When it rains, it pours.
So the pain doc wants me to wean off the Methadone eventually. I'm not sure what he wants me to take, since there isn't much else I can take in a realistic sense; anyhow, I've been half-heartedly looking for another pain management group in the hopes they will help me get control of the pain without insisting I increase my stress level, and thereby my pain level, by suggesting from the get-go that I consider how I want to wean off the drugs that enable me to function on a daily basis as at least a minimally contributing member of society.
Now, my mom has decided I am: 1) Addicted to my prescription meds. This is, in her eyes, happening in spite of the fact that I am monitored by my pain med doc, my psychiatrist, and a neurologist in addition to my primary doc. It's amazing that none of these physicians, who see me a heck of a lot more often than she does, haven't noticed this so-called addiction....2) Lazy and need to go back to work in addition to getting out and walking like she does to get some exercise. Never mind that I have a bad knee and have been told that walking or other weight-bearing exercises, for the time being, will only hasten the eventual necessity of a knee replacement. Add to this that there are very, very few people I know of who want a nurse on Methadone to control pain, one who nods off from the narcotic dose required to keep the pain manageable, to take care of themselves or their family members...3) Hubby and I are, in her words, perverted and sick. My sister, whose own life is a mess on good days, told mom hubby and I are into S&M which, though it would be none of their business if it were true, is a blatant lie. I don't have a masochistic bone in my body. I don't like pain. It hurts. However, she believed said sister, and proceeded to write me a letter telling me I'm fat, lazy, addicted, perverted and sick. Nice, loving mother, huh? Anybody want her?
About the knee...several weeks back I did something to it. I can't remember what, or when, but it probably had to do with chickens, since that is where I get most of my activity. Anyhow, I finally got off my butt and called the orthopedist last week. I saw him Tuesday. They did the perfunctory X-rays. He saw them, and then we all saw them. The left knee is on its way out. It's not going today, or tomorrow, but it's not going to last forever. Most of it is probably a combination of working on my feet for 15 years as a nurse and being obese. I will accept that. I'm not gonna hide it. Interestingly enough I had planned on starting Weight Watchers again with Abby this week; the orthopedist was happy to hear that. In addition, I had been considering a recumbent bike or one of those foot pedaling things, largely because between my environmental allergies and my pain, I don't do well with outside exercise. I either hurt, break out, or both. Indoor, non-weight-bearing exercise seems the best way to go.
He numbed my knee with the funny spray freezy stuff and an OUCH of Lidocaine and then drained about 50cc of fluid off said knee and injected some cortisone to help with the inflammation, all after managing to convince me that it wasn't going to hurt as much as cortisone injections into soft tissue do. I have a friend who has those kinds of injections and she locks up and is in horrid pain for a few days after her shots. I didn't want anything to do with that. Oh and by the way - he did a great job. He is a good shot and didn't lie to me, which I really appreciate. He says we can do those until they don't work, and then we can inject fluid of a lubricant style into the capsule to help movement after that, and then, in the future, we'll look at surgical management. This is my kind of doctor.
I talked it over with hubby and ordered a Schwinn recumbent bike this week. Once it's here, I'll be building a close relationship with it. It will help me lose weight, help my activity tolerance, and it will lengthen the amount of time I can wait before needing to undergo the knife again. I mean, it's only been 7 weeks since I had my right hand carpal tunnel surgery done; the left wrist and elbow (it was more involved than the right side) was done in November of last year. I'm starting to feel like a guinea pig. At least these scars aren't from self-mutilation, eh?
So, I have a sister or two that are upset that I hung up on them - my younger when she tried to tell me that I need to let my mom do what she wants to in my house, to which I said, "It's my house, and she plays by my rules or doesn't play. I'm not her patsy any more and she's not going to intimidate me or make me feel guilty any more." (Okay, so we're still working on that) My older sister - well, I hung up on her after she lied to me when I asked her if she knew what was up with Mom and then called me back several hours later to tell me she had told Mom hubby and I are supposedly into S&M. Now this sister has been married 3 times, she cheated on her first two husbands and then married someone who verbally abuses her and has cheated on her in addition to getting fired from a fantastic job at Disney because the person he was cheating with was his boss' wife...and she has a right to judge me?
