Facing My Greatest Fear

(I’m going to give you a heads up.  This is the longest post I’ve ever written [3,600+ words] – It’s a doozy.  So, it’s not for the faint of heart.  That being said, this is also the most important addiction piece I have ever composed.  It’s something I had to do.  And to give it justice, I feel like I needed to tell the whole story.  Cramming this experience into 1500 words or less just wasn’t going to work for me.) 

It’s not often you get the opportunity to face your biggest fear. 

I think this is something that we all wonder about but never visualize, or rarely encounter in an actual physical experience.  Because for many people, they are probably unsure of what their greatest fear actually is, or this is too ambiguous of an exercise for them to execute.  Plus, who really wants to spend a bunch of time analyzing their most potent weakness, that monstrous and most formidable foe waiting for us in the dark? 

But for me, there is no doubt about my elephant in the room, it’s concrete, breathing down my neck like a stalking lover and always on my mind.  There’s not a day that goes by when I’m not reminded of what my goal is: stay… the… fuck… “clean”.  If I don’t do that, then everything goes away. 

So, what is the greatest fear I faced? 

My former master, heaven and hell combined: opiates/opioids. 

— 

The Buildup 

The pain in my foot started like any other little thing, a slight nagging slowly growing into a constant inconvenience.  I wasn’t worried at first because I have a good track record with injuries. This would just go away like most things I thought.  But it didn’t.  I’d rest for several weeks and then start running again slowly like the doctor had advised, but the pain would always return. 

Finally, with the training-on-and-off-again-method not yielding any results, I took the next step.  Right as COVID-19 was beginning in March 2020, I had an MRI.  The results revealed I had fluid build-up in a major bone in my left foot.  Essentially, as it was explained to me, the bone was about to break at any time from a stress fracture, but it hadn’t yet. 

The doctor told me I had two options.  One, I could rest for months and hope it healed on its own.  If it didn’t, then I’d have a minor procedure.  Two, I could just do the minor procedure now, get it fixed and be done with it. 

I also had a decision to make on timing.  I was currently training for the biggest race of my life – Big Bear Lake Spartan Beast – 13.5 miles of brutal terrain and obstacles at a lung crushing altitude of 6,800 feet.  It was only two and a half months away and I needed to be at my best.  Was this enough time?  The doctor said yes.  If things went well, I could be running again in three to four weeks.  This was a really tight window, but I’m an ambitious guy.  Of course I was going to go for it.  You only live once, right? 

The Reckoning 

I need to be clear on context here.  When the doctor explained to me, I needed a minor procedure, he played this thing down BIG TIME, which in retrospect, I’m not happy about.  All he said was this would be a quick noninvasive fix, I come in and they drain the bone and then I’m out walking the same day.  I can be running again in less than a month if I heal well.  Fast, simple and convenient. 

So in my mind I’m envisioning, I come into the office, they numb me up, they stick some needles in my foot, bandage me up, I take a few weeks to heal and then I’m running in no time.  Easy peasy.  “I got this.” (My famous last words I utter and then my wife starts to get nervous because she knows the opposite is probably true.  Hahaha.) 

My first warning came from my father.  As I was debating what to do, and especially with COVID-19 beginning, I was telling him about the procedure I would schedule, and he was skeptical (he knows a lot more about medical than I do from his years of working in a hospital).  “Are you sure they are going into your bone?” he asked.  Yeah, yeah, yeah, I told him.  It’s a minor thing.  He countered that anything to do with draining a bone wouldn’t be a minor procedure.  I thought about it for a second, but then brushed it off. 

At the beginning of the next week, I called my doctor’s office to schedule my “appointment” for the procedure.  Notice how I haven’t said the word “surgery” up until this point.  This was a call that I would never forget. 

As I’m talking to the medical assistant over the phone, she’s going over the packet she’ll be sending me, and she mentions that I’ll have to schedule my blood work.  I pause and tell her there must be a misunderstanding, why would I need blood work prior to my appointment?  She replies nonchalantly as if it’s the most common thing in the world, “sir, you need blood work because you’ll be put under full anesthesia for your surgery.  They’ll have to open up your foot and drill into your bone.” 

