The second worst thing about being in pain all the time.

So here’s the number two most horrible thing about being in pain all day every day (number one being the horrible pain): I’m totally gaining weight and it sucks really bad and I literally don’t know how to stop it.

And before you give me some crap line about moving more and eating less, let me explain some stuff to you.

The pain killers and the nerve medications both list weight gain as a possible side effect. Because of course I didn’t get the random chronic condition that comes with medications that cause unexplained weight loss.

And by “weight gain as a possible side effect” I mean, like I’ll go to the doctor on a Thursday and weigh one thing and then I’ll eat like normal amounts of food (maybe even a little less than normal if I feel particularly crappy) and do normal amounts of things and by my next doctor’s appointment on Monday I will have gained four solid pounds.

And yes, I know that part of this is because I spend so much time with my new BFF, the couch. But that’s because when I do things, like say, shower, or walk around a grocery store, I feel like death afterward.

And so, no, I’m not really burning off any calories. But when I do burn them off, I want to cry and die and drug myself to sleep.

I also know that my eating habits haven’t been the best lately.

But I’m just going to throw it out there that I feel like I’m dying more often than I don’t, and that kind of thing screws with your head in ways you wouldn’t expect, and so yes, many times, when I eat, I’m like, “Dude, whatever, give me another taco. I’m probably going to die tomorrow anyway.”

Like, honestly, I really think I’m going to die tomorrow, pretty much everyday. That’s how much pain I’m in.

Because this is my blog and I want to be honest in this space, I’m just going to go ahead and confess that since February I have literally gained over 40 pounds.

In six months I have gained 40-freaking pounds.

What the what?

I talked with my neurologist, and he switched me from one nerve medication to another, hoping it would help, but I’m still gaining like a pound a day.

Like seriously, I gained 10 pounds while I was on a mission trip, eating sandwiches and one scoop of noodles for dinner every night and painting houses all day.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, everyone in my life has been super amazing about it. My boyfriend has not mentioned it even once, not even in passing. And, neither has any of my family members. And I know that all the kids in my (soon-to-be former) youth group love me dearly, because they are so amazing that I seriously get the impression that they don’t even notice.

But I notice. And my stupid, stupid clothes notice. And the stupid, stupid scale at the doctor’s office notices.

So yesterday, I was like, screw this, I’m going to try to do something. And so I went for a walk.

According to my cell phone, I went 3.89 miles.

I mean, ya, when I came back home and sat on my couch, it felt like my ribs were literally going to explode off of my body because I was in that much pain. But the walk itself wasn’t so bad, what with the help of a the prescription pain pills and whatnot.

Anyway, as most of you know, I’m moving in with my in a couple weeks, and I’m hoping the change will help me eat a little healthier and walk a little more. (My mom seriously loves walks).

In the meantime though, I’m just trying to find lots of reasons to wear yoga pants, because nothing else I own fits me anymore.

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That time I had an intercostal nerve block

I think that I might, finally, kind of, sort, maybe, cautiously optimistically, might be, feeling, a little bit better.

Like not completely healed go out and do jumping jacks and then yoga and then run a marathon or anything. But maybe make it through a whole day without codeine. Or  maybe just one codeine.

I’m very scared to write those words.

To put them out into the ether. To make them real. To jinx things.

The pain has just lasted so. so. long.

Since Feb. 4 it has felt like someone has been stabbing in my lower right rib. Or, well, sometimes it has felt like someone has just hit me in the ribs with a baseball bat. And other times it felt like someone dropped a cinder block on top of my chest. It really just depended on what time of day you asked me.

My latest, and hopefully final, diagnosis is “nerve pain related to scar tissue from my gall bladder surgery from five years ago.”

Which I didn’t even know what a thing until Monday. And truthfully I’m kind of really mad it wasn’t listed as a possible side effect when I had the stupid thing taken out in ’08. Not that I would have not had it taken it out, but it would have been nice to know that  someday, should I feel like someone was stabbing me with an imaginary knife, it could have been related. You know?

Who am I kidding? It was five freaking years ago. It probably was listed as a side effect and I just have no memory of it whatsoever.

Anyway, on Thursday, afternoon I had a small procedure called an intercostal nerve block, which is what I’m hoping has finally made so that maybe I only need one codeine to get through the day.

Well the doctors call it a “small procedure.” I call it, “‘That crazy thing they did to me that I am so, so glad I had my mom and my grandma come all the out from an hour away to be with me because it was scary as crap’ procedure.”

