Oxycodone is both a lifesaver

and a total fucker. Last night, I took my final pill. I certainly have more, but I won't use them. Yesterday I felt the withdrawal effects of my gradual weaning: sandbags in the arms and legs, irritability, lethargy, runny nose. It's the runny nose that gets me. How repugnant.

(RIP Prince, beautiful music genius trapped in an odious pit of hell; I'm really, truly sorry you weren't able to claw yourself out).

The cavern inside my body is slowly knitting itself together and that just grosses me out. I don't mind the robot holes much, but that cavern... Occasionally, I'll feel a sharp menstrual-like cramp which serves to remind me that my guts are readjusting. Eew.

When I travelled England 25 years ago, my friends and I pulled our car onto the side of the road just in time to see a cow give birth to her calf. The cow was laying on her side, and after the farmer assisted in yanking the calf from its mothers body, he gave the cow two hard swats on the rump and yelled, "Hee-yaw!" The cow stood up and trotted off, a trail of warm blood leaking from her back end. Concerned, we questioned the farmer. He said that cows heal faster when they move.

I feel like that cow. Doctor's orders are to move, twist and use my full range of motion. And if I'm unable to, oxycodone is there to help. It's been four and a half days since my surgery and I'm walking around house, doing laundry, and picking things up off the floor. And today, I'm oxycodone-free! Victory!

Now let's celebrate with some pot!