Getting more tests. I hope I pass.

I have finally convinced a doctor to order to an MRI of my ribs and my chest.

You know, the actual part of my body where the insane amount of pain is coming from? Ya. There.

You’re probably all, “But Crystal, you’ve been in pain for SIX MONTHS? How have they not already done this?”

Well, here’s the thing. While I have had two chest X-rays and two CT scans of my chest, the only MRIs I’ve ever had were of my spine and then a totally unrelated one of my head to make sure I didn’t have a random aneurysm causing my headaches. (I don’t).

My understanding of the situation is that the doctors thought that the nerve pain in my front right rib should be connected to my spine, and therefore would show up on a MRI images of my back.

Those all came back normal though.

And then my pain specialist (who I hate) told me that an MRI of my ribs wouldn’t show anything anyway, so I shouldn’t get it.

But in the back of my head, this whole time, I’ve been thinking I should probably get one just in case.

And now, my neurologist (who I love) has finally decided to order one.

The good news: It could show the nerves in my ribs and it might even show the problem.

The sorta bad news: The nerves are so small in that part of the ribs, and so close to the blood vessels, that there’s a chance the MRI won’t show anything useful at all. The neurologist says that doesn’t mean nothing’s wrong, it just means nothing showed up on the MRI. But basically, I shouldn’t get my hopes up.

In other news, he’s also upping my nerve medication. And then, depending on how that goes for the next week, he says I can call him and he’ll put me on another steroid pack if needed.

Ya, my neurologist is pretty awesome.

He cares.

So now I just have to wait for the insurance company to approve the MRIs of my ribs and my chest, and then get them scheduled, and then get them done, and then hope something shows up.

Because the next test my neurologist wants to order is a spinal tap, and I’m not exactly sure what’s all involved in that, but the only times I want to combine the words “spinal” and “tap” are in reference to a parody rock band.

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Trying to find my way through the darkness

It still feels like there’s a butcher knife in my right side.

I know, I know. I talk about it all the damn time.

But when you feel like you have a stab wound every second of every minute of every hour, you tend to bring it up in conversation.

You also tend to use words like “damn” more often. Actually, I’ve found myself swearing with abandon these days. It’s a habit I picked up during my time in newsrooms, and then was sort of forced to drop when I started leading young souls on Sunday mornings. However, when you’re at a level nine pain most of every day, swear words just seem more appropriate. At least for me.

You can tell yourself you’d choose more poetic words in my situation, and maybe you would, but I seriously doubt it.

I’m keeping it relatively clean on here because I think there’s some clause against swearing in my advertising contract. I’m hoping damn doesn’t count. On the scale of swear words, it’s pretty low on the totem pole.

I know there are a lot of people who believe that swear words are just a cop out. That true writers don’t need to depend on them. But I’ve never been against them, personally. Rather, it’s my opinion, as a writer, that it’s best not to limit your tool box. After all, swears are a string of letters just like any other words.

And my life has been in a state of swear words lately.

If there was ever a time to drop the F bomb, it’s when you’re trying to explain to someone how you woke up one sunny day in early February with a little bit of pain on your right side, and then the next day you were in the emergency room and since then everything you ever thought you believed about the world and your life and God has been tested.

Sometimes, only Hell will do, when you’re trying to tell someone the state you find yourself in most nights as you lie there on your back, praying you’ll just get it over with and die already, because there is no reason that anyone, anywhere should have to live in this kind of pain on a daily basis.

And sometimes, the only phrase that I, personally, can think to drop when I’m so angry at my maker that I want to slit my wrists, rhymes with Son of Witch.

Don’t worry. My pastor tells me God has big shoulders. He can handle it if I’m mad at Him.

I’m still on an insane amount of pills. I’m still in so much pain some days that I can barely will myself to get off the couch to go to the bathroom. And I still don’t know what the Hell is causing this.

I am seeing a pain psychiatrist though. She’s helping me with my depressive state. Personally, I like it best when she just lets me vent without getting annoyed that I’m talking about the fact that I hurt like Hell. Again. And crying like a water fountain the entire time.

But I’m also working on some other stuff with her. Like last week, she asked me to start keeping a gratitude journal. I’m supposed to write down three things a day that I’m thankful for. They can be anything. Like, I could write that I’m thankful for sunshine, cable TV and Taco Bell. Any three things at all in the world. I just have to write them down.