First of all, they told me in advance that I would get to be put to sleep for the thing, but then when I got there, they were all, “Well we need to be able to converse with you in case someone goes wrong, so we’re only going to give you something to help you relax and some local anesthesia.”

And I have it on good authority from my good friend John Rowley, who had the same procedure multiple times, that they were lying to me, because he got to be put to sleep every time. But whatever. Now I can tell you nice people all about it.

Step one, the IV:

They gave me an IV. I almost fainted because I was so nervous and I was watching the nurse (whose name was Sandy, which made me feel more comfortable because I really, really love my Aunt Sandy) do the whole thing and she couldn’t get it to work and she was talking to me and the blood was going in and out and in and out and in and out of my arm and then all of a sudden the blood drained from my face. And then the nurse,  was all, “Umm, are you going to pass out?” And I was like, “I don’t think so.” But she’s a professional and she could see that I was wobbling. So after she got the IV situated, she got a wheelchair to take me down to the procedure room, instead of having me walk, just to be safe.

Step two, going to the procedure room:

They had me lay on the bed stomach down in the procedure room. They wrapped the hospital gown up around my head but left my personal yoga pants on. Considering the fact that I’ve been in near constant pain for more than two months and haven’t washed those things in at least a week, that probably wasn’t the hospital’s most sanitary decision of the year, but it was their most comfortable.

Then, they gave me whatever drug they give you that makes you relax without exactly putting you to sleep. It’s an odd phenomenon to be awake in a procedure room. And this was the first time I ever experienced it.

The doctors and nurses are busy getting everything ready around you, and they almost act as if you’re an inanimate object. Like the doctor would tell the nurse, “Yes, move her up on the table because I’ll need her back to be flat.” And then the nurse would go to move me, but she wouldn’t really talk to me about it, but would just go to move me. And, at another point, someone in the room took a purple marker and freely drew on the right side of my back to mark where they needed to do stuff. Like I was a windshield they were replacing.

Step three, the local anaesthesia:

Just as I had finally relaxed enough to kind of fall asleep, someone woke me up to tell me they were about to inject the local anaesthesia.  Which I would say was a stupid time to wake me up, except that it would have worse if the injection had woken me up instead.

When they injected it, the shots burned really bad and I didn’t realized there would be three of them. Except in my drugged up stated I couldn’t quite articulate that, so I just let out a long moan. Like, “uggugugugugugugugaaaa.” And then, in my head, I realized I needed to ask if there were going to be three intercostal nerve block injections, because I had been under the impression that there was going to be one, but I couldn’t figure out how to articulate it. So I think I said something along the lines of, “Three shot of other one?” And the doctor said, “What?” And I was like “Will I get three shots of the other one?” And they said, “Yes, but it won’t hurt, you’ll just feel pressure.” Which I suppose was technically true.

 Step four, the actual intercostal nerve block injection:

I have no idea what the heck they did when they injected the stuff for the nerve block because I was stomach down, so all I can tell you is what I felt and what I heard.

They did the whole thing under X-Ray, which going in I had assumed meant they would be under a live X-Ray machine. But actually, it meant that they had to keep taking pictures with the X-Ray machine and then posting them on the wall in front of the doctors. This lead to the doctor and the resident saying, “Picture” over and over and over and over and over to the technician during the procedure. It’s probably my most vivid memory. I think if I really wanted to I could have tilted my head up and seen the pictures, but I didn’t want to risk moving at the wrong time and then having the doctor miss and puncture my lung.

When they injected whatever they were injecting I did indeed feel the aforementioned pressure. Although it wasn’t so much “pressure” as it was a feeling of someone jabbing a rusty spoon into my back and moving it around for a really long time and then yanking out.

Obviously, I responded, very clearly, in my drugged up state, with, “uggugugugugugugugaaaa.” And the doctor said, “Does that hurt?” And I said, “No. Just pressure.” And he said. “Good.”

And then, what seemed like 12 rusty spoons later, they were finally done.

Step five, waiting for the drugs to wear off:

After that, the doctors got the heck out of there because it was like 4 p.m. or whatever, but Nurse Sandy waited with me for about a half hour for the drugs to wear off.

I remember that my feet were really cold and I basically feel in and out of a light sleep. The local anaesthesia made it so the injection site and my ribs felt pretty great.

Then, after I was at a point where I could stand up, she walked me over to another room where I met up with my mom, my grandma and my boyfriend. She took the IV out, gave me some orange juice, and some crackers, which was very exciting because I hadn’t been allowed to eat since the day before. Then, they told me that the injection might make my nerve pain worse for a couple days before it got better, had my mom sign me out, told me not to make any legal decisions today and sent me on my way.

