My health has been declining so rapidly over the past week that now any activity at all is painful. Any movement I do other than sitting here, at my writing table watching videos or otherwise trying to distract myself from my physical pain, or laying in bed patiently waiting for sleep to wash over my consciousness, hurts. It even hurts to use the toilet now. I’ll be meeting with the doctor tomorrow. Will that help?
If the spine doctor won’t help, I’ll go to an urgent care or emergency room.
I don’t know how much longer my body will take this level of pain, this consistently. I’m sure I have some degree of tolerance left within my body, but it’s getting to the point where I can’t even muster up the strength to do much of anything. I can barely even write one essay a day. Yesterday, I couldn’t physically write 1000 words. Everything hurts to such an incredible degree that if I do anything other than just zone out to some livestreams or videos, anything will hurt. I moved my body slightly during that sentence and my right leg – not the leg that’s been becoming numb over the past month – had a pop in its joint that didn’t quite hurt but didn’t feel good either.
I ate too much food so I feel nauseous.
By “too much food” I don’t mean a prodigious amount found at a buffet. I mean eating more than nothing. I even luxuriously took one of my remaining painkillers this morning. I have to ration out my post-surgery Oxycodone because none of the doctors I’ve talked to have been empathetic with me enough to want to do anything to help with my pain symptoms. The retiring spine doctor didn’t care much; his moralities were settled by referring me to the second pain management doctor, who didn’t feel I was in sufficient pain to be worth treating, especially since I’d already taken many of the common pain management medicines that a patient might be prescribed, so his idea was that I should go to aquatherapy for pain relief, but he referred me to the sports medicine doctor, who, because I hadn’t even been cleared to do physical therapy let alone aquatherapy, said I should go back to the spine clinic and that was that.
I am now at a point where I can’t even get out of bed without experiencing massive pain.
So there are times, like yesterday, where I won’t get out bed. I have a wedge pillow that props me upright, somewhat, that I recline against until that becomes too intolerable of a pain. I’ll hurt myself by moving my body around to remove that pillow and then I’ll wait by laying flat until I lose consciousness and I have enjoyable dreams where I am pain-free. They’re not even especially memorable dreams, but if I think about them, they’re usually just me having a nice, pain-free life. I write this essay with full knowledge of whether my body will even survive until this essay’s publication. It seems likely it will, but considering the amount of pain I’ve been in for so long, I don’t know if I’m going to have a stroke or heart attack in my sleep and never wake up. I don’t know if my body is going to run out of pain tolerance and find itself unable to push on ahead with any of these extreme activities I do.
Walking at any pace has a high potential to harm my lower back.
In those moments, my body registers that new pain and it infects my entire consciousness. This pain is far beyond anything I have ever experienced before, but I have not been granted the mercy from the American Healthcare System for any long-term relief from this. Will I receive mercy from this spine doctor tomorrow? Will he find the answer to my problems? If not, then I will need to go to an urgent care or emergency room to receive assistance. I have to fully imagine that tomorrow’s doctor meeting will not turn out well, because of the many months of terrible experiences I’ve had. While I hope tomorrow’s meeting will go well, I have to expect it to go wrong. I have to assume that I will be told, just as I was told many times before, that it’s not his problem and that the problem is with some other doctor to resolve.
I have to assume the worst because this is the worst pain I’ve ever been in.
I am at the point now where I don’t think I will ever be able to row again because I don’t think I’ll ever be able to lift anything more than 5 pounds in weight again. It’s difficult for me to lift my 4-some-pound water bottle, let alone anything else. If this doctor assumes that I will be in 100% health in less than one month from my writing of this essay, then I would love to hear what that magic fix will be, and I would have loved to have had that magic fix months ago. I would love to be able to row again, but now, I don’t even have the energy to think about how I’ll ever be able to row again. I only have the energy to finish writing this essay then going to bed.
Everything hurts so much and I just want the pain to go away.
I don’t assume I will be so lucky as to experience any sort of pain relief tomorrow, though, and I don’t think I will reach a point by this essay’s publication where I’ll start writing about rowing again. In the endtable below, before I publish each essay, I write about the differences between writing and publication, so you might know before clicking on this essay if you read them. If so, you knew my health before I did.
I hope the news is good and I hope the fix is thorough.
|Sources: My fitness experiences.
– This week’s weight: 213.5
– Last week’s weight: 216.5
– Weight Difference: Down three pounds.
– Difference between writing and editing for publication: Nope, my health has decreased since I wrote this essay.
|Inspirations: I thought of this essay’s title and topic as I was doing the extreme activity of walking to my kitchen. I haven’t been able to watch any media lately where people do actual extreme activities and stuff like yoga is painful for me to see. It’s awful being in this condition.|
|Related: Past weekly column entries. Sober Living essays and Tripping On [The American Healthcare System] chapters.|
|Written On: 2020 December 08 [11:11am to 11:34am]|
|Last Edited: 2020 December 08 [First draft; final draft for the Internet.]|