[Tripping On…] Releasing Medical Records [2 of 2]

My efforts may have been in vain, but depending on how I look at life, that same sentiment could be said about many things I’ve done. If I hadn’t been seduced by materialism, I wouldn’t have had to deal with its clutter as reproductions. If I had protested louder or been more vocal about my ergonomic health, I wouldn’t have had to deal with the spine problems I’m still encountering on a constant, daily basis.

I barely feel like writing this essay.

At the same time, it’s been years since I haven’t written something, so I should at least try to get my minimum of 500 words in. I talked with my long-term disability contact today after submitting as much paperwork as I could. One of the questions I was asked about was depression, because one doctor – that crackerjack PCP, no doubt – might have put a note in about how I was depressed. The most I’d ever been officially diagnosed in that regard, other than using anti-depressants as some kind of headache relief, was by that doctor as the punchline to what he might have seen as a joke: If I’m depressed because I’m in constant pain, then, prescribe an anti-depressant instead of a painkiller, right?

I’m so tired of dealing with all of this constant pain.

I talked with my pain management doctor today. I decided against going with a different doctor for now. This video conferenced meeting didn’t solve many problems. I’ll have to go in two days from now to see about getting any sort of relief, so for the next two days, I have to suffer it out as much as I can regarding how much pain I’m in. It’s really a gamble, too. Yesterday, I was in enough pain where I needed to take a painkiller. I would have benefitted from taking one today, but instead, I will loathe the day and everything about life while I finish writing this essay so I can go to bed. This isn’t a great lifestyle. I hate that the American Healthcare System has created such a dependency on painkillers by not helping its patients and then making the painkillers out to be such a stigmatic thing.

I suppose alcohol is the stopgap for painkillers in America.

I really don’t feel like writing much more, but I suppose I should. It’s funny to me. Minecraft was the one true light spot throughout all of this darkness yesterday. I was able to do quite a lot and persevere, even though I needed to take one 10 milligram pill of Oxycodone, I took it to enable myself to do the activities I needed to do – doing all the patient form research, which ended up being for nothing – with working on my little Minecraft world being the reward. I had fun there, sure, and maybe I pushed myself too much by sitting for about one hour, but life has been so difficult for me over the past few weeks especially that it’s hard finding these little spots of brightness through all the darkness.

I hate waking up to significant, severe pain, without any relief in sight.

It’s like sleeping and dreaming, no matter how terrible the nightmare is, is nothing compared to waking up and constantly feeling like everything is broken in my physicality and all around me. It’s so overwhelming not even being able to take out the trash that’s piling up next to my door. Whenever I see that, I want to just say to myself ‘OK, let’s summon up some strength to go take care of that,’ like before all this spinal stuff took down my life, where I might be a shut-in but I could at least get out do things like that if I wanted. I can’t even go get my mail right now, let alone take care of any of the errands I want to do. I’m going to even have trouble driving over to the pain management doctor’s office on Friday.

Will I even drive anywhere tomorrow?

My willpower is slipping every day. I feel less confident now, compared to one or two months ago, that I will feel better. I’m writing this as the essay I wrote a while ago “10% Reinjury Chance” published today. I felt confident then. I felt like even though I had this chance of having the same problem with my spine, I felt like there would be a life after all of this. I even felt like I could be rowing today. Sorry, past-me. That didn’t happen. I did my best. I tried so hard to do everything to the letter of what the doctors recommended and still I am in such constant pain all day, every day, all the time, that it’s hard to really focus on much of anything. I can try and there are times that I can have some happiness, but it’s so tiring as well.

I hate that I keep having to fight for my health.

I hate that it seems like there aren’t really any advocacy options for helping me out. I have to do so much of this by myself. The callousness in which the long-term disability contact acted regarding how they probably could make a decision without me was just another example of how awful this situation has been. If you live in America, don’t get sick. The American Healthcare System is not designed for you. It is not a compassionate system designed to treat you well. It is a business that will do everything it can to kill you. I want to return to a lifestyle where things feel OK again, but I don’t know when that will happen. Will I get relief on Friday, or will I be told that my problem is someone else’s problem to solve? I’ve been feeling so ill lately. I don’t want to keep fighting like I have been, but I have to keep fighting.

I just wish this process were even just slightly easier for me.

Endtable
Quotes: None.
Sources: My personal experiences.
Inspirations: This is done and I can go to bed.
Related: Sober Living essays and Tripping On [The American Healthcare System] chapters.
Picture: Template
Written On: 2020 November 04 [5:5555555pm to 6:18pm]
Last Edited: 2020 November 04 [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.