It doesn’t seem like it should be a hard assignment, but for someone who’s drifting deeper and deeper in the depths of the darkness, it can excruciating. In fact, I resisted this assignment so much that I put it off for three days with the lame excuse that I wanted to wait until I could go out and buy a new journal and start this thankful list thing right.

Before the pain started, I used to pray to God every night, and part of my pattern was to tell Him things I was thankful for from that day. But as things have just gotten worse and worse and I have felt only silence from Him, more and more nights have gone between prayers, and I’ve been thankful for less and less.

Finally though, last Saturday, I was at Walmart, and there was beautiful little journal with lovely pink flowers on a pale green background and I realized I couldn’t put it off any longer.

And so, I started the stupid list.

Five days in, well, I kind of like it. I kind of think it’s helping. It’s kind of become something I look forward to each day. When I write something down on it, like, “Conversation with my brother Steve,” or “Hanging out with my boyfriend Eric,” it somehow helps me appreciate it that much more the next day.

And when I have things, even small things like “air conditioning” or “sleeping late”, to appreciate, well then, I can start to see a little bit of the light again. It’s kind of bright, but it’s pretty glorious.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. — John 1:5

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I’m totally high right now

I’m totally high right now. On pain pills. Jeeze, I’ve never even tried marijuana folks. Give me some credit, I am a youth leader at a church  guys.

The thing about being high (on pain pills) is that after being on the drugs for like two or three months I started to think I was getting used to them, and by extension hiding their crazy side effects really well.

I mean ya, when I first started taking the things, I was felt really, really stoned. Like all the time. And I never tried to mask that fact.

I didn’t want anything crazy to happen and then to have someone come up to me like a week later all, “Wait, a second, you were HIGH when that happened? Dangit, I thought you really liked my chocolate and spinach cake recipe!”

Or worse, for someone to just assume I had transformed into the kind of person who has a dopey smile on their face most of the time, random outbursts of tears some of the time, and trouble thinking of the word she wants to use all the of the time.

So, I would go around telling everyone that yes, I was feeling a bit better these days, but it was only because I was taking insane amounts of pills.

Looking back on it now, I was probably so forthcoming because I was high.

Anyway, so ya, I’m pretty high right now. Well, not like, as high as I used to be, but 21 perscription pills a day is a lot for anyone’s system to handle, so even though I’m a little more used to the high levels of drugs, I’m still not really myself.  Or at least that’s what people tell me.

And by people, I mean my friend Lynn who came to visit me today. After being amazing and cooking me food and cleaning my house, she told me I looked stoned.

If I wasn’t high when she said it, I would have totally been offended by the comment.

I called my mom to ask if I looked stoned on all the drugs, and she said something about dark circles under my eyes. However, I think that has more to do with the fact when the pain pills wear off it feels like a butcher knife is lodged between my sixth and seventh ribs, and sometimes that happens in the middle of the night and so my sleep pattern pretty much sucks.

I asked my boyfriend about it, but being smart and all, he denied the whole thing and then quickly changed the subject to how much he missed me today because we hadn’t seen each other in a whole 24 hours. Well played my friend. Well played.

Anyway, it appears I’m pretty much chained to these stupid pills for at least a little while longer because nobody really knows why I hurt like hell, or how to fix it, but the pills at least kind of mask it. And I have to say, I’m really, really hate it.

I ran out a couple weeks ago and there was some drama about getting the refill a little earlier than I was scheduled to, so I had to go through a cold-turkey withdrawal AND endure the pain of a stab wound all day while I waited for it to all get sorted out.

Let’s just say I didn’t think I was going to die — I wanted to die.

To be safe, I looked up what exactly pain pill addiction means, and the internet says it’s defined as taking more than the prescribed dose to get high. I never take more than two at a time of the opiate I’m on, and I never take them for anything other than to relieve pain.

So the good news is, I’m not an illegal addict or anything. The bad news is, my body doesn’t appear to know the difference, and if this pain goes away before I do die, and I have to go off all these crazy drugs, I’m pretty sure it’s going to suck. A lot.

Whatever dude. Anyone got some munchies to snack on?

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