I spent the rest of the day, including not driving home, in a very agreeable sort of pink tinged haze of well-being with added unicorns.
Today I phoned my medical student son to get the case notes decoded. I’m disgustingly fit for seventy. “How did you like the Fentanyl?”, he asked.
So that was what it was!
Well, it’s lovely stuff. Charles tells me it’s 100 times more potent than morphine, that all soldiers carry Fentanyl “lollipops” in their medical kits and every army on the planet has issues with them going missing.
My fear of dying has become a fear of not dying in a hospital bed connected up to a Fentanyl drip.
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