details of the three days at Methodist (not edited)

as I furiously pressed the nursie button, I became angry when some fat slob of a nurse would saunter in and look at me in judgment of my screaming as they refilled another syringe with Percocet / Percodan (??). I was angry because I did not have a broken bone. MY BACK ITCHES! They hated that I would keep my clothes on. They made me itch. I couldn't take the pain, the pain. And another syringe of nothing. In my ass becasue I would not lie on my back. I would scream and scream Those poor nurses.

"What about that drug that worked so well in the emergency room?" "What drug?" "I dunno. I just took it and I slept. I should be on the chart."

Turns out it wasn't on the chart and the floor nurses were as bewilldered as I was. They were given to understand I was just some rich white girl coming off of a drug that they could not identify. But one day. two days, three days and I was still screaming. It seemed a little excessive. I wonder if the nurses finally called the doctor in.

"You tested positive for benzodiazepines," he said. "What's that," I asked as I squirmed. The nurses wouldn't let me lift the sheets away from my back with the doctor in the room. It was like having an audience with the king. This rich white girl is not impressed. This is the same doctor who forgot about me for three days. The same doctor who remarked something about he was busy and really a surgeon and he couldn't be sure what my alternative doctor had done for me. Turns out, my holistic doctor did nothing but take my money but at least he examined me and didn't stand there in judgment and look down on me, like I was being interrogated by Darth Vadar.

"It's valium," the giant doctor said. "That must be what the nurse in the ER gave me." There was nothing in the record. I pleaded, "But it worked!" "It's addictive," he declared. "Percocet is not addictive? It's not helping at all." "What are you on?" he demanded. I don't remember what happened next. I imagine I got infuriated and a round of spasms that I had been trying to hold back while being tortured by the sheets came on. Maybe Darth Doctor recorded the long scream of pain or maybe he ran out of the room. Perhaps the nurses told him to leave. They had been watching this for three days. No drug withdrawal lasts three days. Everyone knows that. Even the stubborn surgeon. I soon had a script for valium.

Three days later, my body was calm enough to handle a wheelchair ride to a car and then a ride home. I walked to the hospital. I even ate a burrito along the way. I had to wheeled out.