On Morphine

I've learned some things about morphine recently.

I already knew it wasn't addicting if you used the proper amount for pain. I already knew I wasn't worried about addiction for end-of-life care. But I thought it was only used for pain. Apparently not.

It's been prescribed for my dad. That's not because he's in pain, because he says that most of the time he's not. But it opens the sacs in the lungs, helping him breathe better. It works well with the Atavan which relaxes the chest wall muscles to make more room for air. That's why he'll be getting it.

We think the Thick-It used in his beverages is causing diarrhea. (Something is, and that's the only big dietary change, other than decreasing amounts of food intake.) Morphine will actually work against that, tending to cause constipation. If we're all really really lucky, it will balance out.

We won't find out until Monday. Well, Tuesday, really, since I won't be bringing it home until after work Monday. That's because it can't be called in to the pharmacy over the phone from the doctor's office, nevermind caller ID and any other prescriptions or identifications that make the caller legitimate. Paper is required. And I won't be picking that up until Monday.

Monday is when the doctor's office opens again. And it's when I also stop in for the doctor's signed DNR orders that we can post in the house, proof that CPR need not be tried if EMTs ever get called. And even more than that, Monday is when I venture out of the house again, after the storm blows over, when we know the possibly 18-20 inches of snow and whatever drifts the winds create playing with it have a chance to be cleared off the roads.

Meanwhile I'm contentedly snowbound.