NOT.
Okay. So there we are. Bum left knee, maybe bum right knee as well - we just haven't looked at that one yet. Pain doc I'm not thrilled with because he seems to be hell-bound to get me off my pain medication and onto, what, short acting narcotics? He wants me to wean off the Methadone and, according to the research, there is "a chance" once I go back on it I won't need as much, if I need any at all. Okay. So what do I take in the meantime....or do I just get nothing, and go back to being in so much pain it's almost not worth living? I get the feeling he thinks I don't need this medication or he's getting pressure from the DEA, which wouldn't be a surprise since they seem to delight in tormenting physicians who actually act in their patient's behalf and give them adequate medication for chronic pain...and there is a big part of the problem. Many people in the medical community pooh-pooh those with chronic pain, even claiming that we don't need the meds that keep us going day to day. Just because you can't see or put your finger on the cause of my pain doesn't mean it isn't there. It just means it's invisible. It's still pain. It still hurts. It still interferes with my life. I still get judged, even by my own family members. And, I deal daily with the knowledge that I cannot work outside the home, which means even those of us with degrees and training end up in pain. Even those who aren't addicts or uneducated or what have you end up in pain, the kind of pain that leaves you begging God to take you home. Yeah, it hurts like hell. And to have people negate or minimize that pain hurts like hell, too, because it invalidates what we feel and experience, and what many of us struggled to hide because we knew what we were going to face when we revealed that we were taking narcotics to control our pain. I'm not the only one whose family members have decided that there is an addiction problem when the meds are being taken for a chronic pain issue. People tend to disbelieve what they can't see. If I was missing a leg, or two, would it make my pain medication prescription more justified? Why? Is the pain my nerves shoot across my face and into my eye socket like an ice pick heading for my brain any less valid than pain from an amputation?
Sorry for the rambling. I'm a bit muddled these days.
Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts
Friday, August 27, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Day 1729 - 3am and still awake
God, I need some peace. Please.
I'm stressing out here. The thought of losing my pain meds is making me hurt more. The necessity of decreasing the anxiety med certainly isn't helping. If I weren't so sensitive to medications, I could just jump into another category of meds or something and maybe that would help. However, I am severely limited, and therein lies the problem.
I need, for relief of my pain and anxiety, a combination of medications that has the potential of being a not-so-healthy combination. In fact, benzodiazepines and Methadone have the potential for making the partaker, well, dead. Never mind that I have been taking this particular set of meds for 4 years without obvious consequence. My pain doc will no longer allow me to combine them in the dosage that works for me when it comes to both pain relief and the ability to sleep, as you can tell by my still being awake at 3am.
Okay. For some reason the "enter" key no longer precipitates a line break. Hm. I wonder if this is a new tweak that Blogger has added to assist me in pulling my hair out.
Anyhow, so I stopped the nighttime dose of Xanax that was helping me enter dreamland without a long and arduous fight, and, as anticipated, sleep is now way overdue and longed for. It's not just the lack of sleep that the med affects...it's also the anxiety I've lived with since who knows when and no longer have the ability to hide at the level I could attain before.
I know in my heart that God is the Author of peace and that He is my sufficiency; my All in All; that He is my hiding place, my refuge in times of trouble. The struggle lies in the part of me that is still so very human - the part of my being that used to dread bedtime because of the monster that crept into my bedroom and put his hands where no male caretaker should ever touch a child...and yes, I've heard and been taught and read and had preached to me that God can take those memories away, but in His great wisdom He has chosen to allow me to retain them, partly in order to garner compassion and understanding and the ability to identify with the abused, the molested....and I struggle with this every day to one degree or another. The tweaking of the meds and the pain doc's desire to wean me off my pain meds triggers my abandonment issues. It also strikes at the fear of mismanaged power that I can hold at bay most of the time; it is not so easy when the issue is my well-being and ability to function as a rational member of the human race.
