I was sent home from work yesterday. Not for breaking another bottle of morphine, but for being generally unwell. I think they were worried I'd throw up over the ondansetron. I didn't feel too bad at 8:30am, but having spent three hours surrounded by painkillers, I had the kind of headache only JFK could understand, and felt sick at the sight of cyclizine.
So they sent me home. My manager even offered to drive me in the pharmacy van. I refused, hoping they'd offer me an ambulance, but it didn't happen.
Anyhoo, having spent the afternoon in bed, and the evening discussing baby names with Lisa, I feel ok. Kind of. To be honest I still don't feel quite right, but my head feels less like I've been shot, and more like I've been gently tapped with a baseball bat, so against medical advice (mainly from my mother), I've decided to go into work this morning. After all, if you're going to collapse with a serious medical condition, there are worse places to do it than a pharmacy.