at it again

It's been a whopping week and a half since the monster woke me up at night. Here I am again, having been awake since 1:20am, and finally I gave in and got up to take some medicine.

I looked back over my medication diary and found that I average 2-3 wakeups a week. No wonder I was starting to think things were easing up.

Pound pound pound...throb throb throb...

The familiar feeling - I know it all too well.

Today I'd really like to stay in my cave but my daughter has 3 sick kids and they need to go to the doctor and her hubby has job training and has to take their car so I'll be taking hubby to work so she can use the van to get the kidlets to the pediatrician. She's helped me out so much I can't say no...she's gone out of her way to take me to the doctor over and over and over, and helped us with food, and brought over my precious boys to see me because she knows that it makes my heart sing. That's what family is for.

I'll also be making phone calls to try and find another pain management doc. I'm really thinking of specifically targeting female docs this time. I'm tired of the macho male attitude thing. I have to go to the web site for our insurance and see who's on our plan and go from there.

At least I have enough Vicodin for almost a month, and I know that if I need more I can call my neurologist and he'll give me some more to get me through till I find a decent pain doc who is willing to work with me and my multiple sensitivities and allergies.

I'm going to start keeping much more information on a daily basis about when the pain gets worse, how often it wakes me up, how often I have to cancel plans and stuff, so that when I have my disability hearing, if I ever get it, I'll have the stuff there in writing to show them. I know I have a fight on my hands because my disability is an invisible one. If they turn me down I'll get a lawyer but I hate the thought of taking money we need to pay our bills and get back on our feet, or at least on our knees, and giving it to someone to pay them for something I've paid into since I was 16 and that I should be able to get if I need it. It's not like I'm lazy. I'd far rather be working. I'd far rather get up, get dressed, and go make the kind of money I was making before this all took over my life than to live in semi-darkness, having to plan my days around an illness that has turned me into a housebound, mostly-isolated loner.

I miss my life.