and my manic mood swings, to my 60-pound weight loss and my
wearing long sleeves on warm days to conceal my track marks. But
nobody saw the signs because I wasn't a disheveled, dysfunctional
addict. I was happy-go-lucky Rigo.
I can tell you the signs of addiction you never thought to look for,
and I can tell you what it feels like to go through this hell, what if feels
like to scheme every day to stay a step ahead in my game of catch me
if you can. What you might not know is that there are countless other
addicts hiding in plain site, the types like me with a flourishing career
as a healthcare provider. The reason most can't see addiction in these
roles is because most don't know what addiction feels like. Well here's
the scary truth of addiction: It feels normal.
Innocently enough
I've harbored the makings of a drug addict my entire life: Type A per-
sonality, driven, successful, craving validation and chasing thrills. It
began innocently enough when I took my first pain medication in
2009. I was prescribed Vicodin after breaking my ankle. I used my pre-
scription heavily right from the start, throughout recovery and the 3
months of rehab that followed. I never felt alarmed. I never felt I had
a reason to worry because, as an anesthesia provider, I was confident
that I was taking the appropriate steps to manage my pain. This self-
certainty is partly what fuels the risk of healthcare providers falling
prey to addiction. We're taught that we know what we're doing at all
times, that we get results, and that mindset clouds our judgment when
it comes to any issues of our own that arise. Not until my first day
back at work, after 3 months of healing and physical therapy, did I
realize I had a problem.
On that day, I couldn't get through half a shift without popping a
Vicodin because the withdrawals were all-consuming: migraines, nau-
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