And that’s when everything stopped.  Literally.  Icy tentacles seemed to drift up from the depth of my subconscious and wrap me in a debilitating fear blacker than midnight in a moonless sky. 

All I could think of were, I was going to be on painkillers.  This wasn’t good.  No, this was unacceptable.  They’d be putting me under, and that meant only one thing – Fentanyl. 

Good God, I thought.  This was it.  This was my greatest fear staring me right back in the face.  And it had crept up on me unaware, like a silent assassin shadowing its prey.  After three and a half years of rebuilding my life step by step, fighting and clawing to stay clean and sober in order to forge a new life from the ashes of my past, I was going to put it all on the line. 

The Internal Confrontation 

I’ll be honest, my first thoughts were of weakness, not strength.  I’ll just cancel it.  I’m not going to do the surgery.  Why even risk it?  I’m literally playing with fire here – the only thing in this world that I know for a fact can destroy my life in minutes and bring me to my knees. 

But the more I thought about it, I would only be putting off the inevitable.  There would come a time when this same scenario would play out.  And what would I do then?  Run away again?  No.  I’d draw the line in the sand here and now and make my final stand.  Was this pure stupidity or courage?  I didn’t know, but either way, the answer would present itself soon enough. 

And probably, there was also a sick and perverse hubris twisted deep down inside of me.  That reckless side of us that whispers to us in the dark to roll the dice and throw caution to the wind, that we can defeat anything that we put our minds to.  But this wasn’t a question of my mind, this was a question of my very existence, could I battle a physical, chemical dependency and come out on top? 

Because there’s a saying in the rooms and as addicts we know it rings with a truth so sharp it will cut you if you aren’t careful – as former junkies/alcoholics, we always know we have another relapse in us, that’s a given.  But the real question, is do we have another recovery?  Addiction takes such a toll on your body – physically, mentally and spiritually – that you just don’t know if you’ll be able to make it back. 

And for one of the few times in my life, I had no idea what was going to happen.  Sure, in a superficial sense, I was 50% confident, 20% delusional and 30% scared shitless out of mind and praying I wasn’t making the worst decision of my life.  Because I was literally in uncharted waters, and I hated it.  I hated every second of it.  I’m an alpha overachiever, yet I was utterly helpless in this situation and I had never experienced uncertainty like it before.  And it’s hard to put my fear into words, because words still just don’t do it justice.  But the dread and apprehension were physically debilitating, like a viper bite spreading poison throughout my body. 

The Surgery 

As I mentioned above, it’s challenging to describe the angst and buildup that led to my dance with fate on 4/23/20.  Because it’s one thing to face your demons head on, and its’ another to actually live through it to tell the tale: because the longer they aren’t fed, the hungrier they’ve become. 

But there I sat, filling out the forms at 6:30am in the surgery center, making sure to put a note to talk to the anesthesiologist before I was put under.  I had mentally prepared myself to tough it out.  I was a survivor; I had an extremely high pain tolerance.  I had come to a solution in my mind:  I’d just be a badass and not take any painkillers.  There, the problem was solved. 

What a fucking fool I was… 

And then there was work.  I had told my boss I was having surgery on Thursday and would be out Friday.  He was fine with it (as I’ve mentioned in previous posts, I don’t work for the most intelligent and caring superior.)  But as the week progressed, an emergency presentation was needed on a project for the president of the entire US region.  All of sudden my procedure and time off was forgotten even though I kept reminding my boss.  Then a final call was set for 2pm of the afternoon of my surgery and I was expected to present the next morning at 9am. (If it wasn’t clear, this is the point when you should realize you need to leave this job.) 

Fuck it, I thought.  There was nothing more I could do.  I’d just see how the surgery went and take it from there.  Things were outside of my control now. 

So, when I found myself laying down on my pre-surgery bed and the nurse was putting in my IV, I asked her when I would be done with my surgery.  She looked at her watch, “it’s 7am now,” she said.  “You’ll probably be done by 11am and picked up by noon.”  She smiled down at me and asked, “why?” 

“I have a work call at 2pm I have to be on,” I said. 

