They wanted to give me fentanyl, along with Versed, before my procedure.
I declined. "No thank you, its reputation precedes it."
"We have never had an overdose at this facility. It is very safe."
I declined once again. "I know too many dead people that whisper in my ear that death is what it is."
She persisted: "Well they will ask you in the operating room. But we use a very small amount, micro-grams."
I held my tongue this time, I did not want to offend the practitioner with her non-obvious comparison to homeopathy, "A tiny amount of poison is actually good for you..."
"If an opioid must be used, then, I will accept something less refined, such as morphine or codeine. But no fentanyl, if I have a choice." She looked at me in mute astonishment.
They took me to the table. They repeated twice more there, "Ok, so no fentanyl?" Twice more I declined.
I received Versed, and nothing else. Everything worked out fine.
The worst thing about the procedure was the horrible "Bro Country" music the physician insisted on playing. (Much too loudly.)
David Seal, Anderson