Monday, January 4, 2010

A new year

I haven't blogged in forever, although I guess December 19 isn't as long as I thought. I've been extremely busy and personal things have been going into my journal for some time now. Since I don't know that anyone is actually keeping track of me here it's not that important to keep it updated. And when it comes down to it, I'm bone weary. My gall bladder surgery didn't work, I'm still in pain, no difference. I don't see my pain specialist until the 22nd, though I'm going to call tomorrow and see if I can do anything about that. I thought I had lost all of my pain medication in Illinois, but thankfully I found one of my bottles of Dilaudid in the car and only haven't taken any yet because I have to eat first, so I don't spend the night puking. Yeah, because this is stuff other people want to know. I don't kid myself, trust me.

I mean it when I say I'm tired though. Tired beyond the restoration of sleep. It has nothing to do with sleep. Pain is it's own burden, a ceaseless strain. I don't remember the specifics, or why I was writing a report on malaria...I'm thinking that was a "help Rachael with her last semester of college" thing, but I digress. It said that people with malaria can sometimes? be treated with a drug that will temporarily relieve their symptoms. These patients expressed that they felt better than they had in years, better than they could ever remember feeling. I know what those words say, but I want to point them out again. Better than they could ever remember feeling. To me they are extremely significant, because it takes a long time to be able to forget how being healthy feels, till you can't remember what it was like to be "better." It's been six years, four months, and one week since I first saw a doctor because of my side pain. I don't remember anymore. All I can remember are the "best moments of my life" being ruined by untreated pain. I've had some people tell me that when I'm feeling alright I can't let my fear of the pain prevent me from doing what I want to do, except I always know that I'm waiting for it. It will come back, it's not a question. What is a question is whether it will come back while I'm in the mall, which means I will be forced to make it back to the car and be coherent enough to drive home. And that's not always the case. Safer to stay at home. There were entire weeks I would go hungry instead of risking a trip to the grocery store that was literally around the corner. I wasn't capable of making it through checkout. I didn't last that long.

I don't know why I've written any of this except I guess I'm feeling sorry for myself. The big family Christmas dinner was pretty much ruined for me when my Dilaudid wasn't enough to even take the edge off. I managed to get through the passing of the food, but knew I looked bad when Rachael started holding the plates for me while I served myself. I managed to have a few bites, but then I had to excuse myself and go lie down in my parents bed (mine was downstairs, and far, far away in comparison). It's a miserable existence. I thank God for David, because without him, well, everything would be different. I would be hard pressed to find someone other than my family willing to take care of and do as much for me as he does. But that doesn't make me any happier that I can't do it myself. I'm ok with him being my provider, not so much my caretaker.