A friend told me her Mom has been much better lately, since she began using Fentanyl patches. (I had to tell her how to correctly pronounce "Fentanyl," and what it is.)
She told me she's proud that her Mom is less dependent on pills, an extremely subtle way of calling me a pseudo-addict pussy because I have to gobble massive quantities of orally administered medicine each day.
"My Mom looks at things differently."
Her Mom uses foot baths to help relieve her pain.
My friend equates her Mom feeling better with her Mom's decreased intake of narcotic pills.
She's right to do so. Her Mom can take fewer pills because her Mom is now on a drug hundreds of times more powerful than morphine. And than what I take.
My friend hates pharmaceuticals. Hates pills. Hates her Mom.
My friend ascribes her Mom's recent pain-decrease to her Mom's sunnier disposition. And to foot baths.
Not to the most powerful narcotic known to humanity.
This narcotic -- Fentanyl: so strong it's dosages are in micrograms, not milligrams -- has allowed Mom to have a sunnier disposition by decreasing her pain. Fentanyl has allowed Mom to take foot baths because now she can sit up for long periods without squirming in pain.
...I remain closed-minded and refuse to swap my pills for smiles, foot baths and Fentanyl. I'm doing all right with much weaker stuff (and a smile is a gateway expression) except for a drooling, teeth-grinding, fist-clenching hatred for fuckwad naturopaths who haven't heard of fibro but know I can be cured. And tell me how after I make it clear I'd rather not hear how.
Suggested cures have always involved something a fibromyalgian should never be subjected to, like chiropractic (for this example): someone applying crushing force directly to one's trigger/tender points.
If chiro cures fibro, then I expect to be able to cure broken bones by attacking fractures with sledgehammers.
...Jesus. I need a smile and a foot bath.
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