I had oral surgery many years ago by an excellent crack squad army of professional surgeons. The lead doctor, a first-generation American-born citizen, was very proud of his family of immigrants who moved to Raleigh many years ago.
Perhaps you have been in this situation: the point, before the surgery, when the doctor explains how he will call your pharmacy following surgery with follow-up meds, including a pain killer.
I told him, like I tell every other doctor, I didn’t want a painkiller prescription. Not because I have a problem with medication; I am not a drug addict. My husband is not a drug addict. Decades ago, my husband and I decided to quit drinking alcohol—a decision we will never regret. And yes, the 12 Step Program is my lens, and dear to my heart. I simply don’t see the point of taking opioids when everyone knows they are highly addictive. I skip Advil and other headache medicine, too. Advil is bad for you and if you drink alcohol with it, even worse.
I tell people that I love my life, and I prefer to be awake and conscious of it.
So after I told my doctor I wouldn’t need the pain meds, he smiled, patted my arm and said, “It’s up to you if you don’t want to take them. ” He explained that part of being a doctor means supplying patients with the right pain meds. He’s doing his job of providing the right amount of pain prevention. But I don’t have to take them.
He was right. The government tracks this, keeping patients properly pain-medicated. Every doctor must supply a regulated level of pain management.
So, after the surgery, we drove home with two ice cream cups the nurse had provided.
When we got home, I crawled right into bed and fell asleep.
Hours later, my phone rang. My doctor was on a follow-up call and asked how I was feeling. I told him I was fine and my husband was getting more ice cream, cottage cheese–soft food– and soup for me at the grocery store.
He said he’d call back again in six hours to check in on me.
When the pharmacy called, I felt good enough to go with my husband to pick up my medication, including anti-infection meds.
Upon my arrival, I told the pharmacist that she didn’t need to give me the pain meds and that I wouldn’t be using them, and she shook her head and repeated what my doctor told me, that she needed to provide them to me because the doctor ordered them.
I told her I wouldn’t take them–meaning ingest them–and will never forget this part: She told me, in a gorgeous Caribbean accent: “Don’t leave them here!!”
She thought I would leave them on the counter or place them in the trash can, but I wouldn’t ever do that.
That’s when I knew she understood that opioids, from her POV and my doctor’s POV, are the big hot potato.
When we arrived home, I emptied the bottle into the toilet and flushed it down the toilet.
Mary Louise Penaz 
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