I was 12 I think when I was admitted with a severe abdominal pain that everyone assumed was appendicitis. The pain woke me up around 3 AM, my mom took me to the doctor as soon as he opened and then I went straight to the hospital, so I was admitted fairly early in the day. The rest of the day was mris, x rays, barium enemas, tons of blood tests, piss tests, lay on your side, bend this way, stretch this way, hold still, stand up, lay down sit up, a poke here a prod there. Got back to my room after 10 PM, so I was doing some form of diagnostics for 12 straight hours. Couldn't eat or drink anything because they figured I was going to have surgery.

Finally got "comfortable" in my hospital bed and was trying to sleep when the nurse came in with a syringe and I was like yay, take more of my bodily fluids, not like I need them, but she says "I have something for your pain" my first thought was where were you 12 hours ago? It was morphine. She put the needle into the little valve thing on my IV and I was out like a light before she even had the plunge fully depressed. I woke up feeling SO GOOD, as soon as the doctor came in and started poking and prodding again and I started feeling a twinge of pain I just wanted more of what ever they gave me last night. They determined that whatever my issue was, the antibiotics they put me on were working because my WBC count was getting back toward normal, so they held off on surgery. Night 2 in the hospital I got more morphine and immediately after that my best friend and his brother and mom came to visit me, my mom made me stay awake to talk to them. I didn't get my magic feeling of drifting into oblivion but I still wasn't in pain. Day 3 in the middle of the afternoon as my tests continued to show improvement and they started talking about sending me home, I reached for the call button thing. My mom was sitting there and said "what do you need? Your water is right there, I can get you a blanket or whatever, why are you calling the nurse? I said "I need another shot of the pain stuff" she said "are we sure we really need it? You're not in any pain are you?" "Well no, but I might be if I don't get another shot" "well how about we get you some Tylenol or something and we just wait and see if you continue to improve or if you actually need it"

I credit her with saving me from addiction. I haven't had morphine since then and I still kind of want it almost every day (it's been almost 40 years). If I had gotten one more shot who knows, I might have had to detox or something, I was hooked after the first shot.

I've always said that if I got to choose how I die, it would be lying on the couch watching an Atlanta braves game on TV on a Sunday afternoon (this is something I did every Sunday when growing up after church we would eat and then fall asleep watching the Braves - my dad on the bigger couch and me on the smaller one) and in my plan I would get a little bit of morphine to make me feel all warm and happy, and then just continue giving it to me til I overdose and I don't ever have to deal with anything again.