I'm wiped out. The only reason why I'm not predicting disaster and collapse is that I seem to do pretty well bluffing my way along with lousy cards. My pain doc appointment was frustrating and soothing at the same time. I got talked into letting them take my blood pressure which was the highest it has ever been but I think that is largely due to the fact that my arm is still throbbing. I feel like the very picture of my favorite grandmother who helped raise me early on. (Both of my parents were working so someone needed to take me!) She always seemed to be feeble, rarely left her chair and complained of arthritis all the time. I miss her dearly to this day and I don't expect that to change.
In a time when all my symptoms are spiking and I'm losing ground on my temper, there is one sign of hope. I don't spend as much time in my chair as I did a few years ago. In fact, I've written 2-3 marketable looking pieces in the last year. All told, that's probably around a thousand pages of work including multiple drafts. No, that wouldn't mean anything professionally but remember that my full time job is pain management. I do not remember a time when this favorite grandmother was active mentally or physically. I'm working on one of my serious projects nearly every day and I come off pretty well comparing myself to someone double my age who succumbed to presumed Alzheimer's.
There never has been a good apples to apples comparison for me. My parents used to compare me to the smartest kids in the school and I came out unfavorably. The other kids had other things going for them like healthy bodies and social lives so it was unfair for me to compare myself to them. My concentration was supposed to be on academics and nothing else. Even now, I wonder if I could drop down the pain scale if I simply did very little but listen to music.
Every month, I go to the pain doc and make the same report. I would probably be doing well but... This time, I admitted to an apparently endless series of buts. I'm just putting myself back together from being apart from Melissa for four days and I'll be leaving with her on another four day trip tomorrow. I plan on throwing everything I have into pain control yet I'm asking for it. November could easily be the worst month in memory. I do this willingly so that no one will shine a penlight into my eyes to make sure I'm alive. Someone at the pain doc's office asked why I haven't shaved or cut my hair. I explained but this nurse seems to think I've forgotten or something.
Hello! I'm still alive here. I'll cut my hair and shave when I am healthy enough to require a business appropriate appearance. Until then, I am gearing up for my 40th birthday purple Mohawk. After that, you never know. My birthday is awfully close to Halloween and all. Chances are that I won't be shaving off this much hair when it took me a few years to grow it all in the first place. Right now, it's a hedge against baldness. While I doubt it truly works this way, it seems as if it would be tougher to lose this much hair all at once. I think of it as a pet that's very difficult to kill accidentally. I wash it when I'm up to standing in the shower that long and blow it dry if Melissa is awake. It feels good moving around on my head somehow.
As a child and young adult, I wasted a lot of energy resisting grooming rituals. We're like birds getting our plumage just right for some mating ritual and I didn't want to be a bird. I felt like I was both too good for the stupid dance meant to show off on that animal level and that I was so bad that I could only fail if I tried. My mother sent me to the barber who was too good of a guy to get stuck in the middle of that pointless contest. He was such a good guy that I let down my guard around him. My mother stopped going there with me but sent me with the money. This is one case where I truly forgot what was going on and the barber decided that my family was good for it. I think I was suspected of sabotage but it was just forgetfulness.
The pain is going to force me to get to the point if nothing else. I went for my appointment determined to make no excuses. Things were not going to get better and I wanted something from them to recognize the months of pain. The first thing I got was flat out refusal. I was surprised and started to react badly when I remembered that I had rejected the change I was asking her to consider flat out because I read the monograph on it and determined that I was not a candidate and the main pain doc had agreed with me. We had rejected the other possible way to get me better medication because it involved minor surgery. We're talking outpatient stuff but I get nervous when surgery is mentioned. However, it sounded like my doctor was taking it off the table.
That's when I realized that we were not speaking the same language at that moment. I wanted pain relief not more narcotic medication. Therefore, we discussed changes that we could make around the periphery. We may or may not have intended to increase my arthritis medication. I'm not sure because the pharmacist says it exceeds the standard dosages but that he has an override to use. My doctor will let me know on Monday if I remember to call her. We increased by fibro medication to help deal with the muscle burn. That should help a lot and we kept me on the muscle relaxer which I take very sparingly.
I never identify the doctor or practice beyond "pain doc" for a number of reasons. One is that I have pragmatic doctors who are willing to let me try thinking outside the box. I have tacit permission to drink alcohol for pain management purposes despite the fact that most doctors would call this "self-medicating" and condemn patients for doing it. Maybe that's just mental health professionals who know that alcohol does not make you feel better about yourself. It's a mood booster in my experience. If you're sad, you'll get sadder. I've also seen it work but I guess I was more agitated than sad. I was scared about drinking too much though not by healthy person standards. We're not talking about drinking myself sick or even stupid. We're just talking about potential invisible effects on my liver.
That's when I heard the same three words from two different people. They are incredibly reassuring for how short they are. Melissa and my doctor both said, "I trust you." As long as good people are looking out for me, I can trust myself. Therefore, I will drink what I need to drink to dull the pain within my own paranoid limits until Melissa says when. Then I'll stop because I can't drive or walk to a liquor store.
Melissa says that things will get better. We'll get the house fixed even if it isn't done by our current contractor. We'll get to the plumbing which turns every shower into a wannabe bath. There will be a break in the stress somewhere. I'd like it to be soon at my favorite hotel.
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