I woke up Monday morning to terrible incapacitating back pain. It was those darn plates I had to haul for this wedding we attended the other day. So I called out and managed to find my way to the ER at Jefferson, where this Xena-type NP attended to me.

I really couldn't support my upper body without experiencing excruciating spasms across my back. After a series of tests and a cup full of pee, they got to my allergies: no aspirin, no morphine, no ibuprofen, no shellfish (and no pineapple, but they really weren't planning on giving me pineapple; shellfish, apparently, is important because if they ever give me dye for a scan, I might be allergic to the iodine in the die). So Valerie gave me Oxycontin -- opium to the developing world -- and ordered some chest xrays.

After about 15 minutes, no allergies had appeared and my back pain was reduced substantially. Only trouble was I felt like hurling for three hours. That afternoon when I took my second dose, I ended up with a mixing bowl full of regugitated swiss cheese, crackers and some coffee. When I started reading about Oxycontin, this painkiller I wasn't allergic to, I found out more about its addictive properties (Rush Limbaugh): it seems that it's one of few painkillers that increases it's painkilling effect as you up the dosage. Most painkillers will reach a threshold of effectivity; percocet won't. In the meantime, I'm not worried about addiction, unless I want to be throwing up every hour.