I'm accident prone.
I'm also an adrenaline junkie.
These two factors don't really bode well for my physical self.
Luckily, I have a pretty high pain tolerance, so when I was eighteen and dislocated six vertebrae, ripped all the ligaments and tendons on the right side of my body, and had to be in physical therapy for over a year while I re-learned how to flex my fingers, I took it all in stride.
I have broken my legs, wrists, elbow, shoulder, and more. I used to joke that the only bone I hadn't broken was my nose. I laughed about it, picked out a new color cast, and went on with my day.
So when I became pregnant with my first child, I was excited and looked forward to having a completely natural birth.
Of course, this excitement lasted about a day.
After an incredibly long and painful high-risk pregnancy, it was decided that I needed to deliver my baby NOW. My son and I were in danger, and when he became stuck in the birthing canal, and there wasn't even time to get to an operating room for a c-section, so my doctor gave me an episiotomy. And not just any old episiotomy, he had to cut me all the way to my rectum, grab my baby boy with forceps, and find where I was hemorrhaging.
While we each recovered in our respective ICU units, I was introduced to Vicodin.
At first, the pills just numbed the pain.
And then it hurt more to NOT take one, than it did to just toss it back with a glass of water.
And then I got pregnant again.
It wasn't long before I was addicted to painkillers.
I couldn't function without popping one of those little pills.
Then it got to where one at a time wasn't cutting it either.
Five years into my addiction, I was averaging well over thirty pills a day.
My life was suffering.
My family finally intervened and under close medical supervision, I was weaned off of my drugs.
I've been clean for almost two years now, but the repercussions of my drug misuse are there.
I get migraines but I'm scared to take anything, even one lousy aspirin, for fear of a relapse.
When my kids are especially ornery, I find myself wishing that I Just. Had. One. Pill.
While I'm grateful for modern medicine, because I literally would not be here without it, I don't trust it anymore.
I'm not your typical "druggie"
I'm an active member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.
I've taught your children and I've sat next to you in Sunday School.
I've smiled and put on a brave face and been friendly, but we probably aren't really friends.
I'm trying to be social. I'm at every girls night, enrichment meeting, and play group....
Because when I'm alone, I remember.
It's a vicious cycle, this recovery.
I tell myself it shouldn't be so hard. That if I REALLY was good, I'd just get over it.
I've found myself standing in front of the medicine cabinet, mentally adding doses of my over the counter drugs.
Two of those, with two of THOSE would feel really good....
Then I hear my kids giggle, and I wonder if they've noticed.
I shut the door and walk away.
I want to be there for them.
I want to be there for them completely; in mind, body, and spirit.
I know I'm getting better, though.
In the first few days of recovery, I would constantly look at the clock.
Then, my successes were measured in minutes. Then in hours.
Now, I can sometimes go for a few days before finding myself daydreaming in front of the cabinet.
It's been a long battle.
But I'm winning.
