Some people have asked me since I’ve been back from the hospital to post my reactions to morphine. I’m happy to oblige. The closest thing I had ever taken to it is Demerol, way back in 1966 when I had an adventure with a cop in South Carolina that resulted in the fourth finger of my left hand being temporarily separated from my body. Needless to say, the Demerol helped a lot. Of course, I had tried a fair number of recreational drugs in the sixties and seventies (I must have thought I would live forever – talk about changed views!), including opium, also close in feeling to the morphine, but I always drew the line at “skin-popping” of any sort. Something about the needle freaked me out.
Anyway, at Cedars Sinai they deliver post-operative morphine the old “Frankie Machine” way — via injection.(I suppose they want to discourage the addiction that comes from those IV drips.) I had a couple or three that sent me on some interesting trips. Maybe it’s the detective writer in me, looking for clues, but I tend to go into the past in such situations. I remember one particular acid trip during which I thought I was one of the Marx Brothers in Duck Soup. (Well, I guess I wasn’t looking for clues there, just pure joyous insanity.) This time I kept going back to my father’s office in New York when I was a boy circa 1950. My father was a doctor and I spent a lot of time visiting hospitals with him while he was making rounds, so the association was there. Also, we had had a testy relationship that I have always wanted to resolve and in these reveries he was very close and loving. But there was something more, I figured out the MacGuffin of the book I am writing. Yes, it is a non-fiction memoir but it still has a MacGuffin. I am structuring the book somewhat as a mystery – the mystery of why I changed my views and others haven’t. I found a key in the past, my little Rosebud. But I won’t say what it was. That will have to wait for the book. [Why don't you get to work on it? -ed. Hey, gimme a break. I just had an operation.]
I had three major surgeries over a 12-month period and as a result, more morphine than I can remember, but I never had a relevatory experience like yours. Or if I did, I don’t remember it, which would be worse! I congratulate you on finding the silver lining to needing morphine injections, and I wish you a speedy and complete recovery.
As one of my friends used to say: “Wow man…COSMIC!“ I’m glad to see you’re doing better and can relate such stories.
My trips to the Twilight Zone were during some corneal transplants I had done in 1984 (right eye) and in 1986 (left eye). I don’t know what those guys at the U of M gave me, but it heightened my awareness of things to such a level, I thought I was a telepath or something. It was a WEIRDDD feeling indeed.
Here’s hoping your book is as good as The Man With the Golden Arm, and thank you for the allusion. My father grew up on those streets.
And, of course, more wishes for continued smooth progress with your recovery.
Never mind your morphine dreams, I want to hear about the adventure with the South Carolina cop (perhaps in the book?).
I’ve never required more than a Vicodin (knock wood), but I did have some limited experience with “recreational” hallucinogens back in the day. I always kind of envied people who went “tripping”. The closest I ever came was watching It’s A Mad, Mad, Mad World on TV with three friends and we were lying on the floor because we literally were laughing so hard we couldn’t maintain upright positions. Gee, those were the days.
Anyhow, your morphea induced trip to the past sounds like it was quite productive. I look forward to reading.
I just recently [seven weeks ago now] had open heart surgery whereby my heart was rebuilt with spare parts from my leg. Comparing it to my Army experiences, it is similar to being shot in the chest with an AK-47 and then for good measure having someone hack up your leg with a machete.
I was on morphine for 3 days as far as I remember…but unfortunately I don’t remember much, except for the aliens from planet Xenon who visited me. Not to exciting.
Roger,
Welcome back.
And yes, for the acutely injured and opiate naive, morphine can have a variety of unintended, but wholly negative effects.
Here:…” (I suppose they want to discourage the addiction that comes from those IV drips.)”
Um, no.
The risk of making someone an “addict” is exceedingly low, or rare.(Porter J, Jick H. Addiction rare in patients treated with narcotics. N Engl J Med 1980; 302: 123)
In the acute setting, there is even low risk of developing dependency, let alone addiction.
The reasons for and against using IV morphine are many. One way to give IV morphine is through a pump, often via so-called “Patient Controlled Analgesia” or PCA-pump, where the patient triggers the delivery of the drug, when they want, within, of course, set parameters.
In any case, good cheer all around.
Wishing you a full and speedy recovery.
MTT
I remember the psychadelic days of college and the drugs but when I had my surgery I was convinced that the weeping young woman in the bed next to mine was an Irish princess and her tears were tears of lost love. I never took anything anywhere anytime that messed me up anymore than the morphine.
I’d like to hear the South Carolina story too, sounds interesting.
Do get well soon.
So what do you have to take to get into the Il Trovatore scene from A Night at the Opera?
I had a nice week on LorTab back in early November.
I had a root canal courtesy of the US Navy. No problem there. However, I couldn’t get an appointment to get the crown before the tooth split (we’re talking more than a month here). So they extracted it. It is NOT a good sign when you sit down in the chair, and they BLINDFOLD you before they go to work. With chisels.
As for effects on me, I felt absolutely no pain whatsoever. I was expecting it to put me to sleep, but I ended up completely wired and was up until 4am the day of the “surgery”/excavation.
I was too “up”* to rest or even read quietly, so I ended up becoming a blogger (non-political), though I still have yet to write on the evils of government health care.
* The way I would describe the feeling would be along the lines of drinking about 5 espressos using ephedrine as a heavy creamer.
I had morphine for kidneystones. After 12 hours of shopping ER’s all over Manhattan, I finally got into NYU, where I waited another 3 hours before a huge intern shot me up to my great relief.
I passed the stone about 10 minutes later, and after some tests I went out for some beers. There’s really nothing in my experience finer than morphine.