I’ll never forget her look of bewilderment as I said this, she stared at me for a moment as if we were speaking two entirely different languages.  Then she laughed like what I had said was the silliest thing in the world, “no, no, no, honey.  You won’t be working at all today.  You’ll be put under.  You understand this, right?  There’s no way you’ll be coherent.  You’re having full surgery.” 

I nodded to her in response as if I understood.  But inside I was thinking, sure, for a normal person she was correct.  But she had no clue who she was talking to.  If I said I was going to get something done, I got it done. 

Finally, the anesthesiologist came to see me.  We discussed my note and that I was an addict in recovery and opiates had been my drug of choice.  She said she could lessen the Fentanyl but advised against it.  I told her, yes, lessen the Fentanyl and I would deal with it and not take any pain killers after.  She probably thought I was crazy but agreed. 

Soon I would realize my arrogance, and what a wrong move I had made… 

A Crimson Agony 

When I woke up from surgery, I have never felt worse pain in my life, and I have felt some serious pain in my day.  The nurse asked if I wanted a Norco.  “Yes,” I said.  I didn’t hesitate.  I didn’t even flinch.  If I could have screamed YES at her, I would have.  After 25 minutes she asked how I was feeling.  “I’m still in extreme pain,” I replied.  She asked if I wanted another and I accepted. 

Here’s the interesting part.  I had a nerve block so I shouldn’t have been in that much pain.  But I was.  And there wasn’t a single thought or fear in me about addiction at this point.  There wasn’t any room for it, there was only pain.  I needed to be numb.  Maybe my tolerance to pain killers put me at a disadvantage here, I don’t know.  But what I do know, is that I wasn’t groggy at all.  I was fully awake, functional and could feel my foot like it had been cut in half. 

When I got home, my wife helped me get seated at my computer with my foot elevated and then left to get my prescriptions.  It was 12:30pm.  I had an hour and half before my call. 

Things were shaping up nicely, but then our good ol’ medical system had to get in the way.  After a battle with our pharmacy and numerous doctor calls, my wife was finally able to get my prescription filled at 3:30pm – 3 hours later than the originally promised 15 minutes.  Apparently because I had been prescribed both Percocet and Norco, they thought this was excessive and didn’t want to fill them even though I had just come out of surgery and they talked to the PA, which baffles me.  Literally fucking baffles me.  We claim our country is so advanced, yet when a patient is in their most pain, right out of surgery, I couldn’t even get my medication.  That is fucking insane to me!  If you’ve read my blog before, you know my gripe with the medical community, so I’ll leave it at that.  Once again, they failed me with flying colors. 

So, after my call at 2pm, which I handled like a pro, I was finally able to get some pain relief when my wife got home at about 3:45pm. 

Now, here’s the thing with work (I know what you’re thinking.  What the fuck was I doing?  I should have been resting!  And you’re right.)  It was unacceptable what happened.  There was no way I should have been working and I knew it.  I should have said, “fuck you corporate America.”  And cancelled everything.  And for a while I didn’t understand why I hadn’t.  Was I that weak?  No, I knew that wasn’t the answer.  So why the fuck would I consciously do something like that?  I mean, I was high as fuck, but that’s not an excuse for me.  Because as I’ve done that my entire life, I operate at an even higher level when I’m high, and that’s how it played out again.  I killed the call, worked all night on my presentation in the worse pain I’d ever experienced and high as a kite on Percocet and Norco.  Got up early the next day, took my pills and knocked out my presentation to the higher ups as if everything was normal.  I slayed that fucking project like a badass mother fucker when I was at my worst and most vulnerable. 

But the real question is why?   Why the fuck would I ever do that to myself? 

And now, after almost three months of reflection.  I know the answer.  I didn’t say no to work, because I desperately needed the distraction.  I was so scared out of my mind to be pumped full of Fentanyl and hooped up on Percocet and Norco, that I’d do anything… anything… even fucking idiotic presentations to keep my mind off that fear!  It gives me chills to write this and understand that I had subconsciously been that desperate, that I had chosen to work instead of rest.  Because the cold hard truth, I didn’t know what was going to happen, and I was too frightened to be alone with myself. 

