But then, I did ASK that he do exactly that. And because he's a doctor, I'll trust him.
I'm speaking, of course, about the nerve block. And I'm coming to realize my brain was doing something else while the entire thing was occurring, as I didn't really ask questions about what was happening. For example, I have no clue as to what the doctor injected into me. None. He could have put liquid Draino in my foot and I wouldn't know it right now. Well, I probably would, as it would be burning through my flesh. But you take my meaning. I have no clue as to what the meds were. That's not what I normally do. I'm usually full of questions. But in this case, I was so excited and nervous that I just wanted it done so I could start feeling relief.
And then I learned that I wouldn't be feeling relief for up to two weeks. Whatever this medication is, it takes time to do its thing, so instant relief, which is what I was hoping for, isn't a possibility. It completely ruined my chances of dancing my way out of the office. Mind you, I can't dance...but I would have tried...and probably broken a bone in my foot along the way. Because I'm that brilliant, don't ya know?
It's just that I feel a great need to get off these damned narcotics. I keep feeling as though I've adjusted to them, and that they barely affect my life, but they might well be behind my sudden bouts of exhaustion. (Then again, they might not. It would be nice to know, though.) Even if they're not affecting me in such a way, my body DOES get used to them, and the dose just keeps climbing. What am I going to do when I'm on a maximum dose and I still feel the need for more? Morphine can suppress the respiratory system, causing it to stop completely. With my intention of marrying Becky and having kids, suicide is not exactly something I'm going to think about a hundred times...should my depression symptoms ever get the better of me. I have more reasons to live now than ever before...and risking my life with medications is not the route I want to travel.
As it is, in the aftermath of my surgery, I have access to even MORE painkillers. I've said the surgical site isn't bothering me that much, but that doesn't mean SOMETHING hasn't been bothering me. I've been using those extra painkillers to get some relief in my ever-aching foot. My popping these pills always seems to remind me of the celebrities that have dies of accidental overdoses of prescription medications. Trust me, I can see how it happened. The meds seem to take only a small edge off the pain, so the desire to take more pills is always there. I have to stop myself and just do absolutely nothing to get relief. Those celebrities...? Well, doing nothing was never anything they considered, so they took more pills to be functional, and ended up overdosing.
Which brings up something else in my life: smoking. I haven't spoken of it because I remain somewhat ashamed of this habit. I'm still putting a pack and a half away, if not two packs a day, and this has to stop. If it doesn't stop, it needs to be cut back. And that's because of Becky and our potential kids. If I keep going as I am, I'm going to simply fall over, dead, and then I won't be around for any of them. This is not to be confused with "quitting for the sake of someone else," although it appears that way. I want to start working on...something...involving my smoking because I want to be around a long time for them.
I'm mentioning this, despite the fact that I'm nowhere near ready to start working on it. The thing is that Bryan and I recently discussed it, and he seemed to have immediate insight into why I'm still smoking: I have nothing better to do. But I pointed out the other reason, and it's deeply seated in my psyche. I don't care. Or I didn't care. If smoking was the thing that killed me, so be it. My psych meds might keep the suicidal thoughts from existing on the surface, but they are constantly bubbling within. I wasn't all that concerned with my demise, and was actually kind of hoping smoking would do it.
Now that I want to stick around, I have this habit that practically controls my life.
It's kind of funny, because Becky and I were sitting in our motel room one day when we saw a commercial for a new medication to quit smoking. I was listening to it and getting all excited. I commented on it...and then they started listing all of the potential side effects of taking the meds. It sounded like I had a greater chance of being killed by the medication than I would from smoking. It was absurd! I don't remember the name of the drug, nor do I remember the side effects, but the latter was pretty horrible.
It reminded me of the time I was looking up the side effects of another medication I wanted to try, and one of them was "sudden death." Really?!? How the heck did this stuff get past the FDA?
And that reminds me of something funny I've seen on almost all of my insulin bottles. They list the signs of hypoglycemia, and one of them is simply, "death." Since seeing that, I've joked, "If you ever come across a corpse, just give it a candy bar. It might get better."
Speaking of all of this has me thinking of one of my followers, Blue. She's actually a dear friend, and someone whom I once had a crush on. She's recently discovered that she's seriously ill with a heart condition, and the only treatment is medication and time. A pacemaker is a possibility, but her doctor is trying to avoid it for the time being. To you. my dear, I highly recommend you find your sense of humor about your illness as swiftly as possible. Without it, your disease will find ways to crush your spirit completely, making you depressed and angry about life for all time. To put it another way, you might forever be "brokenhearted." =P
I have to get ready to have my sutures removed. This is going to be a lot of fun, as the incision has started stinging a bit as it's been healing. And this means there might be more stories.
Be well, all.