28 February, 2008


Since I have been on Percocet -- Monday -- I have found it hard to sit and write.

This could be because I still am getting used to the slight lethargy I'm experiencing as a side-effect of the oxycodone (active ingredient in Perc)... But, then, I went on an hour-long walk in foot-deep snow today...

So I seem to be finding it difficult to write about my medical situation now that I have little to bitch about.

Well, I certainly don't want my situation to change... But I need to keep writing.

I think that means I need to provide the story of how all this started: From my fibro diagnosis, to my resignation from The Washington Post, to me applying for Social Security Disability, to me having to leave Washington, DC because I was one step away from living on the street (ran out of money, ran up credit cards, sucked dry all savings) to, finally, moving back in with my parents and having to start over with new doctors.

I think that's how things are going to go.

Of course, while we're catching up with the past, I will continue to provide updates regarding all my current visits with my doctors and my physical therapist.

Speaking of Cassatt, my latest appointment with her was Tuesday. For the first time I was able to use the exercise machines in a way that actually made them sense that they were, in fact, being used. During all my previous visits I was barely able to move the pedaler (you sit down and push down with your feet, alternating left and right) and the arm bicycle (you use your hands in the same way your feet pedal a bicycle).

Immediate, considerable progress, brought to you by Percocet.

...It's amazing to think, now, of just how badly I wanted to die just last Sunday!

I also talked with Cassatt about her getting in touch with my insurance company (Thievery Corporation... Check out the group/club owners in DC I borrowed this name from) to see how much it will cost me to get my own e-stim machine. Hopefully it won't be much, since I already have met my insurance deductible for the year.

...Huh. Maybe I can still write, if I can get my ass behind my desk. But is it interesting without the hate behind it?

Stay tuned!

[Pain: 5/5.

Anxiety: 8/10.]

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1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Write, write, write. Who cares if it's infused with hate or slightly diluted from Percocet.

Something--some words--are better than none at all.

Plus, selfishly, I'm interested in hearing the "how this all happened" story.

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