The Recovery 

Probably the most pressing question on everyone’s mind is: did you enjoy being high again? 

And at first, my answer is even bewildering to myself… No.  Because it never felt like I was high.  The pain was too great, and I was literally scared shitless that withdrawals would kick back in.  And as an addict, not feeling high, when on the drug of my choice, is a contradiction.  So maybe the pain itself, is who I have to thank.  Without that mind-numbing anguish maybe I’m typing a different story from a different place. 

But we don’t worry about what could have been.  We thank our lucky stars and move on, because life is too short to overanalyze every dance with the devil. 

The entire next week was hell because the pain was so intense.  I hadn’t been prepared for that.  Drilling into the bone is no fucking joke and I learned this the hard way.  But I took my meds on time and as prescribed.  I wanted to stop taking them as soon as possible, but it was five whole days before I could stand the pain without them.  And then I was done. 

But near the end of day five, when the pain was finally lessening, the opioids took on a different effect.  It was like seeing an old childhood friend from long ago – that one playmate that you’d always get in trouble with and your parents didn’t want you to hang out with, but you had so much fun together – and the temptation was there, slowly seeping into me.  It will always be there, but I used the drugs as prescribed and then cut them off.  I said goodbye to that old friend and told him to never come around again.  Hopefully those days of torment are still behind me forever. 

However, waking up that sixth day was the real test. This was the moment of truth that I had been waiting for – dreading if I’d feel the turkey coming on. I walked around all that morning on pins and needles just waiting for the first sign of body aches, nausea and constipation to kick in.  But they didn’t.  I thanked my lucky stars and the relief was like being swallowed by an ocean wave of Euphoria.  No withdrawals.  No hell to endure.  No dragon claws of opiate sickness to evade.  The tide was turning.  I just might be safe… 

So, if you happen to be out there and about to face your own greatest fear.  Know that it can be done.  It’s possible to look your demons in the eye and live to smile another day.  We can always rise to the occasion and push farther than we ever thought possible.  I know that you can, because I have done the same. 

An Ode to my Brethren 

I’m going to close this reflection with a word to the wise.  You have to own your own recovery.  Literally.  And don’t fool yourself into taking risks that should be avoided at all costs.  No one can carry your cross but you. 

Because normal people don’t understand what a thin line exists between sobriety and death.  It doesn’t take much to slip.  It doesn’t take much to dream of an escape in a moment of weakness.  And especially with Fentanyl flooding the streets today, I’ve watched too many fall because they fell victim to only-one-more-time thinking – and that drug is so fucking potent it’s unbelievable.  I thank my lucky stars it wasn’t popular when I was still in the throes of my disease.  But the scariest part is, you never know who is next.  Because there will always be someone next.  You just do your best to make sure it isn’t you. 

The other thing is how blinding success can be.  People start to take your sobriety for granted.  They see you doing well and forget that it’s a daily grind to keep yourself where you are… just to keep yourself functional.  They don’t see all the time and work behind the scenes it takes to keep that dream alive. 

And unfortunately, it’s those closest to us, it’s those who see how far we’ve come that can be the most blind of all.  I’ll leave you with one final example. 

When my wife was picking up my prescriptions, I told her it was best if she handled my pills.  And she replied to me, “I trust you.” 

And I wanted to scream at her, “It has nothing to do with trust!”  But I didn’t.  I stayed quiet.  Because I was uncertain myself.  This was unknown territory for me and when that chemical starts singing in your veins all bets are off. 

And that shocked me to my core.  It reminded me how quickly appearances, things on the outside can lead to complacency.  Because you are the only one living with your addiction.  You’re the only one that feels it sleeping, waiting, and watching you from afar, just waiting for that one single chance of neglect. 

So, don’t do yourself an injustice and pat yourself on the back.  Stay vigilant and alert.  Breathe the humility in and out likes it’s your last breath.  And own your own recovery.  Because no one else will. 

-Q-FI 

— 

If you’re an addict/alcoholic out there and in need, help is closer than you might think.  Always feel free to reach out to me and I’m here to talk.  For the non-afflicted, have you ever faced your greatest fear?  If so, what happened?