Breathe again

On Tuesday night my ribs were basically like, “Go eff yourself.”

I laid in bed in pure pain.

Every. Single. Breath. Hurt.

My ribs. Hurt.

I was alone.

I was in agony.

And I didn’t really know what to do.

I took a hydrocodone, but I might as well have taken a Skittle.

I thought about going to the ER, but figured racking up a huge bill so I get some good drugs probably wasn’t worth it.

I cried.

But that hurt. So I stopped.

And I just laid there. In pain. Crying on the inside.

I tried ranking my pain in my head.

I thought about how being dead would be better than the pain I was in.

I figured that had to put me at like an 8 or a 9.

I tried to move so that my body weight was in a different position. But that didn’t help.

An hour went by. Then another hour. I kept crying on the inside.

I realized how easy it is to get to a point where you just want to give up. Give in. Quit.

I thought about being dead some more.

Another hour passed. I closed my eyes for a few minutes and just ached with every breath and every movement.

The night crept by slowly.

And then, finally, after a series of short naps, it was time to wake up.

I got ready for work. The hot shower seemed to ease things. I thought maybe the day wouldn’t be so bad.

Then I got in the car. I made it about 20 minutes before I was crying in agony.

I willed myself to drive the rest of the way to work. Another 60 minutes. I needed to get my work laptop so I could get some stuff done at home.

I got there. Stopped at my desk to call a doctor I hadn’t seen about this yet, walked over to my bosses’ office with tears in my eyes to tell him I was leaving for the day and then I got back in my car.

I drove to see Dr. Pangan.

I said, “You have to help me.”

He examined my ribs, and when he touched the bones, I felt the wind come out of me. I cried. So much.

He thinks it could be rib fracture. He says costochondritis should be gone by now. He wrote a prescription for some new meds, ordered a chest X-ray and some blood work to check my inflammation levels. And he referred me to a pain specialist.

The pain specialist.

That is the man I want to meet.

That is the light at the end of the tunnel.

That is who will help me breathe again.

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