[Tripping On…] Occasional Good Days

I don’t know how many more months I’ll have until I feel somewhat normal, so I have to spread out my remaining painkilling medication since no doctor has had mercy on me to help me through the pain that is debilitating every aspect of my life. Since I have a limited supply and since I don’t know how long it will be before I get relief, I only occasionally have good days – with limited pain.

I mainly save the painkillers for when my heart feels like it’s going to explode.

Or when my breathing becomes difficult. Otherwise, on days like yesterday, I spent most of the day in pain. I slept through most of the day, but, there was no risk to my health with the pain. This morning, I felt the beginning of where that pain would be going – severely increased blood pressure, taxed breathing, and overall, a terrible time – to where I could even say that today was a good day, except for how terrible my tailbone feels. It is so overwhelming and so incredibly difficult for me to do anything, I would hazard to say that I am feeling good now that I’ve taken my first Oxycodone on two days, but I am trying my best to spread out the medication.

I don’t know what will happen when I run out of this medication.

I am so weak right now. I had intended to take the Oxycodone to do things like bathing myself for the first time in now five days, and maybe tending to emails, but I don’t have the energy for that. The pain is so overwhelming even after taking one 10mg of Oxycodone that there is not much I can do. I am losing touch with reality through all of this pain. It’s becoming increasingly more difficult for me to do much of anything to help myself. I can barely cook food for myself, so if there’s anything beyond a snack or two that I have in my depleting pantry, then it’s easier for me to not eat than to try to cook something. I’m writing this essay as a sort of diary entry in the days of my life now.

I am losing hope of feeling better now.

Before writing this essay, I finished the last bits of a Rowing essay where I concluded the essay with the question “How many days until I have a day without pain again?” If I had my late-September health now, I would be happy. At least then, I could do more than what I can do now in mid-November, which amounts to waking up, sitting here, using my cane to slowly walk to the toilet and back, before needing to return to bed because the pain is so overwhelming. I can’t do anything else but deal with this pain. It’s becoming increasingly more difficult for me to plan for the future. I want to remain upbeat and positive through this process, but it’s hard. Every time I think that something will go well and help me, I am beaten down further.

Each doctor’s physical examination sucks up more of my remaining energy.

I imagine there is daily energy that I have after resting for sufficient amounts of time and there is my overall life energy. My life energy is being sucked up from each doctor’s physical examination. My meeting with the pain management doctor and then the sports medicine doctor each sucked up significant amounts of my life energy. I am meeting with a spine surgeon in two days. I imagine this physical examination will suck up more of my life energy. Will this meeting do anything more than present me as a spectacle for this doctor to be amazed at how poor my physical condition is in?

I might as well be a – sorry to use this phrasing – freak in a circus show.

I am no longer optimistic that my health will cover. I don’t think that I will ever be able to do any physical activities. I have lost hope of ever being able to do anything like take a drive somewhere, walk around aimlessly, and drive home without serious pain. Every movement I do is so painful that it’s difficult for me to imagine living without this pain anymore. I am in so much pain right now that I am wheezing to make sure that I get air into my lungs. My tailbone hurts so much that it’s hard for me to focus on much else. But I am so used to this pain and have had to endure it for so long that it’s something that I accept. Until I adjust my seating position and the pain jabs differently and it hurts much worse than I could have imagined.

I feel tortured by the American Healthcare System.

I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel good again. I try to remain positive and I try to focus my efforts on my long-term plans, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult for me to feel enthused about anything at all. It’s so difficult for me to imagine how it must be to have a “good” day without this severe pain. At this point, I don’t think there is anything that can be done to help me through this. I may just have to accept that my life will be full of such overwhelming pain that I have trouble completing sentences because I have trouble completing my thoughts.

Is this going to be my life?

Will no doctor take pity on my wretched soul, other than taking my money? I’m so tired that I really want this pain to go away. It won’t, though. There’s nothing I can do to relieve this pain. No amount of begging and pleading with anyone will help. I just have to wait for something to change. I still have hope that something will happen at this next doctor’s appointment.

I know it’ll be misplaced hope.

Endtable
Quotes: None.
Sources: My personal experiences.
Inspirations: Writing about my life.
Related: Sober Living essays and Tripping On [The American Healthcare System] chapters.
Picture: Template
Written On: 2020 November 16 [1:234567890pm to 1:48pm]
Last Edited: 2020 November 16 [First draft; final draft for the Internet.]

 

My big goal is writing. My most important goal is writing "The Story." All other goals should work toward that central goal. My proudest moment is the most recent time I overcame some fear, which should have been today. I'm a better zombie than I was yesterday. I'm not better than you and you're not better than me. Let's strive to be better every day.