I can traverse treacherous roads
to be sure I don’t forfeit my drugs for the month.”
He slowly shook his head and said I caught on faster than most of his
patients. Then I asked if he minded if I
speculated about the future. He told me
to give it my best shot.
“I’m positive their ‘war’ doesn’t stop here. I expect that soon we junkies should be ready
for the probability that we will be ‘weaned off’ our opioids even though there are
no effective replacements for those drugs.
I’m betting that ‘physical therapy’ is their idea of a replacement for
drug therapy.”
After staring at the floor for a few more seconds and, without looking
up, he answered “I think you have an accurate view of what’s happening.” I had another question, so I just blurted it
out.
“So, Doc, how soon are you retiring?”
This is one time I wanted to
be wrong. He finally looked up from the
floor and said very softly “I’ve already started the process. How did you know; my wife doesn’t even know
yet?” I’d been doing really well until
that point but this when I began to fall apart.
“I know you’re much too good of a doctor to allow some
mouth-breathing, knuckle dragging bureaucrat who doesn’t know his ass from a
hole in the ground, let alone whether it was punched, bored, or drilled, to
dictate to you how you will or will not practice medicine.”
He thanked me for my comment
and said “Before you ask, no, it’s only supposed to get worse. From what I understand they want to stop the
use of opioids completely.” He knew as well
as I do that would be a death sentence for myself and many others. Without an effective opioid replacement, I
simply couldn’t tolerate the pain for any extended length of time.
How do I know that? Being a drug addict was never on my list of
things to accomplish before I died. You
also need to understand that I’m nothing if not frugal. My Fentanyl patches are supposed to last
three days or 72 hours. On rare
occasions I get two days out of one and sometimes they’ll last four days. I don’t replace them based on the hands of
the clock. I wait until I feel an increase
in my pain level, or I feel the monkey climbing onto my back. Then I change my patch. One day I thought I’d verify that I still
needed my patch, which is my primary opioid pain reliever. I’ll freely admit, and my boys will verify,
this was not the brightest stunt I’ve ever pulled. It was right up there with a “Hold my beer
and watch this!” moment. I wanted to
face the pain with my stimulator as my only means of relief. At the time this idea made perfect sense and
I don’t regret doing it.
It was a matter of only a few
hours before the pain became bigger than the monkey. Soon, my ability to be upright and mobile was
too much for the stimulator to mask.
Luckily, I was bright enough to put on a new patch at that point. Before the new patch kicked in it was extremely
uncomfortable to be in any position.
This was about the time I vowed to never, ever run this “test” again. I did, however, come to terms with the very
fine edge I walk; the razor-thin edge between torture and relief.
I was also able, thanks to my
experiment, to put everything into perspective.
If the Government made no further reductions in what drugs and what
quantity of drugs I may use, and if my physical condition deteriorates no more
than it has already, and if I don’t become immune to the relief offered by
drugs and electronics, I can expect to continue the quality of life I
experience now. I also realize condition
one is practically impossible; condition two is wishful thinking; and condition
three is a toss-up.
As of this moment, this is my
life. I’m not complaining about anything
but my Government. All the rest, at
least at this point in time, is just a large inconvenience for anyone who’s an
inveterate planner.
Addendum № 1
Since I began writing this article, I’ve become a party to two
additional cases that raise
different issues but still
fall under the “opioid crisis.” I became
involved in both because of my volunteer medical advocacy work. The lady who recruited me into the medical
advocacy gig explained that the candidate needed a modicum of common sense, a
willingness and ability to communicate with others and, a mouth that the owner
was willing to use without reservation.
She assured me the last qualification is flattering but I’m not
convinced.
The first case involves a
woman I knew from a social organization and we’ll refer to her as “Marge.” She’s a patient at the same pain clinic I use
and was doing quite well until her doctor retired. Then she was assigned a young doctor who’s
new to the practice. His first official
act was to withdraw all medications that had been prescribed for by her
previous doctor. She protested but the
new doctor allegedly said something like “I’m not losing my license for you.” A pain clinic doctor who refuses to prescribe
drugs? That’s an interesting point to
ponder.
When Marge didn’t make an
appearance at a meeting, we both always attend, I made inquiries and discovered
what had happened to her. After the
meeting I went to her home and knocked on the door. I barely recognized the woman who answered
the door. Marge is almost 6 feet tall
and always stood straight and proud and looked every inch of her actual
height. The woman who answered the door was
bent over and crippled. Gone was the
snappy wit and normal friendly banter.
She looked exactly like what she is, a 70-year-old woman in horrible
pain. It had been over a week since she’d
been unceremoniously taken off her opioids, so, at least, she was no longer
suffering from withdrawal and had obviously survived the risky “cold turkey”
termination of her drug therapy.
