I wake up to the startling sound of my alarm at 6:05 a.m. I know I need to get up and get ready. My husband is out of town and I’m a one woman show for the week, managing kids, work, life. I am immediately aware of the pain I have coursing through my body. I’m annoyed that it’s the first thing I notice; it almost always puts me in poor spirits.
I miss the days of waking up feeling rested. Well, I can’t say that is exactly how it happened. There are many memories of feeling like I had been in battle-dreams can do that to me. But, at least I know my body was doing the recuperating necessary for another day’s tasks. Still, these days I wake up feeling like a truck ran over me repeatedly: exhausted, pained, annoyed. Not a good elixir for the day.
Today my hands ache. Why, I wonder. I didn’t do too much typing the day before. I didn’t even wash that many dishes, comb hair too much. I actually worked at trying to avoid work! They almost burn, but don’t. Instead they taunt me with the reminder that my body is abusing me from the inside. What else hurts? My knees are a constant. The crackling sounds they make as I go up or down stairs has intensified and I try to ignore it. That sound scares me. What could it mean? Less cartilage? More pebbles in my knees? What? My lower back and lower abdomen hurt. I’m not sure if that is due to hormones and a lady visitor or just pain. My hips hurt some. And, then this annoying pain on the outside of my thighs began, again…I’m not even sure what it is. On the pain scale it’s so low that I can ignore it. Darn hands are screaming.
I don’t even notice the plantar fasciitis any longer. It’s almost a welcome relief to the other pains I have. The only time my feet concern me these days is when my toe joints and other bones on the top of my feet ache.
The shoulder pain is the worst, though. When I went to the orthopedist, he said it was bursitis in my rotator cuff. I’m not happy with that. A few months before I had gone to the walk in clinic and was prescribed what I believe to be an anti-inflammatory often prescribed for arthritis. Meloxicam. I must admit, that stuff worked so well! I ran out. The doctor told me to visit the orthopedist if I continued to feel pain in a few weeks, and I did. Unfortunately, the orthopedist didn’t prescribe pain meds. Instead, he sent me home with some exercises, a flexiband, and instructions to use an ice pack and not heat.
As I type this I’m using a lovely heat pad my mother in law made. It’s got some weight to it; it’s made of rice. I nuke it and the warmth feels more healing. The ice only numbs the area for about 5 minutes. I’ll try anything, though. I don’t like constant pain.
The shoulder pain is what wakes me up throughout the night. It is the one body part that is on duty of late. They all take turns. When I have intense pain, often referred to as a flare up, the pained area takes precedence over all others. I guess I’m grateful that I don’t have many areas aflame at once. Perhaps I’d be a bonfire. I miss the beach.
I have to decide early in the day which pain med to try. I’m told to use Alleve by two of my doctors: the orthopedist and the rheumatologist. I have also read there can be adverse effects to my internal organs. I’m 46. How long will I live using one detrimental OTC drug each day? I opt to rotate these minimalistic panacea, hoping one will be the champion for the day. Some days I skip meds to show my internal resolve to not be dependent on them. Some days it’s not a problem. I can tell today won’t be one of them. I persevere in my cause and avoid any for now.
I get myself ready. I make it a point to make my bed each day. Some people on support forums note how daily tasks are almost unbearable. I pretend that won’t be me and push forward. I move on to helping one, then another of my children: making their bed, too, and helping with hair and other morning tasks. I hope to get in a cup of coffee before having to jettison a few of the kids to school. Thankfully pouring cereal is not an issue. My hands still ache. I ignore the pain.
It’s been 6 months or so since I had a diagnosis for some of what ails. I lived with daily pain before and thought it could be blamed of everything from weight to age to genetics. It could be none or all, I’m not sure. Osteoarthritis. Fibromyalgia. Crap. Not the direction I saw myself going midlife.
At the time the sympathetic 30-something rheumatologist told me to take a name brand prescribed drug for “pain.” He said he had taken it and it worked nicely. He’d start me off with the lowest dose, and then increase if needed. The drug is for depression. It’s a neuroinhibitor. It should block pain sensors. I was in so much pain I agreed. It took affect rather quickly and I noted that even my aunt’s visit wasn’t that painful; in fact, it was almost negligible.
Being a pugilist and a non-conformist, I took the elixir for enough time to feel I didn’t need it any longer and quit. I quit a drug. Actually, to be fair, I quit two, but that’s another issue and another story. This decision was based on the fact that at my follow up visit, the rheumy said I should increase my dose, “to cover all pain from this condition.” Um, no thanks. My decision was a bit harried, but I was committed.
The drug is the type that online alarmists noted they opened and counted beads inside the capsule. I don’t like math. I decided instead to waylay my dosing so that, over time, I was taking one every 24, then 30, then 36 hours and so on. I just stopped on day 4. I don’t have time to wait out a 30 day prolonged and agonizing detox. I didn’t get a headache or anything.
My pain did begin to increase. A little at first. I blamed the barometric pressure, the cycles of the moon, the color of the walls. I’m not sure where the pain originates, but I don’t like putting a bandaid on applesauce. It doesn’t make the mush disappear.
So, here I am with a bottle of said drug in my medicine cabinet. I reach around it for OTC drugs instead. I must be a glutton for punishment.
I also use a topical NSAID, spray magnesium, and even Aspercreme. I use the roll on-less mess.
To add insult to injury, the orthopedist- a doctor that other osteoarthritis suffers from support boards see on a regular basis-said that my X-rays do not show that [my shoulder pain] is caused by arthritis. The clarion call of alarm bells begin to ring in my head. Er, arthritis is a soft tissue condition, whose early stages are not detectible on X-ray. Still, pointing to my X-ray, he says that if it was arthritis, the distance between point A and point B would be eroded. How he would see early stages is still like a parrot in my head, but I nod and say, “thanks.” His exercises are painful. They are not working. And, unlike his compadres in other parts of the world, he doesn’t prescribe ANY pain medication. I’m a sailor without a life vest. Lovely.
Now I have two competing diagnosis, though they are for different parts of my body, and an umbrella diagnosis. I don’t like this companion “fibromyalgia.” Sure, it is supposed to help cover body-wide pain issue. And, I am sympathetic to that need. But *I* want answers. I want to know causes. I NEED help because *I* want to solve this complaint, and jail the transgressor for good. I wish I had a medical degree-access to medical research. OH wait…the World Wide Web is available.
It’s another day with chronic pain. I doubt I mask it well, but I refuse to expect my family to do all the things so I can wallow in misery. I do most of what I want to do, and garner support from my husband and kids as I can. We’re an army; I can’t expect to sit by and not help facilitate the compendium of scheduled chaos. As it were, the busyness of the day takes my mind off of most of the pain, engaging my brain in activities such as blogging.
I ruminate on the many anecdotal stories of others who go to support boards to complain about the constancy of affliction. The inability to move, bend, bear weight, walk, run, use scissors, cook, brush their hair and teeth, put on socks, find relief, find support, find hope….scares me a little. I wax poetic but have nothing to offer. But, I decide, if I find the magic formula, I will give it away for free. My silent tears in isolation are not a consolation prize of dignity in public. They are the cry of a warrior in the middle of a fierce battle.
When the lights are turned out, though, the pain screams at me. I wrestle with the beast, deciding on a medicant-since it’s really not a med-i-can-and work to get to sleep.