Taming Cross

Her face draws up, and I kind of want to quit talking. I’m not sure if I can handle her pity. I chew another piece of sausage, and it seems like her whole body goes still as she watches me.

“I went under on a Tuesday in March. But, I guess since I had had so much anesthesia and so many drugs, somehow something was off with me. They didn’t get me all the way under, and I remember the first part of the surgery.”

Her hand goes to her mouth and her green eyes widen, but she doesn’t interrupt.

“The last thing I remember is when they noticed. They told me it was an hour and seventeen minutes in. They upped the juice, and I finally went out. When I woke up, my neck was in a brace and the pain…” I swallow, almost convulsively. “It was terrible. Whatever he had done had irritated things more. I’m not sure what. Nobody knows what, because there’s so much back there that’s messed up.” I chew on my lip, then stop because I notice it’s already scabbed. I inhale. Exhale. Keep on going. I’ve never had to tell this to anybody. Lizzy and Suri were both there.

“I couldn’t take that kind of pain, not all the time like that. So they went in again. My doctor and another dude from New York. They did a better job, and when I woke up, I was able to back down on the Dilaudid a little bit. It wasn’t constant—the pain, I mean. It would get really irritated like once a week. The other times, the arm would tingle but it wouldn’t hurt.

“Well I was still inpatient, in a rehab facility. And when you’re inpatient, it takes a long time for doctors and nurses to make decisions for you. So if I had a flare-up on a Thursday, they’d keep me on the heavy dose of Dilaudid until maybe Tuesday—long enough so everyone signing off on things felt sure. Maybe Wednesday and Thursday would be taper-down days. And then maybe I’d have another attack on Friday.”

Her eyebrows arch. “So you were on something all the time.”

I nod. “Yeah. I never had a week without a pain attack, so I was always on the Dilaudid. I was never really conscious. I just…” I rub my face. “I couldn’t remember anything. On the days I got the most, I would just…float. And it reminded me of being in a coma again.”

I glance at Meredith. Her face is a mask of sympathy.

“Eventually they backed it down, and I went through withdrawal. I wanted to go off it, but I couldn’t stand the pain without it. When I would do PT for my hand and hip—I hurt my hip, too—they would have to give me some more in my IV before they even wheeled me down to the PT room. It just hurt too fu— fracking much. I went home with an oral prescription for it, and I thought I could do it different than they did in rehab. I would try not to take it unless I knew it was going to have a pain attack. So I went home and I didn’t take it.” I laugh. “When I wouldn’t take it, I’d flip my shit. Start seeing things and hearing things. I’d get all achy like I had the flu and I’d get really sick to my stomach.

“So after a while of that, I went back to taking it. I just took it like they told me to. Every day. I couldn’t drive, and I couldn’t ride a bike. I didn’t even have the energy to do PT. Sometimes between doses I would get edgy and my mind would do weird shit. Other times I would forget to get it refilled.

“That’s what happened. I had two different strengths of Dilaudid—one was kind of a top-off dose for when my usual dose didn’t deal with the pain, to help me avoid having to go to the ER for IV meds. One night I got a bad headache and I had forgotten to re-fill my regular dose. I had one more of those weaker pills left, so I took it and of course it didn’t work. I should have had a few more of them to take before I took the stronger dose. I should only have taken one of the stronger dose, and I did that, but it wasn’t enough since I hadn’t had enough of my regular dose. So I took another one of the strong pills. And I guess this was a really bad headache, or maybe I had just built up a tolerance to the Dilaudid…because that didn’t work either. I think the problem was that I had no idea how to deal with pain. I had never had any pain management, so I couldn’t take it.”

I suck on the inside of my cheeks, staring at the table because I don’t want to look at her.

“I called my pain doc but I didn’t get a callback right away and it was three in the morning. I got into the shower with the water on scalding and it helped for a second, but pretty soon the pain was back. I tried cutting the underside of my bicep with a razor blade just as a distraction. It didn’t work, so I called the doctor again and when I didn’t get him, or one of my friends, I took another Dilaudid. Which didn’t work…so then I took another one. Remember this was the top-off dose. One for an emergency, in case the regular dose wasn’t working. So I took…three or four. I guess I passed out. I don’t know. But the friend I had called couldn’t get me when she tried to call me back, so she called my doctors, and when no one could get me a few of them came over.”

The friend was Lizzy, and she still won’t talk about that night. I look down, remembering how upset she was, and when I look up Merri is a few steps closer. Her eyes are wide, concerned, like it’s not the past but happening right now. “What happened?” she murmurs.

I look her in the eye. “I almost died.” A morose laugh escapes my lips. “Again.

“After that I said no more Dilaudid. I had to find a way to tolerate it without. Something that wouldn’t f**k me up every day and make it impossible to live.” I shrug. “So I tried a bunch of different shit, and in the end, I learned to meditate.”

Merri is frowning, shaking her head like she’s protesting something unfair. “But that didn’t work.”

I frown back. “What do you mean it didn’t work?”

“The other day. Yesterday. You were still in so much pain.”

I shrug. “Well, yeah. But you don’t see me trying to jump out any windows or light my hair on fire.”

Her lips pull together and her eyes shimmer with tears. “No, Evan,” she says thickly, “but is that the only goal?”

I blink at her. I’m so shocked by her reaction that I don’t know what to say. “It only happens every few weeks.”

Her eyes widen, spilling a tear down her cheek. “And that’s it? There’s nothing they can do for you?”

“It might get better over time.”

“Could you try another surgery?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know of a doctor who could do things differently than mine did.”

“Have you looked?”

I stand up, drumming my fingers on the table as my left arm hangs beside me: Illustration A. “No. I mean, what does it matter? It’s pain, not cancer.”