Hello, and thank you so very much for being here, for having this forum, and for letting me know I'm not as alone as I feel. For the past 18 months I've been trying, without much success, to cope with the idea that the second half of my life will be spent in this much pain. And while I'm no stranger to pain, (quite to the contrary) this wasn't what I expected, as I believed I'd finally earned the right to enjoy life to its fullest. I'd worked hard, raised three children; mostly on my own, kept my nose to the grindstone, did the best I could with what I had, and I just knew that one day I'd be able to pull up a chair and sit in the sun....and then it all changed, virtuely overnight.
When the pain began to linger longer than I could manage, I used to make up excuses, even to myself. When it got to be too much, I would hide in the bathroom and cry into a rolled up towel so my husband wouldn't hear me. I did this for nearly two years. On a routine visit, I explained to my doctor that I thought I was going to lose my mind with this much pain and that's when the tests began. Tests and more tests and more tests. Anyway, you all know how that story ends. Since March, 2009 I've had just about every type of pain medication that can be prescribed, prescribed. What we've found is that I'm hyper-sensitive to most medications; it's that or I find myself having to deal with the side-effects of the medication, an unpleasant (to say the least) situation at best. Even the lowest dose of, let's say Cymbalta, will leave me feeling like a world-class zoombie...I'm ready for my close-up Mr. DeMille. Lyrica or its counterparts will put me on my fanny faster than I can count to ten and let me tell you, I don't care if the house is on fire around me, I'm NOT moving; as I simply don't care. Recently Tramadol (50mg/4x's daily) was showing signs of working but then I had developed every single side-effect it offered but when my heart palpatations went from 2 a week to 10 an hour, she took me off the medication.
Three weeks ago I went to see the doctor, as I'd just finished my 12 week regimen of Encort EC, the treatment for my collagenous colitis, and I needed to talk with her about the terrible pain in my feet that had been growing increasing worse over the past few weeks prior. As I sat watching her go over the neurologists notes, I wish I could tell you I stayed strong, kept my tears in check, but I didn't. Instead they fell as if it were raining in her office. All I could do was apologize; it's what I do. Lately, it's all I do.
I've always believed I was strong. Not just physically strong, but mentally and emotionally as well. Crying was something I saved for a good movie, or, well, you know what I mean. Now I cry every day.
Living in Alaska isn't for the faint-hearted, but I call it home. And when the snow melts, I can't wait to put on my get-dirty clothes and go outside. I used to be able to work in my yard for 6-8 hours easy; now an hour, if I'm having a good day. Oh, and I never, ever had to ask my husband for help with anything, and that was just fine with him because he doesn't like yardwork, which was fine with me, because I do. Now, and yes, there are tears in my eyes just typing this, I have to wait and ask him for a great deal of help, which he offers up with a smile, and yes, he does a good job, but I know he'd rather be doing something else. Did I mention he doesn't like yardwork? I'm rambling aren't I...
Anyway, I thought it was about time I quit trying to do this by myself. It doesn't seem to be working all that well. So, I'm fairly certain I've come to the right place. And right now what I need the most is the knowledge that I have more than three choices ahead of me. In case you're the least bit interested, I've been under the impression my only choices were pain, drugs, and screaming.
Thank you so much for taking the time out of your day to read these words of mine.
In Earnest,
AKMamaBear