Tuesday morning came with a wimper more or less. I'd managed to sleep about 4.5 hours straight and a total of about seven hours, which is awesome for me any day, let alone a few after heart surgery.

Buoyed by this and my need to blog, I decided to start weaning myself off the Percocet. Instead of two every four hours, I figured I'd try two every six hours or so.

Mistake.

I waited the six hours, took two Percocets, and I didn't feel better.

At all.

As a matter of fact, I was already counting down to my next chance for two Percocet, and it was three hours to go.

Ack.

It took two more doses to not be hurting again. And I mean hurting. When you get your Percocet on a schedule, you start thinking you're bulletproof and not hurting as bad as you really are. When the Percocet had worn off I realized that I was in bad shape.

"Dude...you had heart surgery. How fucking stupid are you?"

Good question.

And the simple answer is that painkillers are a double edged sword. They help you manage pain but they also make you functionally retarded, leading to decisions like no longer taking Percocet.
See? It's quite a catch-22.