I am struggling, also, with a deep sense of melancholy and loss....the loss of opportunity that I perpetuated when I decided to marry an abusive man and create three lives that, along with my own, pay for that decision every day. I love my children deeply, yet it tears at my heart to watch them struggle, knowing that part of that struggle was my choice for their father. I realize that the concept of free choice is an integral part of becoming part of the family of God, yet, hindsight being 20/20, I also see from where I am seated that the result of my maternal grandparents' abuse of my mother led, consequentially, to their struggle as well.
What a conundrum. What a revelation. What a discovery of the absolute necessity of the saving grace of a loving and forgiving God, the Father that so many of us never had. Without Him I would have no hope, no reason to go on. I could so easily sink into the melancholy and let it swallow me alive, becoming lost in the hopelessness the evil one holds out temptingly if, for one moment, I turn my eyes away from my God, my Savior, my Hope and Salvation....I am achingly aware of the despair that drives some to suicide. I am, however, also acutely alert to the abhorrence that would be to the One Who, through His Son, closed the gap between a race of hopelessly lost mankind and His eternal rest.
Ah, my philosophizing brings out my vocabulary. There really isn't much need for it here with the cats and chickens, and my sweet hubby hasn't the education I have, so we speak much more simply with each other. Not that he isn't bright or gifted....it's just not in the same areas I am. Isn't it funny how God does that, pairing us with those who remind us that ours is not the only perspective of and on the planet? He is indeed a Great God, full of wisdom and patience, lovingly encouraging us to try again and again when we stumble and fall on our backsides, forgetting in our great rush to go somewhere, anywhere, that we must walk before we can run.......
In spite of the pain, the insomnia, the anxiety, the depression, the anger, the sadness, the hesitation....God is God and He will do what is best for me, in spite of my best efforts to mess it all up.
And for that, I am grateful. Without the pain, or the other associated issues, what, then, would be my need for a Great God? If I did have it all under control, why would I require the Master of All to intervene in my life? What would be the reason for His healing touch if none were ill, or feeble? Why would He demonstrate His redemptive powers if not for those wallowing in the filth of sin?
I will, therefore, trust Him. He knows what is best for me, and He will lead me through this just like He has led me through all the other trials in my life. It may not be easy, or fun, but I will not have to walk it alone, and I will reach the other side as long as I keep my eyes on Him and not the chaos around me...and here is my struggle....and my hope.
I'm stressing out here. The thought of losing my pain meds is making me hurt more. The necessity of decreasing the anxiety med certainly isn't helping. If I weren't so sensitive to medications, I could just jump into another category of meds or something and maybe that would help. However, I am severely limited, and therein lies the problem.
I need, for relief of my pain and anxiety, a combination of medications that has the potential of being a not-so-healthy combination. In fact, benzodiazepines and Methadone have the potential for making the partaker, well, dead. Never mind that I have been taking this particular set of meds for 4 years without obvious consequence. My pain doc will no longer allow me to combine them in the dosage that works for me when it comes to both pain relief and the ability to sleep, as you can tell by my still being awake at 3am.
Okay. For some reason the "enter" key no longer precipitates a line break. Hm. I wonder if this is a new tweak that Blogger has added to assist me in pulling my hair out.
Anyhow, so I stopped the nighttime dose of Xanax that was helping me enter dreamland without a long and arduous fight, and, as anticipated, sleep is now way overdue and longed for. It's not just the lack of sleep that the med affects...it's also the anxiety I've lived with since who knows when and no longer have the ability to hide at the level I could attain before.
I know in my heart that God is the Author of peace and that He is my sufficiency; my All in All; that He is my hiding place, my refuge in times of trouble. The struggle lies in the part of me that is still so very human - the part of my being that used to dread bedtime because of the monster that crept into my bedroom and put his hands where no male caretaker should ever touch a child...and yes, I've heard and been taught and read and had preached to me that God can take those memories away, but in His great wisdom He has chosen to allow me to retain them, partly in order to garner compassion and understanding and the ability to identify with the abused, the molested....and I struggle with this every day to one degree or another. The tweaking of the meds and the pain doc's desire to wean me off my pain meds triggers my abandonment issues. It also strikes at the fear of mismanaged power that I can hold at bay most of the time; it is not so easy when the issue is my well-being and ability to function as a rational member of the human race.
