Shame and anger in overuse illnesses

“amongst those who treat addicts of any kind generally agree that anger and shame help no one and is actively counter-productive.”*

Wait.

I have to think about that statement.

I do not agree at all.

Ok, for the physician/ARNP/PAC, anger at the patient and shaming the patient are not good practice, don’t work, and could make them worse. BUT anger and shame come up.

In many patients.

Sometimes it goes like this with opioid overuse: the person shows up, gets on buprenorphine, and is clean.

It may be a long time since they have been “clean”.

One young man wants to know WHY I am treating him as an opioid overuse patient. “Why are you treating me like an addict?”

I try to be patient. I recommended that he go inpatient, because I don’t think we will cut through the denial outpatient. Very high risk of relapse. “You have been buying oxycodone on the street for more than ten years.”

“I’ve been buying it for back pain, not to party.”

“Did you ever see a doctor about the back pain?”

“Well, no.”

“Buying it illegally is one of the criteria of opiate overuse.”

“But I’m not an addict! I’ve never tried heroin! I have never used needles!”

“We can go through the criteria again.”

He shakes his head.

He is in denial. He is fine. He doesn’t need inpatient. He is super confident, gets work again, is super proud.

And then angry. “My family still won’t talk to me!”

“Um, yes.”

“I’m clean. I’m going to the stupid AA/NA groups! Though I don’t need to. I’m fine!”

“What have you noticed at the groups?”

“What a bunch of liars!” he says, angry. “There are people court ordered there and they are still using! I can tell. They are lying through their teeth!”

“Obvious, huh?”

“Yeah!”

“Did you ever lie while you were taking the oxycodone?”

Now he ducks his head and looks down. “Well, maybe. A little.”

“Do you think your family and friends could tell?”

He glances up at me and away. “Maybe.”

“Your family may be angry and may have trouble trusting you for a while.”

“But I’ve been clean for four months!”

“How many years did you tell untruths?”

“Well.”

Shame and anger. Anger from the family and old friends, who have heard the story before, who are not inclined to trust, who are hurt and sad. The first hurdle is getting clean, but that is only the first one. Repairing relationships takes time and some people may refuse and they have that right! Sometimes patients are shocked that now that they are clean, a relationship can’t be repaired. Or that it may take years to repair. My overuse folks are not exactly used to being patient. And sometimes as they realize how upset the family and friends are, they are very ashamed. And some are very sad, at years lost, and friendships, and loved ones. I have had at least one person disappear, to relapse, after describing introducing someone else to heroin. He died about two years later, in his forties.

Shame and anger definitely come up in overuse illness.

The above is not a single patient, but cobbled together from more than one.

______________________

*from an essay titled “F—ing yes, I’m a fatphobe” on everything2.com. Today there are two with that title. The quotation is from the second essay.

Shoulder that pain

Disarmed

unarmed

armless

without my right hand

unhandy

unable to shoulder much

diminished

injured

wounded

tendonitis

inflamed

irritated

limited

reduced range of motion

careful

out of reach

guarded dancing

sinister takes over

left fills in

ow

______________

I am going through physical therapy for a right biceps tendonitis. I have to pay attention not to make it worse, all that automatic reaching for things. I wrote this thinking about the word disarmed.

I am listening to Chess Blues vol. 4 1960-1967.

Qia and the monsters

Qia is three. She is scared.

“Don’t be scared or go to your room.”

Qia wants help. She is scared of the monster, FEAR, the giant monster, but her father won’t listen. She sniffles and tries, but she can’t stop crying. She goes to her room, because her father has turned his back. Her mother is drawing. They are busy. They don’t like it when she is scared.

FEAR is enormous and pushes into the room with her. She cries harder in her room with the door closed. No one can hear her now except FEAR. FEAR is large and has horrible drippy teeth and too many arms and keeps swatting at her. Qia gives up and lets FEAR swat her. She sits on the bed with her knees up and puts her head on her arms.

FEAR rages around her room.

After a while Qia is tired of crying. She lifts her head off her arms.

FEAR is smaller. Still bigger than her father, bigger than her mother, but just standing and looking at her. FEAR looks tired too.

Qia pats the bed beside her. FEAR hesitates and looks scared. Qia waits. FEAR shuffles over and sits beside her on the bed.

The room is very quiet. Qia finds a scrap of tissue and blows her nose. She looks sideways at FEAR.

FEAR’s head is down and FEAR seems to be crying. Qia reaches out and takes FEAR’s paw. One of the paws. There are a lot.

FEAR holds her hand tightly and then leans against her. Qia wiggles over a bit more to give FEAR room. FEAR sighs and then snuggles down onto the bed, massive drippy toothy head in Qia’s lap.

Qia strokes FEAR’s fur. It is very soft and dark purple.

FEAR is the first monster that Qia makes friends with. There are many more.

_________________

I was thinking about this story even before the Ragtag Daily Prompt: bugbear.

Soup of tears

It’s time to write an ending to a story.
Let go of those calling me word twister.
The ending is dark, sad, devoid of glory.
The one who named me twister was my sister.
She has been dead a decade. I still miss her
except for the calls of money gone awry.
The cousins whitewash her and call me twister;
past time for me to gently say goodbye.
The small bird of hope has sung for ten long years.
She lives even on crumbs of cruel spite.
She sings in spite of no respite from tears.
Quietly in day or night, in dark or light.
The hope bird flutters: she’s waited years.
I release her now and I drink a soup of tears.