OK, so I wrote about pain and Vicodin the other day.  The intent of this blog, my initial intent, was to be brutally honest.  To possibly change a few incriminating minor details, in order to remain anonymous, but only to free me in order to facilitate this brutal honesty.

Pleaseforgive any typos here or whatever.  I am flat on my back, on the (brilliant invention: laptop with accompanying wireless Interweb connexion) due to an exacerbation of a longstanding chronic pain problem i have had since- let me see- maybe when I was 14 when it first started?  many years.  Many.  Too many.

This pain has led me to seriously contemplate suicide, to request Jack’s assistance with this, or to come up with alternate plans that I could manage myself.  Just to get relief of a permanent nature.  Valium, narcotics, ice, heat, liquor, nothing is cutting it.  Distraction works amazingly well, but when I am so doped up it is hard to focus.

I walked in to the doctor’s office today- a new doc as mine moved several towns away relatvely recently- and he did give me scripts for valium and vicodin.  I had been worried.  A “new patient” looking for pain meds can seem a bit suspect.  Between depending on my cane, my stiff awkward body habitus, and tears of frustration though, he seemed to believe me.  He had a detached compassion.  He ordered some PT.  I almost asked for an SSRI too.  I didn’t mention my suidical ideations;  I never do.  Why?  What good would that do?  I have a cat next to me now; I’m set up with a water bottle, heating pad, cell phone, laptop, fruits, my cane, (“my cane?”  WTF?) because when these things happen i know what to do now.  It’s been a few too many times.)

Jack will come home later, be a little nice to me, and I can read his mind: “Buck up.  Get over it. Walk it off.  Quit your pity party.”

Yeah.  Whatever.