I'm particularly susceptible to codeine. Any sort of opiate thing, in fact, and I don't tend to get along terribly well. They gave me morphine after a surgical procedure once and the intense vomiting that occurred moments later is post-op legend. But codeine is morphine's saccharine cousin. I'm sick, need to sleep and not cough all night so I carefully ladle out the dose prescribed - not more - and wait.
Last night I did the same and The Wash was quick and strong. About ten minutes after having slipped into bed the itching began. This is apparently a sign that I've got a wee allergy but I don't mind it. It's indicative that the sleep is coming and that's what I crave.
Deep, relaxing slumber - a sick girls best friend.
My face began to itch, my nose and my chest, my legs and feet. The itching rolls across my skin like a weird "Hello" and I know that behind it is a pull down into blissful rest. I slept so well last night that I probably built up tonight's rest too much.
I dosed myself, again exactly the right amount - never more. I climbed into bed and waited. I waited some more. Soon I realized it had been 30 minutes with no sign.
I rolled over and considered why I might not be sleeping. The addiction demon on my shoulder encouraged me to TAKE SOME MORE. I get the addiction demon very honestly from my father's side of the family. He comes out when I'm out drinking apparently also. I try not to listen to him because he's real and he destroys lives. Also opiates can stop you from breathing so I definitely ignore him in terms of medicine. But that lure, the idea that "just some more" is starting to pull.
I remind myself that while codeine isn't morphine it's a bad thing to take too much of any medicine. I remind myself that they give you morphine when you die and eventually it helps your body forget to breathe. Codeine is also an opiate, I remind myself, and everyone reacts to drugs differently. "You don't want to be one of those people who died in 2016 and everyone thinks is so great now that your'e dead," I tell myself and roll over again.
The problem begins to gnaw at me as I cough again, and again. Dry coughs, the kind that hurt and are small, but shouldn't exist if my cough medicine would just kick in. I want to sleep, why am I listening to Miles sing in the next room?
I want to sleep. I want the deep dark night to pull me into it and out of this terrible sickness for a few hours. I want escape. I drank the thing that said drink me. Now please, take me out of here.
It was right about then, when my mind was twisting with frustration over it's lack of sleep that I woke up. My husband was placing his hand on my forehead to check my fever, and to check on me to see if I was alright.
I had been asleep all along.