I swear (and trust me-I've been swearing all day)! First, I couldn't sleep last night, because when my migraines hit sometimes I can't sleep. Lying still is what most people do when they have a migraine, but me, of course not. Did you expect me to be normal? You should know better by now. I'm UNIQUE :) Somehow that word is quickly becoming the equivalent of screeching nails on a chalk board. For some strange reason, I have a hard time lying down during my migraines. I sit up and, like a crazy person, rock back and forth a bit (during SUPER bad ones). I know, scary huh? Most of the time I sit and push my thumbs into my eye socket and hope that somehow I can pop that sucker back into my head. It feels like my eyes are going to burst. Seems reasonable to me that pushing them back in is the rational thing to do. It's not??? Of course it is. Okay, maybe I really am weird (I refuse to say unique). At one point in my life I embraced my uniqueness and was proud to be my own person. PLEASE, GOD.....I just want to be NORMAL. Slightly out of kilter? A tad bit on the weird side? A few fries short of a happy meal? Please, anything but UNIQUE!
Seriously though, I spent my night in agonizing pain. I just kept knitting headbands trying to ignore all those evil nerve sensors, on overdrive, screaming for my attention. But I refuse to listen to them. They have to shut up sooner or later. I've taken all of my abortive medications. Nothing left. I knit through the wee hours, with my poor dog wondering is it day or night? He's confused because he wants to sleep, but I can't. He gets a little moody about disturbing his slumber. Well, now as the day dawns and my vision is so blurry that it looks like my house is full of a cool, winter morning haze after a big downfall of snow. Alas, no snow. It's only September. I did discover the Lime & Violet podcast about knitting. Always wondered about people's fascinations with podcasting. Lime & Violet are rather kooky, and a bit irreverent while talking all about their lives and knitting. I felt like a lone person sitting on a park bench, overhearing best friends catch up on all the latest gossip. This new adventure kept me distracted until my much healthier half got up. This is where my patience runs out on me every time. I've suffered through the night, managed to keep my butt (actually head) out of the Emergency Room, and now the long wait from 7:30 when hubby leaves until 9:00 when my neurologist opens for the day. I get the nurse on the phone, who knows me quite well, and we discuss how I'm not fabulous today and I have officially given up on curing myself. She types notes to send to my doctor and then asks me, "what would you like today?" I always rely on my trusty Stadol shot, which rarely fails (note the very important RARELY) "I don't know. He knows I'm out of my Stadol nasal spray 2 weeks early, I'm betting he's just going to shoot me at this point!" She actually added that to the end of her note to my doctor. Luckily, he decided to send me to the hospital to get a shot with a needle and not a gun. Not sure that a gun wouldn't have been a better option. WHEN are they going to start doing head transplants? I would like to have a nice, new head with the same freckles and formerly natural red hair, just leave off the extra two chins. Yep, sounds good to me.
So, off to the hospital we go. My poor hubby takes another long lunch to trudge with me up to the hospital and how he manages to not go crazy I will never know. The one good thing is the hospital no longer sends me to One Day Surgery to get my shot. It took at least 1- 1 1/2 hours to go through Admissions (gee, they are always so eager to work fast) I think they should put me into the system permanently 'cause, heck, they already know who I am when I arrive. Sad isn't it. Now I go to the Cancer Treatment Center to get my shots. I only had to go through the registration once (which was last Thursday, ugh) and from now on I just check in and head straight back to the infusion room. It's bright, but not noisy. You do get a nice cushy recliner to sit in and a tv to stare at. I loved that I just walk right in, tell them what I need, and go on my way. The nurse takes my blood pressure (surprisingly low) and temperature, then asks me where I want my shot. Arm or Hip? Hip-hip-hooray! I know, bad joke. I try to keep track of which hip got it last, this time was lefty's turn. Here it comes, "just a little stick." "Ready?" Yep. Hit me with your best shot. 2mg of Stadol and 50mg of Phenergan. If you've ever had Phenergan stuck into your hip, you'd know that it burns like the dickens! Little prick, no big deal. Stinging left butt cheek on fire. Oh yea, that feels good. Not. At least a nurse taught me years ago to lift my weight off of the foot belonging to said hip, that helps you not tighten your muscles while you've got a needle stuck into your butt. Butt/hip? What's the difference? Some nurses aim high and others low. We won't mention the time I lost my balance. It all ends up pulsing though my body eager to get to work on those damn screaming nerve cells. It's about time something shut them up. For a little while at least. Now, I sit patiently and await the meds to work over the next 30 minutes. Getting better. Slowly, but better. After checking on me every little bit to make sure I don't have some bizarre reaction, I'm released to go home. Off to bed! Sleep! Please, oh, please, just a few hours of peaceful rest.
I crash at the house and am finally getting some relief. If only that could last more that a few blissful hours. Not pain free, but much less pain. What would a day without pain feel like? I have completely forgotten over the past 7 years. How would it feel? Would I know what to do with myself? Or would I waste it, that one glorious, sacred day? Feet back on the ground, now. I get all settled in and prepare to snooze away in peaceful slumber.
Phone rings. My phone ringer sounds like the song from the Twilight Zone. Du, du, doo, du, Du, du, doo, du. Wish I was stuck in the twilight zone, it sure feels like it. I roll over about to ignore it, but picked the thing up and saw my neurologist's office was calling. Hmmm, what could they want? The secretary? desk clerk? appointment specialist? let's call her, Sue is calling to tell me about the appointment she was setting up with a new pain management doctor in Memphis. Good. Nope. A BIG, GIANT, ROTTEN, STINKING, PUKING, RAGING bad.
Noooooooooooooooooo, I'm in the Twilight Zone. Oh crap! Reality sucks! The aforementioned Pain Management doctor has reviewed my records and has decided not to accept me as a patient. Are you kidding me? Can he do that? What? No, really, WHAT??? WARNING!! WARNING!! Tears swelling. Abort! Abort!
Breathe
Big Deep Breaths
Calming Breaths
Soothing Thoughts.
Go to my happy place.
Hang up phone. NOW cry like baby, while dog looks on thoroughly confused. Oh, and she ended the phone call by saying my neurologist doesn't know anyone else to refer me to, but he will gladly give me a recommendation to any doctor or clinic I can find that will treat me. Oh joy.
Reality bites.
I gathered my beaten, battered, bludgeoned, and thoroughly murdered hopes up off the floor, put on my big girl panties, and called the husband to whimper and cry on. He's a good listener. He is wary of giving any advice at this point. He's quite aware this is a dangerous moment and no matter which path he chooses (sympathetic or calm and reassuring) this is a volatile moment. He chose quiet support. Which of course my ranting self took as, "so." BOOM There went my dignity. Not Calm. Now Pissed. "How can a doctor do that? Now what am I going to do? I can't believe this? Is there anything we haven't tried yet? You've just got to be kidding." Please be kidding, please. Sorry. Sorry. I know. Stay calm. We will just keep trying. Hung up phone.
No way I was getting restful sleep now. I knitted the five remaining rows of the headband I was working on. I was so steamed, I knitted fast and furious. The stitches were so tight, I practically needed pliers to get them to budge. Somehow not feeling the therapeutic relief that usually comes with knitting.
Yep, I'm unique. Now I can scare off a doctor by just sending him my medical history. Great.
Tomorrow: Happy Thoughts
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