Withdrawal

I've never smoked. (Or chewed, as you seem to have to add if you've been down South.) Never tried street drugs. Don't drink tea, coffee, or soda. Only a social, occasional drinker. Vegetarian, so I don't ingest any of the weird hormones in meat. I try to stay away from too many refined or processed foods, or too much high fructose corn syrup. And as I've mentioned, I avoid just about every OTC drug, and only take the prescribed ones under duress. At the hospital, under the guise of curiosity, I carefully ask the nurses about each of the colored pills in my "pre-med" cup...then discreetly pocket any of the "optional" drugs when they're not looking. The purloined pills are collecting in a pill bottle at home, symbol of a small act of defiance in the face of a forced battle.

As a result of all that, I don't know what it's like to crave nicotine, or alcohol, or caffeine. Or any drug, for that matter. When the soda machine would break down on the ship, after the canned sodas and Red Bulls sold out some 24 hours later, and the entire crew became noticeably crankier...I had no referential experiences with which to sympathize. I guess the closest I've come to a drug craving has been a couple times I was sick and doped up on cold medicine, afraid to space out the doses for fear of stuffing up my head again. And I'm pretty addicted to gum. I've gone on late-night, store-to-store "gum runs" before. Does that count?

But I've never gone through withdrawal. That, in my mind, was reserved for junkies in rehab, washed-up homeless thrashing on cots in a halfway house. So I was utterly unprepared for the fetal-position-inducing malaise that greeted me with unexpected suddenness last night. My whole body ached; I couldn't sleep, even though I was exhausted; my head throbbed; I almost blacked out trying to stand up; and wave after wave of nausea washed over me. In my 2 am state of mental frenzy and physical exhaustion, I tried to parse the symptoms. It didn't make sense: I'm used to unpleasant side effects, but normally the "even weeks" aren't that bad; and even when I do feel sick, it's usually only for the first day or two. This was early Sunday morning already.

Amidst the wracking of a bone-shattering headache, it at last occurred to me that I was suffering withdrawal symptoms from prednisone tapering. Because the body stops manufacturing the adrenal steroid that prednisone mimics, you have to gradually wean yourself off the drug. Otherwise, you risk a life-threatening situation. The nurses put me on a schedule for reducing my doses, and Friday I cut back for the first time by 25%. I'm immensely glad to be getting off this drug, if only because I hate being dependent on anything, let alone little round unassuming peach-colored pills, but my body has become so dependent on this crutch that it's not letting go without throwing a few temper tantrums in response.

I do not envy those endeavoring to break a long-held or deep-seated addiction, particularly when "relief" is as near as the closest cigarette, bottle, or coffee cup. It's remarkable to me that just six weeks can cause such a recalcitrant reaction to letting go (actually, your body stops producing the steroid after just 7 days of use), but it only further confirms my conviction not to take any drugs other than those absolutely necessary. Case in point: two of the anti-nausea drugs, which sit temptingly on my counter at home but are, as yet, untouched. They are highly addictive. Why risk it? I'd much rather beat back a grouchy stomach than face days of withdrawal, particularly if that withdrawal would be anything as bitter and clutching as this is proving to be.