It feels like a large splinter jammed under my left thumbnail. From my thumb and forefinger, the skin burns in a strip up to my elbow. Recent shoulder surgery has left nerve damage, not uncommon. During the day, it’s a distraction; at night, much worse. Before bedtime, I swallow two 5 mg oxycodone. At 3 or 4 AM I jolt awake—my arm has turned into an alien serpent, its fangs sunk in my shoulder. . . . → Read More: Don’t Take Away My Oxycodone!
First it was the Dominican limo driver, who disappeared while driving a client upstate. When my husband extracted him from Utica jail a month later, it turned out he’d been arrested on bogus drug charges, and his limo confiscated. Then it was a friend, set up for a drug bust by his ex-wife, to gain . . . → Read More: What Drives the War on Drugs?
My father is 96. A month ago, he shuffled around the house, up and down the stairs, quite well by himself. Then, as he puts it, “I fell on my arse!” Oops! Compression fracture of the spine. Treatment: pain killers and bed rest. But, if he is ever to walk again, he must get up . . . → Read More: The Drug War Comes Home