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I don't even want to write anymore. I just want Social Security to pay out so I can get the hell out of here and resume my life.
There is nothing here... Nothing to do and no one doing anything themselves...
Everything good about me is rotting -- my goodwill toward all, my desire to do anything, my hope...
This place is a prison...
Mixx it!
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.]
Mixx it!
I have no idea why I've been asleep since 8:30-ish yesterday (time outs for piss breaks), but am glad because no awareness = no pain. (Sleep! That's where I'm a Viking!)
Will post as soon as I...
Fuck it. I'm crawling back in bed.
Mixx it!
...though he and The Smiths are the best thing to listen to when you're down. Nothing else (and I like The Cure, too) allows you to wallow deep deep down in your own misery.
Moving on!
It seems (with crossed toes) that I may have been granted a reprieve. This happens to fibro patients -- the agony waxes and wanes. I think the more popular term is that we fibromyalgians (I prefer this term to "fibromyalgics." A fibromyalgian sounds like an alien, and to most people and most doctors we're the closest they'll get to seeing one) have flares, and I think this term is wrongly and stupidly applied to us. A flare would be an exacerbation of what is our normal, baseline pain. And we wish. The truth is that the so-called flare is the norm and the very limited relief of very limited duration --maybe a month out of a year -- is our reality.
The truth, like everything else, fucking hurts.
My reprieve happens to occur just as I'm coming off Percocet -- had my last one yesterday -- and the parents are making hay into gold on that score. Mom especially. I reminded her that it's an amazingly impossible thing for my cessation of taking pain relieving medications (I'm getting off Effexor and Mirapex too) to cause pain relief. And I've also reminded my parents that their pleas to allow me to "let the new meds work" and their reminders that the increase in Prozac and Lyrica, plus the addition of Cymbalta in about two weeks need a couple months to work are likely to have a downside:
In about six months (if I'm still in Lummox, so help me and my too-kind parents -- had to get that plug in because I have one trifle with them maybe once a month. Maybe. ...That, and they're keeping me alive) whatever the Effexor and Mirapex did for me is going to end, and they may have an entirely different animal on their hands. I've gone off my anti-anxiety meds before -- they work, ergo you're not weird, ergo you don't need meds -- and it has always been almost exactly six months before I found myself in an ER, thinking I was having a heart attack, knowing differently, but having a king-hell panic attack and in need of sedation, a referral to a doctor, and relief from the 49 percent of me that believed I really was having a heart attack.
The thing about having panic and generalized anxiety disorders? If I have an actual heart attack, I'll likely be older and more accustomed to the king-hell panic attacks I wake up with every morning. So if I wake up with a real heart attack, that should pretty well do me in. I'll just take a Klonopin and brush it off.
I hope I'm not the only one who finds that hilarious.
[Pain (the scales are back!): 7.5/10 -- It's not a big improvement, but it's still an improvement... However temporary.
Anxiety: 8/10 -- Good as gold!
Self-negating title: You read it, You can't un-read it!]
Mixx it!