I am struggling, also, with a deep sense of melancholy and loss....the loss of opportunity that I perpetuated when I decided to marry an abusive man and create three lives that, along with my own, pay for that decision every day. I love my children deeply, yet it tears at my heart to watch them struggle, knowing that part of that struggle was my choice for their father. I realize that the concept of free choice is an integral part of becoming part of the family of God, yet, hindsight being 20/20, I also see from where I am seated that the result of my maternal grandparents' abuse of my mother led, consequentially, to their struggle as well.
What a conundrum. What a revelation. What a discovery of the absolute necessity of the saving grace of a loving and forgiving God, the Father that so many of us never had. Without Him I would have no hope, no reason to go on. I could so easily sink into the melancholy and let it swallow me alive, becoming lost in the hopelessness the evil one holds out temptingly if, for one moment, I turn my eyes away from my God, my Savior, my Hope and Salvation....I am achingly aware of the despair that drives some to suicide. I am, however, also acutely alert to the abhorrence that would be to the One Who, through His Son, closed the gap between a race of hopelessly lost mankind and His eternal rest.
Ah, my philosophizing brings out my vocabulary. There really isn't much need for it here with the cats and chickens, and my sweet hubby hasn't the education I have, so we speak much more simply with each other. Not that he isn't bright or gifted....it's just not in the same areas I am. Isn't it funny how God does that, pairing us with those who remind us that ours is not the only perspective of and on the planet? He is indeed a Great God, full of wisdom and patience, lovingly encouraging us to try again and again when we stumble and fall on our backsides, forgetting in our great rush to go somewhere, anywhere, that we must walk before we can run.......
In spite of the pain, the insomnia, the anxiety, the depression, the anger, the sadness, the hesitation....God is God and He will do what is best for me, in spite of my best efforts to mess it all up.
And for that, I am grateful. Without the pain, or the other associated issues, what, then, would be my need for a Great God? If I did have it all under control, why would I require the Master of All to intervene in my life? What would be the reason for His healing touch if none were ill, or feeble? Why would He demonstrate His redemptive powers if not for those wallowing in the filth of sin?
I will, therefore, trust Him. He knows what is best for me, and He will lead me through this just like He has led me through all the other trials in my life. It may not be easy, or fun, but I will not have to walk it alone, and I will reach the other side as long as I keep my eyes on Him and not the chaos around me...and here is my struggle....and my hope.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Trying to lessen the pain
Well, when I went to see the pain doc last week he increased my Methadone to 40mg a day instead of 30mg. Now for me, this is a significant increase. I usually only increase by 5mg at a time. I asked him if I could do 35 instead but he really wanted me to do 40; I started the full 40mg dose on Thursday and have noticed a significant leveling off in the pain. It's not a lot less, but it's better than it was when I had to take the Vicodin almost every day. The pain doc was concerned, and rightfully so, about me building a tolerance to Vicodin since it's my primary breakthrough medication, so he wanted me to be taking enough Methadone that I wouldn't have to take breakthrough meds unless things get really bad.
I've been sleeping more, though still erratically. Oh well - I guess we can't have everything, can we? It's still frustrating as heck to be asleep off and on all the time instead of going to bed like normal people do and sleeping at night/being awake in the daytime. I doze off all the time, which is very frustrating. I should be used to it but I'm not. Maybe now that my pain is better controlled this will help.
I haven't driven since Tuesday. I don't drive for about 2 weeks after a med change. This helps me have time to adjust to the med increase and the accompanying brain fuzziness before I put myself behind the wheel of a car.
I see my psychiatrist and neurologist this coming week. I'm supposed to find out about the sleep study. I also want to talk to my shrink about my increased anxiety. I've been stress eating and I've gained more weight than I am even close to comfortable about. I've been picking more, bleeding more, and fretting more. I've rarely stopped humming for almost a month now. I can't figure that one out. I just hum and hum. Weird......
Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.....
I've been sleeping more, though still erratically. Oh well - I guess we can't have everything, can we? It's still frustrating as heck to be asleep off and on all the time instead of going to bed like normal people do and sleeping at night/being awake in the daytime. I doze off all the time, which is very frustrating. I should be used to it but I'm not. Maybe now that my pain is better controlled this will help.
