I realised I was taking more Perco than before I got the injection. As I said, I have been trying to taper off. I have been trying to do gentle stretches and stuff, doing the best I can to stay as active as possible, but it just isn't fucking working, at least not today. I got up, I took a shower. I shaved my legs. Shaving my legs is one of the most painful parts of my day. It hurts to lean down. It hurts to put my foot up on the side of the tub. It hurts to straighten back up. I literally get out-of-breath from the pain. Since I'm in the shower, the water helps somewhat. I got out of the shower and started to dry my hair. About halfway through, my back and ass started to burn. I wasn't able to stand in front of the bathroom sink long enough to put my makeup on. I went to my room and (painfully) got dressed. Then I sat up on my bed, bolstered by pillows, and used the camera on my phone as a mirror to help me put on my face. And part of me was like, "See? I can adapt!" And another part of me was like, "Seriously? You can't handle putting on makeup? This is really bad." Not in the shameful way, mind you, just in the, "It's really scary that such simple tasks are becoming so painful.'
But this has happened before, and I always just sort of ignore it, and moving around generally works to help loosen up my back a bit. Usually. Except when it doesn't, like today. I had been sitting in my office chair (I use it sort of like a wheelchair to get around my room when I have days like this.) I tried to get up, and pain shot through my lower spine. It was like someone driving a hot railroad spike through the small of my back. It takes a LOT for me to react vocally to pain, and I cried out. Matt freaked out and ran upstairs. I told him, as I lay on my stomach on my bed with my feet on the floor, "chill out, chill out, chill out, it's okay." This does not happen every day, but it does happen. He's just not usually here to see it. I felt kind of bad for worrying him.
We talked a bit, and then I continued to get myself ready for the day. Again, I was sitting in the office chair. I leaned to reach for my jewellery box to get my earrings and felt another jolt of pain. I sighed, paused, and tried again. After the third time, I broke down in tears of frustration. I just wanted my goddamn earrings.
Matt and I talked some more. He brought me some tissues. I'm glad he was there, but I am also embarrassed. I have only 4 Percocet left, but it's obvious I'm going to have to take one today, whether I want to or not. I'm frustrated, scared of being addicted to this stuff, and beyond angry at the pain. I did eventually get my earrings. I had to make the chair move for me instead of moving myself. My movements reminded me of how I've seen people in wheelchairs move, and it just made me so upset. I really don't want that to be my future. I want to ride a goddamn fucking bicycle again. I want to be able to go somewhere without being afraid I'm not going to have the energy or pain tolerance to get back.
I see the doctor who performed my injection on Monday. I'm glad they could get me in to see him. I am also seeking a second opinion from another doctor on Sept. 4. I've officially entered the "doctor roulette" stage. With everything else that's going on, I feel selfish for needing so much help, but if I can't think straight because of pain, what good am I to anyone?
Grateful to my gods, particularly Thor, whose simple steadfastness has been a boon to me lately. (Sometimes I even imagine my cane as Mjolnir.) Grateful to Matt for being patient, as always. Grateful to Matt's parents for helping with the rent. Grateful for a good therapist. Grateful that we have health insurance to begin with so that these problems can be taken care of. Grateful that we are not getting kicked out. Grateful that the Percocet is kicking in. Grateful for everything that doesn't suck.
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