Monday, October 26, 2009

A pain in the everything.

Okay...

Doctor's visit? Check!

Pharmacy run? Check?

Difficulties getting my medications in time? Check!

Honestly, I don't understand how some things operate, when their systems are completely screwy. You see, I was handed three prescriptions last Thursday. One for Zocor, one for morphine, and one for percocet. The last two were on the same prescription printout, and I realized that I didn't need the Zocor right away...so I went to the pharmacy on Friday with the expectation of getting just the pain meds. And I would have gotten only the morphine, but both meds were on one paper. Fine. I'll get both.

Well, Ray and I didn't get ourselves moving until late Friday afternoon, and when we got to the pharmacy, there was a problem. "What," you might ask, "was the problem?" Oh, nothing much...except that I'd been handed prescriptions for strong narcotics that had one doctor's name at the top of the sheet, while the nurse practitioner had signed her name to the bottom. This had the pharmacy folk saying, "Wait a minute! This looks mighty fishy." And they flat out told me it looked suspicious, and that they couldn't fill it because of the way it looked. Two different names on a script for narcotics with high street value? I don't blame them!

This brings us back to Ray and I getting a relatively late start on things. There was no one to call to get this fixed. Since the clinic was closed through the weekend, I would have to rely on what percocet I had to get me through. No problem.

Except that I've been getting better at taking percocet. I have people to drive me here and there, now. No more hobbling around the world, searching on my own for one thing or another, when I have others to get me where I need to go. Less pain = less meds. So I was less than pleased to find myself required to take the full amounts I'm permitted daily. And on Sunday, because simply moving around the trailer sometimes hurts, I was forced to take a seventh pill late at night...and even then, I wasn't completely comfortable; I simply refused to take more.

But I made it, and today I got it ironed out. Alas, the wait was TWO HOURS at Wal-Mart, where I went to have them filled. And what's one to do when waiting at Wal-Mart? Wal-crawl, of course! (That's the act of wandering Wal-Mart in the feeble attempt to not buy anything. I failed.) Sure, we went somewhere else for a bit, (and I bought things to brighten Ray's miserable day), but most of those two hours was spent on my feet.

By the time I had the meds and we were on our way home, I was done. I truly wanted to rip off my right leg, including the hip, and just be done with those parts for good. The guys don't know it, but as I popped a morphine for the first time since early Friday, I was struggling not to burst into tears. It was that bad. In fact, it was so bad that I surrendered to the pain and actually took two tablets. Not to worry, though. I get 30 mg. time-release tablets, and they make a 60 mg of the same sort. I was not, in ANY, taking an overdose.)

But that was over an hour ago. Now...? Well, okay...I confess that I'm feeling just a wee bit loopy. And my stomach is a tad upset that I took that double-dose, so I took something to settle it. Other than that, I'm in much better shape.

My current status reminds me of the week prior to my move from NY back to AZ. I landed in the hospital because a variety of circumstances fell into place to cause me to land in the ICU with my diabetes completely out of control. Because of the extreme neuropathy pain I was experiencing, the doctor left a standing order for me to receive diloted via IV every two hours, as needed. I was in a lot of pain, and needed close monitoring because I was on an insulin drip - insulin given steadily through my IV. So I was bad...but not actually dying.

This led to me being allowed to have a phone put in my room so I could call family and friends. It was my calls to Julie that were the most fun, especially when a fresh dose of diloted, four times as strong as morphine, had just been pumped into me.

Julie: Hello?
Me: (completely spacey) Hi, Julie. (high pitched) Wheeeee!
Julie: Oh my. What are you on now?
Me: Diloted. One milligram equals four milligrams of morphine, and they just gave me one milligram through my IV. Wheeee!
Julie: Oh, jeez. You okay?
Me: Oh, I'm great. I love everyone.
Julie: I'm sure you do.
Me: I even love my IV pole. Hello, IV pole. I love you. How was your day?
Julie: (can do little else but giggle)

Silly as that was, I did have one thought that never quite left my head. These narcotics...? I'm sometimes left wondering if they actually combat pain. More often than not, I come away thinking they simply help to make a patient not care that they're in pain. "Yep...It still hurts a lot...but I'm okay with that."

That's kind of how I feel right now. My right leg still hurts...but I'm good. My head's too danged fuzzy to care. Given the option of being in pain and caring about it, or being in pain and not caring, I'll take the latter every time.

I'm off to write poetry to my bottle of root beer. I love my root beer. It's name is Lisa, and we're getting married soon. o.O

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