Forgive me if I haven’t responded to your email or I have owed you a phone call since forever. I am in one of those moods that I always promise not to get into. Please indulge me.
It’s been a while since everything hasn’t hurt. I’ve tried taking all the meds on the dot, round the clock, as prescribed, but they don’t work. I’ve tried skipping them. That REALLY doesn’t work. In neither case can I think enough to paint or write. Thinking doesn’t seem possible either, but every once in a while, the realization that I’m so much worse than last year this time bubbles up and things feel grim, grim, grim.
My wonderful geneticist has prescribed me a compounded pain cream made by a specialty pharmacy that contains muscle relaxers and all kinds of good things. It’s on an automatic mailorder renew; I expected a new one on 5/4, and when I didn’t get one, I thought maybe the prescription ran out. No problem, I thought. That was the day of my appointment with Dr. Francomano. Her office would fax a new order. When I didn’t have a new order of my pain cream by the middle of the month, I called the pharmacy and asked for their help. Oh? That should have come at the beginning of the month. Let us overnight it. Guess what? That never showed up. When I called on Wednesday, they said to wait one more day….that never came. So they overnighted it again. When I came home this afternoon and didn’t find it, I just cried. This stuff makes a huge difference in my life. I was considering jumping off my (2nd floor) balcony…and it’s a good thing that a miracle happened….someone had opened my locked door and put the package inside my apartment. I’m assuming it was one of the dear maintenance people who work in my building. What a relief (some good things!). That my be the only reason I’m writing tonight. But I’m still not in great shape.
Yet I am investing so much time and money on what feel like scads of alternative strategies, all of which are so encouraging and gratifying in the moment….but what good have they done me in the long run?
I’m not saying this for anyone to feel sorry, to call me, to send me a note…please, these just feel like overload in this state of mind. I’m just explaining what things look like inside my head, while I–supposedly–have only 167 days left to live.
Some progress, I think: I’m going to a new pain doc next Thursday. That feels like I’m getting ready to go on a blind date, and I don’t know Braille.
I have long ago sworn off blind dates because they never go well. I don’t like people, and I am so convinced they won’t like me, I’ll create a disaster, even if it wasn’t meant to be.
The Hospital Pain Center assigns the doctor based on one’s disorder; more likely it is the doctor who has the fewest patients. The one I was assigned was the one I was most hoping I would not be, based on the bios I read. His specialty is sports medicine. OY. That can’t be good.
I have little faith that much good can come from such an appointment….except what else do I have, right?
Now, I apologize for a negative entry. I won’t do this often. But sometimes this kind of situation happens in a sick person’s life, and it wouldn’t be fair not to show only the happy days, right?