ALICIA'S STORY

Alicia Parlette was 23 last year when she was told she had a life-threatening cancer. This is one in an occasional series of articles about her experience. For previous articles and a list of cancer resources, go to www.sfgate.com/alicia.

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It's the middle of November. I'm still at my surrogate mom Sally's house, in Concord, and I'm still in withdrawal. It still takes me a long time -- a few hours -- to get out of bed, get cleaned up, take care of me and the dog; but it's gotten a little easier, and a bit clearer, what I need to do to be healthy.

Oh, and I'm still on Actiq, the narcotic lollipops that landed me an addiction after I started taking about three times the recommended dose.

I thought I'd be off them by now, I really did. My friend Bri's birthday was my goal to "evaluate my progress," but really I wanted to be able to call her and tell her I was off them, for good.

Bri's birthday was Oct. 22.

Every morning, I get afraid that I've reached a rehab plateau. I've gotten off the drugs to the point that I'm not stoned all day -- or at all -- but I still reach for the lollipop at night, when my withdrawal symptoms of hay fever and chills are at their worst. And I often want to reach for it other times, such as when I wake up already in withdrawal. Or when I have sharp pain. Or when I can feel the very tiny beginnings of the chills.

Or when I feel grumpy or tired or anxious or alone.

I didn't realize how hard this part of it would be, the getting-the-hell-off-the-stuff time. Aren't the first few days supposed to be the worst? Coming off this stuff isn't just about rough physical withdrawal, or readjusting to being emotionally raw and present in each moment; it's also relearning how to be an adult, how to function independently, how to suck it up and take it in and just move on. And deal.

But I guess my situation is different than someone using street drugs, because I'm not purging all the narcotics from my body. I can't. Well, I could, but then I'd be in so much pain from the tumor in my right hip I probably wouldn't walk.

I have three levels of narcotics to dull the many layers of pain: long-acting OxyContin for the omnipresent throbbing and tightness in my hip; short-acting oxycodone for when sharp, shooting pain breaks through, or when there's tenderness closer to my groin; and the lollipops, for intense pain that often feels like an ice pick being shoved into my hip.

So instead of throwing out the lollipops and starting fresh, which was what I craved, I have to learn to coexist with them. At least for the time being, while my body learns to cope without as much fentanyl, the drug in the lollipops.

Like a couple of weeks ago. I woke up feeling blurry-eyed, chilled, feverish and stuffy. My doctors told me that any time I have physical withdrawal symptoms, such as those, I should use either a minimal amount of a lollipop, or take oxycodone, which is my version of methadone maintenance. But I was being stubborn and wouldn't use the lollipop, or even take the small dose of oxycodone. This might seem wise, except that I would get extremely feverish, super depressed and in escalating pain, and I would end up desperately using the lollipop anyway. That morning, I did a few things to jump-start my spirit -- went for a walk, ran errands with Sally, wrote in my journal -- but nothing made my mood much better.

So I retreated into myself and concluded that the best thing to do would be to throw on more clothes, crawl into bed in the middle of the afternoon, and pump up my heating pad until my entire body radiated heat. (I think this behavior stems from the beginning of withdrawal, when I'd feel so much better after my fever broke and I started sweating. But it wasn't the sweating that made me feel good; that was just an indicator that the drugs had mellowed my system. Somehow my depressed mind skipped over that fact.)