I assured her that I realized
she looked like Hell but that was how she needed to be seen by the medical
professionals at our pain clinic. I’d
been going to the same clinic for ten years, so I knew the office staff pretty
well and I thought I could push for a favor and get Marge a brief meeting of
some type. The entire staff was somewhat
stand-offish, and the reason soon became obvious. They all though Marge wasn’t treated fairly
but none were willing to question the doctor’s decision. We did finally get a brief
“appointment.” I’m not ashamed to admit
it was more of an ambush than a normal appointment. We heard what we expected to hear. “If
you can endure a week without your drugs it’s proof you didn’t need them.”
Possibly, this is where I can
bring this new philosophy home to those of you who aren’t opioid dependent like
I am. How would you feel if you, or a
loved one, an insulin dependent diabetic, were told “Since you’ve survived for an entire week without insulin we’ll no
longer be prescribing it for you?”
How about “Since you’ve
survived without your heart medication for a week, we’ve determined it’s not,
in your case, necessary and we will no longer prescribe those drugs for you.” Ponder those points for a few moments
and possibly you can begin to understand my fears for the future.
Recent developments, in just the last week, have improved Marge’s
situation. Due to promises I made,
concerning litigation in Marge’s case, the medical staff has reevaluated their
position and Marge, just over a week ago, received an electronic stimulator
much like mine. She’s doing very well
and is showing an unreasonable amount of optimism regarding the future.
Addendum № 2
Several weeks ago, a Vietnam
Vet I’ll refer to as Bob, asked me to accompany him, in my medical advocacy capacity,
to his first appointment at the Veterans Administration Clinic. Other than suffering from diabetes he’s in
generally good health. His only real
question was about getting his prescription for Tylenol 3 from the VA. His previous doctor had prescribed it for him
for several years. He suffers from
carpal tunnel pain that was relieved by the Tylenol 3. The doctor immediately went on the defensive
and said they don’t like prescribing narcotics.
Bob said that any other pain reliever, that worked as well, would be
perfectly acceptable. The doctor said
there was no non-narcotic pain reliever that would give the same level of
relief and then stated that surgery was indicated. Bob had two friends who had the surgery and
experienced less than satisfactory results and that was why he preferred using
the Tylenol 3s on a very intermittent basis.
Bob explained, more calmly and rationally than the doctor, that he wasn’t a
drug abuser, that he had never been a drug abuser and that, to the best of his
knowledge, he would never be a drug abuser.
At this point the doctor started to interrupt and Bob flashed him a look
that silenced him immediately. Then he
presented one of the most logical and most sensible proposals I’ve ever
heard. I was so impressed that I
realized my primary function, for that day, had to be as a lunch partner for
Bob. I wasn’t needed in my advocacy
capacity. He proved that he wasn’t
intimidated by the medical profession and that he was perfectly capable of
speaking for himself. To the best of my
recollection this was his presentation.
“Please, allow me to suggest a solution to this
problem. Why don’t you prescribe the
Tylenol 3 that I’ve used successfully and completely safely for several years? If, at any time in the future, for any
reason, you feel that I’ve somehow been harmed or that somehow, I’ve abused or
misused the drug you can withdraw it immediately.”
“As an alternative proposal I will gladly submit to
your suggested surgery with a similar stipulation to the one I just
mentioned. If, at any time, I feel that
the surgery isn’t meeting my needs you’ll revoke said surgery and give me my
drugs back.”
Of course, everyone realizes that a surgery can’t be “taken back” but,
I believe, Bob was trying to apply Occam’s razor. Occam's razor is the problem-solving principle that states, essentially,
"simpler
solutions are more likely to be correct than complex ones." In this
example, that boils down to the question, why put the patient under the
knife for a non-reversable procedure, that has no guarantees, when occasional
drug use solves the problem to the complete
satisfaction of the patient. Bob’s
logic, although flawless, was refuted by the Veteran’s Administration. He was denied his Tylenol 3.
I want to be absolutely
positive that everyone understands that, in this circumstance, and many others,
the reasonable and prudent desires of the patient, the entity that’s actually
feeling the pain, are regarded as irrelevant.
The patient and, any choices he may have previously been entitled to,
have been destroyed in yet another Government bureaucracy populated by
unelected, uncaring, pompous, idiotic bureaucrats. Decisions that, previously, and rightfully,
were the concern of the patient and his physician, have now been usurped by our
ever-expanding, increasingly malignant, progressively more contemptuous, and
arrogant Government.
I hope I’ve painted a disturbing picture of our current “Opioid Crisis.” In part two of The Opioid Crisis * Flipside I’ll tie this power play in
with several others and hopefully I can help you lose a few night’s sleep. We can’t fix what we aren’t aware of or don’t
understand.
A .pdf copy of
this article can be downloaded here.