About two years ago, I needed laparoscopic surgery to have my gall bladder removed. Nothing serious; preventative, after a few benign bulges were found on the bladder during an ultrasound scan. The whole thing took only three little holes on the right side on my navel, and—after some tubes with tiny cameras attached were inserted and then yanked out of my body—just a few stitches.
Prior to the surgery, I'd requested to all who would listen—the surgeon, the anesthesiologist, the nurses—that I receive no prescriptions for any post-op pain medications. I had been through rehab for alcoholism two years before the surgery, and I was acutely aware of my inability to responsibly self-medicate. Give me one pill, one line, one drink, and I want 10.
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