Hi,
It’s been a rough day and a half and I’ve been sharing my
frustrations with my family. They think
it’s a ton of fun! Em is like the
stellar version of a hostage negotiator.
I believe if she was given the opportunity she could broker a lasting peace
settlement in the Middle East. She makes really good cookies too. We are fortunate to have her here!
Yesterday was the first day without the wonders of
prednisone and therefore without a very good night sleep. They can’t refill it because it suppresses
your ability to fight infection. I had one
minor back spasm that freaked me out. I
just can’t do those again; even the thought of them is terrifying. It’s like having a bear come lick your
face. The licking part is fairly
unpleasant but you’re sure they are going to do the “how many licks to get to
the center of a tootsie pop” with the center in this analogy being your brain. Then instead they just walk away leaving you
scared, angry and covered in bear drool. That was how my day started.
I had some stuff that needed to be accomplished, minor stuff
like updating my work out of office email, calling the doctor about the return
of the muscle spasms, just little stuff like that. Anyway, I wasn’t able to update the voice
message on my work phone. I sent an
email to the Telecom manager for the territory to ask how I could do it, I mean
it had worked in the past, its not rocket science. He told me to do exactly what I had been
doing and then told me to call the computer help desk to fix it. I was feeling unreasonably annoyed by this
process soooo, my husband stepped in to assist.
You know, sometimes it is just not about the nail. And WWIII began. In Nebraska.
Now let’s be fair, the guy is doing a great job and I feel
like I’ve been holding onto the ragged edges of sanity by one bloody fingernail
since this whole thing started. I
staggered down the stairs into our sunroom, found a flower pot (a cheap, empty
terra cotta one, I think they were 2 bucks) and threw it as hard as I could
onto our deck. OK, expectation versus
reality. Expectation, pot shatters into
a million shards dispersing my childish behavior in an explosion of
pottery. Reality, under best conditions
I throw like a girl (a girl that can’t throw things) and I’m not under my best
conditions. So I threw the pot, it hurt
so much I thought I was going to fall down, the pot hits the deck and bounces,
unharmed until on the second bounce it breaks into 3 pieces. Not satisfying, painful, and somehow I
managed to get a splinter in my hand in the process. No idea how that happened and I’m still as
mad as a wet hen.
I stagger back up stairs and Em, the voice of rationality,
explained how I really needed to calm down, talk to my husband about picking up
my new prescription because, really I shouldn’t (and I believe I can’t) drive to
get it myself and explained just not
talking to him wasn’t really an option.
So we apologize, kiss and make up.
He goes and gets a new prescription for spasms, I take it with my other
medication and then I fall asleep. Right
there. I slept for 13 hours. After some additional research, it looks like
people stagger the meds so this doesn’t happen.
Interesting! Live and learn.
So what is the point of this little story? I’m so frustrated that I can’t do the
simplest tasks, I’m drugged up, in pain, and scared about the surgery. My husband wants so much to fix everything
and this is just not something he can fix.
For anyone out there who may be having or considering the surgery, don’t
expect the wait to be a cakewalk for you or others in your life, find a
diplomat or hostage negotiator and just have them stay with you. It helps.
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