Painkiller by N.J. Fountain Read Free Book Online Page A

days?’
    ‘Fine…’
    ‘Good.’
    ‘Well… OK. Well, I say fine, I mean, not fine, exactly.’
    ‘I see. You still have the usual symptoms.’
    ‘Oh yes. My spatial awareness is still wonky, and I still have incredibly weird dreams…’
    ‘Yes, yes… yes… right…’ He is making notes.
    ‘My sense of time is shot to hell – I lost three days this week.’
    ‘Oh dear oh dear…’
    ‘Like that old Tommy Cooper joke…’
    ‘Hmmm?’ Smiling bemusement.
    ‘You know. “I’ve been on the whisky diet”.’
    More mystified beaming.
    ‘“I’ve lost three days”.’
    ‘Ah,’ he says. ‘Ah! Very good! Ahahah! I will remember that one. Whisky diet. Yes. Well. Oh dear. A lot of this to be expected, I am regretful to say.’
    ‘Oh, of course. I know it’s because of all the drugs, but the pain levels… I need to take bigger doses. I take more so I can get to sleep…’
    ‘I see…’
    ‘… but even before that, I knew I was taking enough to put a bull elephant into a coma.’
    He knits his fingers together and gives a dazzling smile. ‘Well yes, we have discussed this…’
    But even though we
have
discussed this, he continues anyway. Same words. Same everything.
    ‘Most drugs – and I am including nicotine, alcohol, heroin in that category – are alien substances that we put into the body. In most cases our bodies build up an immunity to these alien invaders, and we have to take greater doses to create the same effects.’
    ‘Only I can’t, can I?’ I finished his lecture for him. ‘I’m probably harming my kidneys by taking this amount as it is…’
    He pulls a sad, helpless face. I continue.
    ‘… You did tell me I’m ruining my health by keeping some of the pain at bay.’
    ‘In some ways.’
    ‘But even at those health-ruining doses they won’t work for me soon.’
    ‘That is only a possibility.’
    ‘Irony of ironies.’
    ‘… But there are always options.’
    ‘Not from where I’m sitting.’
    ‘Have you considered moving onto morphine? I know we have talked about this before.’
    My eyes grow cold. ‘I did. I tried morphine at the start. Look at your notes. According to my husband I was incomprehensible; practically a vegetable. I kept asking him to change the channels so I could watch a different ceiling.’
    ‘Oh dear, yes. Ah, but there are combinations. The prescribing of morphine is a much more sophisticated process now. It is not what it was.’
    ‘And you said there was a possibility I could get addicted.’
    ‘Well, yes, that is the case, but…’
    ‘But?’
    He spreads his hands again, and I realise what the gesture means.
    ‘Ah.’ I nod. ‘I see. I get you. I see what you’re saying. What’s wrong with me getting addicted to something I could never be able to stop using anyway?’
    ‘Actually, it is more controllable these days…’
    ‘No thanks,’ I say firmly. ‘I haven’t come to that yet. The drugs work. Most of the time. And not totally. But they sort of work. They get me out of the house. Sometimes.’
    ‘Well, maybe drugs will no longer be needed. At least for some periods of time… Because I may have some auspicious news for you!’
    This has been on the tip of his tongue since I entered the room. He has been waiting for this; he has been waiting for me to turn down the offer of morphine again, so he can tell me something. I’ve told you the drugs make me so very sensitive to everything; smells, noises, moods. I sensed his excitement the moment I came in, a hum of anticipation coming from his body.
    ‘There has been some new research. They are conducting trials, and they are asking for suitable subjects. They are very interested in you, Monica. They think you might be an excellent subject.’
    ‘Gosh.’
    ‘Indeed, and furthermore, they would like to include you in the trials as soon as possible.’
    I sit up straighter, trying to make myself comfortable. ‘So what is it? Don’t tell me. Amputation?’
    ‘No, it is not