Ever since taking my last
prescription opioid dose on January 13, 2019, I have been searching for a word
that accurately describes the phase in which I now find myself. I’ve tried on many words to see how they fit,
but none of them feel accurate or befitting of the situation. Yes, I’m in a
period of recovery, not just from being off the opioids, but also from being
severely chronically ill. God willing, the latter will follow me into the
future, but regardless, “in recovery” isn’t specific enough for my liking.
There is the obvious word
“sober”, which means “not under the influence of drugs or alcohol” according to
the Encarta Dictionary. Perhaps in
error, but in all honesty, I find the opposite of this word to mean “drunk” or
“high”, and I never felt either of those things. I certainly felt numb and out
of it, but it was not a pleasant escape from reality. If anything, I associate
my time on opioids as a complete emotional void. From the outside, I may have
seemed high, but I never felt the enjoyment I think many find in the highs they
seek, despite the danger in which it puts them. I think true sobriety for an addict is much
harder to maintain than the absence of drugs I find myself enduring after being
drug dependent. I’m enjoying the lack of toxic chemicals in my body, and
“sober” just doesn’t fit my situation.
Then there is the word “clean”,
which means “with no illegal drugs; not containing or possessing illegal
drugs”. Over the 19 years I was on prescription opioids, I never pursued them
from the streets. That’s where the word “prescription” comes in; I always got
my medicine from a doctor and used it accordingly. Yes, there were times when I
would take an extra pill here or there, but that was the exception, not the
rule. In addition, to say I’m now “clean” infers that I was somehow, at some point,
“dirty”, and I was never what I would consider dirty. I was chronically ill and
dealing with chronic pain, neither of which made me unclean. I was suffering,
not sucia (dirty in Spanish.) Plenty of
people made me ashamed by my situation, and in that way I felt subpar, but
never dirty. So again, the word “clean”
doesn’t befit my situation.
Finally comes my least favorite
phrase, “on the wagon”, in contrast to being “off the wagon”, which implies
that one has failed to remain off their substance of choice. The last time I
was on or off a wagon was when I was about seven-years old and being pulled by
my dad to the Bexley fireworks on the 4th of July in the Radio Flyer
red wagon I shared with my baby brother.
There is nothing about this period of being off narcotics that reminds
me of that young time, with the exception of perhaps a hope that good things
can work out. However, I’m not on a wagon, red or otherwise, and this phrase
just doesn’t work for me.
After exhausting these
commonplace words and phrases, I began thinking about my true feelings at this
time. I feel satisfied, full and complete, as I freed myself from the tentacles
of drug dependence after so many years of chronic pain. I feel filled to the
brim with pride for my accomplishment, and humility for realizing that I could
never have done it without the support from my family, friends and most of all,
God. After nineteen years of drug dependence, my appetite for them is sated. I
am filled to the brim and ready to take on a new diet. Most of all, I feel
overwhelmed with a satisfaction that my life is better today than it has been
at any other time in the past two decades.
Thinking of these emotions, I
recalled a phrase my Nana used to say when she was feeling full and replenished
with a satisfying meal:
No thank you,
I’ve had my sufficiency!
Fully serrencified,
Clear up to my velosophinial.
Any more would be an indulgency.
Remembering
her sweet phrasing, of which serrencified appears in no dictionaries, I relate
this feeling to my past years of chronic pain and illness. I HAVE had my
sufficiency of the two, more than enough. And if I even HAVE a “velosophinial” at this point, and it
hasn’t been removed in one of my many surgeries, I am full of the pain and
chronic illness all the way up to it. At
this point, any more would be indulgency. I’ve spent enough time in bed, in
hospitals, on surgical tables, in doctors’ offices to last me into the next
millennium. I don’t want to jinx myself, but this feeling of being “serrencified” has given me the hope that
the future will see my health continue to improve, as suddenly I’m able to see the
light rather than having to penetrate through the pea soup fog of opioid
dependence with vision that didn’t exist.
Nana wasn’t
just my grandmother, she was my spiritual guide. She taught me to have empathy for others, to
learn from my mistakes and to journey forward with a positive attitude, no
matter the realities of the past. Looking back at these years of illness and
pain, I feel so fortunate to not just have survived, but to now be thriving, at
least emotionally. Physically, my body is healing a little each day, and it’s a
miracle to behold. More than anything, I feel her spirit speaking to me as I go
forward, feeling “serrencified” and
optimistic that my future will not be a continuation of my past, but rather a
new beginning.
This past
weekend, my mom and I were going through old photos, and I found a letter from
Nana written the Christmas of 1997, two years before I got ill. As I read it, I
could feel her spirit surrounding me, and a particular paragraph stuck out. At
the time, I wouldn’t have understood what she was truly saying, but after the
experiences I’ve had these past nineteen years, it now reads as if she had some
power to see what was to come. Now
sixteen years since losing her, I read it almost as prayer, and perhaps, a
prediction.
She wrote:
As we
continue to clean our lens of consciousness with love, we will one day look
back on the evolution of our growing and see how much cleansing has been going
on. We are already seeing how beautiful flowers of peace, love and compassion
grow from the compost of pain.
Amen, Nana… I
am “serrencified” and at peace knowing
you are watching over me.
Ella Fitzgerald sure knows how to sing about it in, "Someone to Watch Over Me".
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