Tuesday, September 27, 2011

dear body...

Dear Legs,

Thank you ever so much for getting with the program. I am greatly enjoying your relatively pain-free functioning. And ditching those invisible bee stings? Beautiful. Truly.

Dear Arms,

You're usually my go-to working body parts. It's your turn to crank out. So be it. You've been troopers and I appreciate how you've limited most of your complaints to tactile sensation rather than muscle function. It's cool. Just try to limit the tantrum to a few days? Pretty please?

Dear Stomach,

Now darling, there is absolutely no need to make up for any perceived gap in symptoms on the part of The Legs. Really. It's ok. Take a chill pill and let me enjoy this respite. No? Well, fine then. I'm going on strike. No food for you.


Thursday, September 22, 2011

worshipping Ye Aulde Porcelain God

You know, months on end of nausea and vomiting is a whole lot more palatable when you get a baby out of the deal. Just sayin'.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

tricks and treats

Discovered a little trick today to go with my treats. Certain cane bottoms, when in contact with certain tile floors in certain types of weather -- say a Dunkin Donuts on a drizzly day -- make a rhythmic *pop*ping sound as you walk. Like having my own tiny drum section.

Friday, September 16, 2011

what's the opposite of a Dear John letter?

Dear Food,

I like you. I want you to like me. Let's work on that, shall we?

The Chronic Pain Wizard

Sunday, September 11, 2011

rainbows aren't just for bumper stickers

States of mind have color. Depression is gray. Suicidal is a sucking black hole. Monotony is a muddy brown. A ten-minute trip to the grocery store tonight delivered an unexpected burst of color to my mental landscape. There was the Jersey Italian father in the bread aisle throwing a tantrum because the store was out of his favorite bread, while his wife and kids rolled their eyes and worked around him. There was the redneck in line in front of me who borrowed my swipe card to get the sale prices on his stuff and then grilled me about how much I pay for gas and whether I use my gas points from the grocery store to their full advantage. Total gentleman about it, in his way. There was the grandfather in line behind me, who jumped in with some vignettes about how much it cost to take his wife on a date in '59, when gas cost 18 cents a gallon and he got paid top union dollar for his work -- $3.15 an hour. And the checkout clerk, who was clearly finding fun where he could, riling up his coworkers, swearing with every other word, challenging the grandfather to prove that he was older than 30 and mocking me for going for that 3 cent discount for bringing my own bag. The fact that I was up on my own two feet, no canes or wheelchair for the trip, added a whole freakin' rainbow to  the whole experience. It's been over a year since I felt confident and able enough to do that and enjoy it.

Bring on the sparkly fuckin' hearts and glitter.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011


Turns out that if you take Zofran (or any other anti-puking medication currently on the market) on a regular basis for long enough, you run the risk of incurring permanent neurological damage similar to that of Parkinson's disease. Would have been nice to know that six weeks ago.

Riddle me this.

A. Take Zofran daily, risk developing MORE neurological damage that I already do with my other meds, causing permanent damage to handle a disorder that mimics the feeling of major damage but doesn't actually cause it.


B. Don't take Zofran, puke every day, get into a pain-puking cycle of not keeping liquids or meds down, and starting jumping in and out of the hospital for dehydration where they will treat the nausea with -- guess what? -- soluble Zofran via IV!


C. Knowingly break the law, risk my clean legal record, risk implicating my spouse thus damaging his clean legal record and employability, and possibly risk custody of my children, and use marijuana to stop the puking, incurring no known side effects or permanent damage.

This is a seriously screwed system.

Don't get me started on having been handed a prescription for Zofran during my last ER visit with *no* discussion about glaringly serious side effects that I might need to be aware of. Just yesterday a close family member was casually informed by one of his doctors that one of the meds he's on suppresses the immune system, thus being the probable cause of his newest case of skin cancer. That's a damn nasty side effect. Given an established medical record of skin cancer to start with, this is another one of those glaringly serious side effects that a patient might need to be aware of.

It's absolutely wrong for medical professionals to depend on the legal CYA (cover your ass) paperwork that comes with a prescription to detail the risk factors when deciding to start a medication. The patient doesn't get those papers until s/he fills the prescription at the pharmacy. This is NOT informed consent. Nor does it take into account the patient's specific medical history or which risk factors are more likely for him or her.

Apparently I had a couple different rants in me today. More to come, I'm sure.