Step six, the day after sucked:

Holy cow, when they said my pain was going to suck they day after, they meant by 9 p.m that night. My boyfriend called to say good-night and accidentally woke me up, and by that point everything had worn off and I woke up feeling like I was going to either die or kill myself. I couldn’t even talk because I was crying too much. So I just hung with him without even really talking and then I went back to sleep.

Friday was pretty much more of that. The injection site hurt. My ribs hurt. I thought I was going to die. I talked to John Rowley who told me this is all very normal. He also told me that the fact that they already did an intercostal nerve block means they’re taking my pain very seriously and that it took him six months to get to the point I’m at. And that I should wake up feeling better Saturday and that by Sunday I should be feeling pretty awesome.

Step seven, it’s Saturday morning:

I haven’t actually done too much today, but I’m hopeful. I think, I might, finally, kind of, sort, maybe, cautiously optimistically, might be, feeling, a little bit better. Fingers crossed.

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I got gastritis. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

My doctor told me not to eat chocolate for at least 30 days because the my stomach lining is swollen and I have an ulcer in my intestines and apparently chocolate is bad for those things.

And I was all, “But, umm, I write for a candy magazine. It’s literally my job to eat chocolate.” And she was all, “He He He. You’re so funny. Just eat other candy.” And I was like, “Whoa. This sucks.”

And then I went back to work today after being out sick Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday and wouldn’t you know that I got a sample box of 16 chocolates with a retail price of $48. Those are some seriously amazing chocolates.

Ya, I ate five of them.

And they were all amazing. One had passion fruit in the center and I loved it.

Backing up a few steps, for those who don’t follow me on Facebook, I was in the hospital Monday and Tuesday. Apparently I have gastritis in my stomach and the aforementioned ulcer. It basically feels like someone took a metal bat to my side.

And because gastritis rhymes with bronchitis, I can’t help but quote this amazing women pretty much all day, every day.

You’d be shocked to learn how often I can tell people I wanted a “cold pop!”

Anyway, so ya, Monday morning I woke up, and my side hurt and I thought I was going to die, and so on my way to work I figured I’d just swing by the emergency room — you know, to see how long I had.

They pumped me full of morphine like the second I walked in the door. Then they X-rayed my chest, but nothing showed up. So then they gave me a CT Scan and it turns out that I am one of the few people who vomits after being pumped full of the dye they rush through your system right before they take the pictures. So, ya, that sucked.

And then they were all, “The CT Scan looks pretty good. We think you have an ulcer. We’re going to keep you overnight so we can better manage your pain, and then tomorrow we’re going to stick a camera down your throat and take a look around. Cool? Cool.”

And I was like, “OMG!!!! What if I wake up while you’re sticking a camera down my throat?”

And the dude was like, “Ya, that could happen. But you won’t remember it.”

Which wasn’t exactly the response I was hoping for.

I slept with an IV in my arm and every single time I bent my elbow the alarm on the IV beeped like an insane person worried the sky was falling and then I had to call a nurse and I think the nurse got annoyed that I kept calling, but she wouldn’t tell me how to shut the IV off myself when that happened, so whatever.

My mom and grandma came up and spent the night in the hospital with me because spending the night in the hospital sucks and is scary and people literally wake you up at 4:30 a.m. to draw blood from your arm like it’s normal and so it’s really important that your mom and grandma spend the night in the room with you when that happens.

The two of them rotated between the bed and the couch.

Here is my mom on the couch:

And here is my poor grandma sleeping on the chair:

I’m really sorry you had to sleep like that grandma!

My brother Steve was also by my side for most of this crazy hospital adventure. He served as the coherent person in the room when I was doped up on morphine and the doctors were trying to explain crazy things to me about my intestines.

Of course, my amazing boyfriend was there as well. He held my hand through everything and was awesome and brought me roses and I love him because he is so awesome. And once, when the nurse was pumping drugs into my IV, I was holding his hand and the nurse was all snark and all, “What do you think is going to happen?” And I was all, “Nothing. I just like to hold his hand.” Boo-ya!

Now, to answer the question I know you’re all thinking: How the heck did my stomach get so screwed up? Well, it turns out that taking 9-12 Advil a day, every day for 10 years can mess you up. I basically can never take another Ibuprofen again for the rest of my life. Ever.

Also, for the next 30 days I can’t eat tomatoes, drink soda or have large meals. So far so good on all of those, even though before this happened I basically lived pop and large, heavy tomato-based meals. The last restriction though — no chocolate — well, ya. I hope the doctor wasn’t super serious about that one.

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