My first year in New York after college, I had my top wisdom teeth extracted. I believe I have written about this before, because I was horrified by the emotional experience of anesthesia. The very responsible oral surgeon gave me a prescription (or just gave me the drugs in-office) for Percodan. A few days' worth. I was hyped by Percodan, walking my tiny apartment like a lunatic. I called my mom, said, "It's so weird, but I can't sit still." She said, "Well try not to take them all."Twenty years later I found out that my great great grandfather had been a morphine addict. Long Days Journey Into Night. I don't think Mom necessarily knew the whole story then, but there was a real distrust of drugs in my family. Dad, another line entirely of course, was freaked out by pharmaceuticals, tried to deny pain-killing drugs as he was painfully dying in the hospital from cancer.
His dad, I think... We never knew.
High on Percodan, not sleeping so much, I went to Blue Velvet with Gretchen. In fucking KIP'S BAY! (Not a real place, as any New Yorker can tell you.) I actually loved it, think Gretchen did too, but I know that I wouldn't have loved its harshness if I hadn't been all drugged up.
I have never had an Opioid since, unless with my bottom wisdom teeth, don't remember. I think not.
Having encountered addicts in recent years, I just think that this is so AVOIDABLE. Pharmaceutical companies want profit; hence crisis. Doctors aren't ideally responsible.
By the way, I am an enormous original Twin Peaks fan, but David Lynch is otherwise not for me. Though Kyle MacLachlan's arms in this poster are stellar!