I haven't driven since Tuesday. I don't drive for about 2 weeks after a med change. This helps me have time to adjust to the med increase and the accompanying brain fuzziness before I put myself behind the wheel of a car.
I see my psychiatrist and neurologist this coming week. I'm supposed to find out about the sleep study. I also want to talk to my shrink about my increased anxiety. I've been stress eating and I've gained more weight than I am even close to comfortable about. I've been picking more, bleeding more, and fretting more. I've rarely stopped humming for almost a month now. I can't figure that one out. I just hum and hum. Weird......
Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.....
Sunday, November 08, 2009
flu, strep or just a bad cold?
I don't like having what I have.
I'm not sure if it's the pig flu or strep or what, but I'm exhausted; my ankle swelling will not go down no matter what I do; I have a dry and scratchy throat; I'm coughing up lovely green-yellow small chunks of gak; and I could sleep till 2011 if I didn't have to go to the bathroom so much.
It started earlier this week with a scratchy throat. It was Monday, I remember, because hubby and I had obtained tickets to Celtic Thunder and I decided we were going barring anything short of a nuclear accident. It was followed by dryness to the point of painful swallowing. I didn't have a fever and my lymph glands weren't swollen, so I thought it was probably Mr. Pig in the flesh coming for a visit.
Now I've got the throat thing, the cough, the hocking up icky stuff, and - as usual with any irritation to my head or neck or any combination thereof, the tinnitus is nice and loud just in case I forget it's there while I'm focusing on how rotten I feel. I have a negative value of energy at this point. Yesterday I dozed off eating chicken noodle soup and spilled some on my lap. Today I spilled a small amount of diet soda on the thankfully sealed keyboard - yep, dozed off again. It seems that I can never get enough sleep. This isn't how I envisioned my life would be when I hit 49, but here we are.
I cancelled 3 appointments this week so I'll have to make them up. One will be Monday with the primary doc and since hubby has it now as well, and he has his regular diabetic checkup, we'll just hit her up all at once. I was supposed to see my surgeon today and once hubby got me awake enough to dial the phone and understand what I was doing, I called and rescheduled that one as well.
This is year 5 with my obnoxious visitor. Had you asked me in the beginning of 2004 I'd have told you that by 2010 we'd have the house paid off and own it outright so hubby could retire and spend some time working for himself instead of having to go punch a clock. We'd have my hospital insurance and I'd be enjoying the job I had just started 3 1/2 months before this hit me like a ton of bricks, knocking me out of the workforce and to the fringes of society as well.
I've learned a lot about the medical profession after spending 4+ years on this side of the fence. I had, like probably most medical professionals, a tainted view of how we treated patients. I found out really quickly that if you don't physically possess a disorder that shows that your body should be in pain, you will be looked on as a drug addict and/or drug seeker, as someone who is a whiner and wants to escape reality, and as a slacker who wants to live off the government. Even people who knew you when you were well won't believe you are in the pain you say you're in. I was ashamed to have been a nurse for so long when I was on the receiving end of some of the most rude, degrading, downright hateful treatment I've had in my adult life. I've been refused treatment and labeled as a drug-seeker by the hospital closest to our home. I had a headache doctor drop me because I had a period of time, before the pain was under control, where riding for an hour to his office to wait and spend half an hour there before the hour's ride back was just flat too much...he said I missed too many appointments. I also had to reschedule a lumbar puncture due to the pain he obviously had no intention of even desiring to understand, and the hospital got upset too. Now this is a hospital that was started by a nun who wanted all people to receive compassionate care. I dare say she'd have been a bit upset at how I was treated. When I was put on narcotics for pain control and had to have the obligatory psychiatrist's management and diagnoses, and my neurologist found out I had an anxiety disorder, he was all of a sudden convinced that my whole problem was because of the anxiety and he basically wrote me off. This was the same doctor whose wife I cared for while she was dying. The family liked how I cared for her, and he had seemed to be a caring doctor till he saw those words; it was like the lights had gone out in his brain after that.
