medium – Page 7 – The only certainty is bad grammar

21 pills a day.

May 24, 2013 Crystal god, Life is hard sometimes, medium

I go back and forth between wanting to do every possible thing there is to do in the world and wanting to kill myself because the constant pain and the constant stream of pills is too much to bear.

I calculated it last weekend, and I’m on about 21 prescription pills a day. That’s 21 pills every single day just to survive. It’s 21 pills just to make it from sun up to sun down.

Every single day, I wake up in horrible pain because all my medications have worn off.

The hydrocodone and the gabapentin from the night before are no longer in my system, and my right rib hurts so bad that it’s hard to breath. It’s hard to even reach over and grab the bottles of pills and count them out and put them in my mouth and then grab the cup of water I put there the night before knowing I would need it and then take a gulp and swallow it all down.

I have to use every ounce of strength I have in my bones to get up and reach over and grab those pills every morning. And of course it doesn’t help that my brain is fighting off the fog of the sleeping pill I took the night before.

I hate it. I really hate it.

I want it all to be over so bad.

I don’t understand it, and the doctors don’t seem to either. The pain specialist and Loyola told me that he doesn’t know what caused it, he doesn’t know what will cure it and he’s pretty much just hoping it will go away on it’s own.

My primary care doctor told me to make an appointment at The Mayo Clinic, and after realizing that I just can not live my life by depending on two hydrocodone every four hours, I decided to take his advice. So I reached out to them this week, and then they said they would need a referral, which my primary care doctor gave them. But then they said they had to decide whether or not they would take my case.

Did you read that? They have to decide if they going to take my case or not. The Mayo Clinic is just about my last resort on this stupid blue planet and they could end up deciding that I am not worthy of their care.

They said they would tell me their decision in 10 days.

Whatever.

Just like everyone else, they think 10 days is a short amount of time, but they don’t seem to understand that for someone in chronic pain, 10 days feels like 10 years.

I’m so frustrated.

I hate dealing with this every day.

I know it could be worse. I know I need to pray and lean on God. But it’s just so hard to get up out of bed every single morning and reach over and grab those pills.

And then to have to take a bunch more four short hours later because my right ribs are screaming in agony.

I want to be healthy. I want to do all the things I used to do. I want to be awesome at both my jobs. I want to be an over achiever.

I want to be able to hop in a car and drive out to see my mom on a moment’s notice, or help my boyfriend clean out his office, or decorate the youth room or go to the grocery store anytime I want without having to calculate how much pain I’m going to be in at the first stoplight I hit.

I want to reach over and give my boyfriend a big hug without horrible pain radiating throughout my body. I want to cover a candy show without having to lay down behind the booth throughout the day because the pain is unbearable and I can no longer stand up. And I want to love being alive again.

And I can’t do any of those things right now. In fact, I can barely get out of bed.

I’m still in pain. And I still don’t know why.

Published: April 25, 2013 / Updated: June 8, 2013 Crystal Life is hard sometimes, medium

I’m still in pain.

Like all the time.

I haven’t killed myself.

I figured I should a write a post saying that in case you’re the one reader here who’s not my friend in real life or on Facebook and you’re worried I ended it all based on my last post.

I haven’t.

I’m still in near constant pain though.

My only symptom seems to be horrible stabbing pain on my lower right ribs all the time and then it hurts when you even slightly touch anywhere on my right rib, including my right boob. (I can say “boob” right? Even though I’m a youth leader? Or is there a more Christian term for that part of my body? I can’t think of one).

Anyway, so they laid a small tube across my right chest during the MRI I had of my spine and my throat Monday and the tube was connected to something I could squeeze if I needed help. Within minutes I was crying from pain because it was too much pressure on my chest and I had to have them move it. And I can’t wear a stretchy tank tops because it’s too much pressure on my chest and it hurts like hell. (“Hell” is in the Bible. I can say that).

The pain has been very hard to deal with.

My friend told me yesterday that his dad used to say that nothing deteriorates your mental health faster than constant physical pain. He’s right.

If you seriously knew how often I genuinely considered killing myself over the last couple months you would be shocked. I’m shocked.

I’m trying to sleep a lot and I keep waiting for the next doctor’s appointment hoping that I will finally get some help, but it hasn’t happened yet.

Prayers are appreciated.

Basically, the MRI’s of my spine and my throat came back clear, which means I don’t have a pinched nerve. They don’t think it’s costochondritis because it doesn’t seem to respond to anti-inflammatories. They’ve given up on the idea of shingles. They have no idea why the intercostal nerve block didn’t work.

The pain specialist basically told me on Monday that it’s nerve pain. They don’t know what caused it. They probably will never know what caused it. They don’t know how to make it stop so they’re just going to keep trying different medications to see what works. And they have no idea how long it will last, but they’re kind of just hoping it will go away on its own.

I cry a lot. But crying hurts.

I tried to Google some things. But my official diagnosis of “intercostal neuralgia” is rare enough that not much comes up. It was like the first page of results that suggested marijuana might help.

I want it to stop. I want my life back. I want to be able to take a full shower without crying. I want to able to wear a regular bra again. I want to be able to drive into work without sobbing. I want to able to walk around a Wal-Mart without feeling like I’m going to die.

And I want to know why the heck I was fine on Feb. 2 and by Feb. 4 I was in the emergency room with stabbing pain in my right ribs and nobody can tell me what caused it.

Breathe again

Published: March 21, 2013 / Updated: March 21, 2013 Crystal medium

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.