It amazes me how those of us with invisible diagnoses are treated, not only by the general public, but by the medical profession. Honestly, they should be ashamed of themselves. We are taught that pain is subjective, and that if a patient says they are in pain, they are in pain. Not so. If the care provider thinks the patient is a nut, or a drug seeker, or both, they treat you like a liar, a drug addict, a piece of garbage to be swept out the door with the rest of the trash. It's a poor reflection on the American health care system. It's appalling.
It seems I'm on a rant. At least it's making me feel better.
I've gained back most of the weight I lost with my gastric bypass surgery. Part of it is enforced lack of activity. Exercise causes pain because of the constant motion. The sound of the video, turned up loud enough to hear, causes pain. The glare from the TV hurts. The other thing is that the medications I'm on can cause edema and increased appetite. I promised myself when I had the surgery that I'd not gain the weight back.
I lied.
I'm disappointed in myself even though I know it's not all my fault. I know I'm a stress-eater and the ten years we've been married has had relatively few stress-free months. Accidents, storm issues, a tornado, an estranged daughter and family, the breakup of my son's marriage, job losses and gains, a son and a son-in-law now diagnosed with seizure disorder, a grandson who had just turned 2 and had meningitis, possible encephalitis, and we weren't sure if he was going to make it...now a granddaughter born to my still-married son and his girlfriend while the children from his marriage live with his estranged wife's two sets of parents...
Still, I should be able to relax and slow down on the eating. The fact of the matter is, I can't. It is a well-entrenched coping mechanism I've learned and learned well in my almost 50 years on this planet.
Eh, I'm done for now. Time to go put my feet up and read the captioning on the TV for a while.
I'm not sure if it's the pig flu or strep or what, but I'm exhausted; my ankle swelling will not go down no matter what I do; I have a dry and scratchy throat; I'm coughing up lovely green-yellow small chunks of gak; and I could sleep till 2011 if I didn't have to go to the bathroom so much.
It started earlier this week with a scratchy throat. It was Monday, I remember, because hubby and I had obtained tickets to Celtic Thunder and I decided we were going barring anything short of a nuclear accident. It was followed by dryness to the point of painful swallowing. I didn't have a fever and my lymph glands weren't swollen, so I thought it was probably Mr. Pig in the flesh coming for a visit.
Now I've got the throat thing, the cough, the hocking up icky stuff, and - as usual with any irritation to my head or neck or any combination thereof, the tinnitus is nice and loud just in case I forget it's there while I'm focusing on how rotten I feel. I have a negative value of energy at this point. Yesterday I dozed off eating chicken noodle soup and spilled some on my lap. Today I spilled a small amount of diet soda on the thankfully sealed keyboard - yep, dozed off again. It seems that I can never get enough sleep. This isn't how I envisioned my life would be when I hit 49, but here we are.
I cancelled 3 appointments this week so I'll have to make them up. One will be Monday with the primary doc and since hubby has it now as well, and he has his regular diabetic checkup, we'll just hit her up all at once. I was supposed to see my surgeon today and once hubby got me awake enough to dial the phone and understand what I was doing, I called and rescheduled that one as well.
This is year 5 with my obnoxious visitor. Had you asked me in the beginning of 2004 I'd have told you that by 2010 we'd have the house paid off and own it outright so hubby could retire and spend some time working for himself instead of having to go punch a clock. We'd have my hospital insurance and I'd be enjoying the job I had just started 3 1/2 months before this hit me like a ton of bricks, knocking me out of the workforce and to the fringes of society as well.
I've learned a lot about the medical profession after spending 4+ years on this side of the fence. I had, like probably most medical professionals, a tainted view of how we treated patients. I found out really quickly that if you don't physically possess a disorder that shows that your body should be in pain, you will be looked on as a drug addict and/or drug seeker, as someone who is a whiner and wants to escape reality, and as a slacker who wants to live off the government. Even people who knew you when you were well won't believe you are in the pain you say you're in. I was ashamed to have been a nurse for so long when I was on the receiving end of some of the most rude, degrading, downright hateful treatment I've had in my adult life. I've been refused treatment and labeled as a drug-seeker by the hospital closest to our home. I had a headache doctor drop me because I had a period of time, before the pain was under control, where riding for an hour to his office to wait and spend half an hour there before the hour's ride back was just flat too much...he said I missed too many appointments. I also had to reschedule a lumbar puncture due to the pain he obviously had no intention of even desiring to understand, and the hospital got upset too. Now this is a hospital that was started by a nun who wanted all people to receive compassionate care. I dare say she'd have been a bit upset at how I was treated. When I was put on narcotics for pain control and had to have the obligatory psychiatrist's management and diagnoses, and my neurologist found out I had an anxiety disorder, he was all of a sudden convinced that my whole problem was because of the anxiety and he basically wrote me off. This was the same doctor whose wife I cared for while she was dying. The family liked how I cared for her, and he had seemed to be a caring doctor till he saw those words; it was like the lights had gone out in his brain after that.
It amazes me how those of us with invisible diagnoses are treated, not only by the general public, but by the medical profession. Honestly, they should be ashamed of themselves. We are taught that pain is subjective, and that if a patient says they are in pain, they are in pain. Not so. If the care provider thinks the patient is a nut, or a drug seeker, or both, they treat you like a liar, a drug addict, a piece of garbage to be swept out the door with the rest of the trash. It's a poor reflection on the American health care system. It's appalling.
It seems I'm on a rant. At least it's making me feel better.
I've gained back most of the weight I lost with my gastric bypass surgery. Part of it is enforced lack of activity. Exercise causes pain because of the constant motion. The sound of the video, turned up loud enough to hear, causes pain. The glare from the TV hurts. The other thing is that the medications I'm on can cause edema and increased appetite. I promised myself when I had the surgery that I'd not gain the weight back.
I lied.
I'm disappointed in myself even though I know it's not all my fault. I know I'm a stress-eater and the ten years we've been married has had relatively few stress-free months. Accidents, storm issues, a tornado, an estranged daughter and family, the breakup of my son's marriage, job losses and gains, a son and a son-in-law now diagnosed with seizure disorder, a grandson who had just turned 2 and had meningitis, possible encephalitis, and we weren't sure if he was going to make it...now a granddaughter born to my still-married son and his girlfriend while the children from his marriage live with his estranged wife's two sets of parents...
Still, I should be able to relax and slow down on the eating. The fact of the matter is, I can't. It is a well-entrenched coping mechanism I've learned and learned well in my almost 50 years on this planet.
Eh, I'm done for now. Time to go put my feet up and read the captioning on the TV for a while.
Monday, October 22, 2007
day 757 - nervous
I see the new doc today.
Beth, my online friend, says she's a good doctor. I just hope she doesn't look at my list of meds and allergies and diagnoses and toss her hands up in the air. I don't need that right now.
I'd like to be treated like a real person with real pain instead of a nutcase. I'd like adequate pain relief. I'd like to trust my doctor not to think what I'm going through is all in my head, though indeed that is where most of the pain is. It's there, but it is not psychological in origin. The psych issues were there a long, long time before the pain showed up.
I'm still trying to decide if I want to drive or if I want to put gas in the van and let Abby drive. She's so far along it might not be a good idea. I guess I'll have to see how I feel when it's time to leave in just over an hour.
I was going to try to nap but that's not going to happen. I can't relax enough.
It'll be over soon and I'll know how she is. I hope it goes well.
Beth, my online friend, says she's a good doctor. I just hope she doesn't look at my list of meds and allergies and diagnoses and toss her hands up in the air. I don't need that right now.
I'd like to be treated like a real person with real pain instead of a nutcase. I'd like adequate pain relief. I'd like to trust my doctor not to think what I'm going through is all in my head, though indeed that is where most of the pain is. It's there, but it is not psychological in origin. The psych issues were there a long, long time before the pain showed up.
I'm still trying to decide if I want to drive or if I want to put gas in the van and let Abby drive. She's so far along it might not be a good idea. I guess I'll have to see how I feel when it's time to leave in just over an hour.
I was going to try to nap but that's not going to happen. I can't relax enough.
It'll be over soon and I'll know how she is. I hope it goes well.
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