Fading

            Looking out her bedroom window, Mom asks, “Does John have two little dogs out there?

            “Yes, Gunner and Radio, but they are not so little,” I reply.  She says, “Well, they look little from here,” but shows no recognition of their names.

            The entire afternoon goes by with her barely leaving her recliner.   She doesn’t ask for things to do.  She reads and naps and works her acrostic puzzles. 

            Later, this evening, Mom asks me what her mother died from.  And, for a moment, she isn’t sure of her cat’s name, Orie.

Let the Pain Begin! (part three)

February 21, 2011

            Hunger overrides discomfort.  The cup of black coffee I just had (nasty! I believe in lots of cream and sugar) will keep most of the headache at bay, but it does nothing for my growling stomach.  My mission in the next hour is to drink lots of water.  I want to be well hydrated for the IV stick.  I am a water addict anyway:  the thought of no water for the two hours before I arrive at the hospital is daunting.  Hmm . . . an empty gastrointestinal tract makes some interesting sounds.

February 22, 2011

            I considered writing more yesterday after the colonoscopy, but did not trust myself to make much sense.  I was pretty groggy all day.

            I was very impressed by the care I received at Whidbey General Hospital.  The staff was both competent and friendly, a winning combination!  And, let me tell you, the little glass of apple juice and the apple cinnamon muffin they gave me to eat when all was over was like manna from heaven.

            Since the doctor removed one small polyp, I can’t start up the Celebrex for another few days.  The lingering effects of the IV meds (Versed and Fentanyl) kept me comfortable all of yesterday and evidently are still at work.  I have orders not to do anything strenuous for a few days—like lifting 50 pound objects or jogging—which should be no problem at all.  I’m extending that definition of strenuous activity to include no vacuuming and no housework. . . .

            I’m not sure if it is snowing or sleeting or ice-pelleting outside.  So the weather is further evidence to the wisdom of staying inside and taking things easy.  But I really hope the roads are clear tonight so I can go to flute choir.

            It is 2:45 p.m. and the “happy juices” that the anesthesiologist sent coursing through my veins via yesterday’s IV have officially worn off.  My hands were the first sign.  My right ring finger is sending fresh pain signals to my brain.  The sending of one signal seems to trigger the others.  Maybe it is some sort of neuronic competition.  (And, yes, I really mean neuronic and not neurotic, though I did have to check Dictionary.com to find out whether neuronic is an actual word or not.)  Not to be outdone by the ring finger, my unconditioned biceps start their signaling activity, followed by just about every other spot that can send signals.  It is not just a race to see who can get to my brain first; it is an endurance and intensity test as well.  I have not figured out which body part is winning, but I am sure that I am losing.  This pain journaling, I guess, is my attempt to describe and thereby conquer pain, metaphorically at least.  The description part seems to be going rather well, but the conquering part has not yet caught on.  I sincerely hope I am not proving I am neurotic by writing about neuronic activity.

            The big question that has been eating away at me ever since I started this writing sequence last week is . . . drum roll here . . . will I post my ramblings to my blog or not?  To post or not to post, especially a post of this length, is a serious decision, not one to be dug lightly in the “hole” scheme of things.  (Okay, so really “punny” humor is a favorite coping mechanism.  Just for a few seconds there I successfully ignored the shooting pains traveling up from wrist to shoulder, the stab to my elbow, and the uncomfortable lump of banana and Nutella in my stomach.)

February 23, 2011

            Flute choir practice last night was fun as always.  We have some really challenging music this time, and the alto flute parts I have are lovely.  I’m back to the usual aches and pains, not helped by the cold front and winds that started yesterday.  But today is my last day of the soft foods diet.  Tomorrow I face the question:  Celebrex or no?

           

            And the further question is this:  when do I stop keeping this journal?  I am enjoying this pain writing more than I like to admit.  Of course, I can assign it a practical meaning.  Fibromyalgia and other chronic pain patients are often encouraged to keep track of their symptoms to assist their physicians in finding the best treatments.  However, my tracking is no simple list.  The writing itself helps me keep perspective, but would it help anyone else?  And, of course, there is the joy of free association and word play and terribly corny humor in which I can indulge freely.

            Maybe I don’t have to quit this at all.  Even when (if) I go back on the Celebrex, I could still journal and perhaps thus discover how much or little it helps me on a daily basis.  But I am left with this posting problem:  when I am really, really honest with myself I know that I want to post these ramblings.  It might be kinder to do that in shorter segments.  And the beauty of a blog is that no one HAS to read it.  If they do and don’t like it, it is not my problem.  But I have this sneaking suspicion that there is at least one person out there who will laugh in all the right places, and her name is Sally.

February 24, 2011

            Thursday:  the day I get to eat fresh fruits and vegetables again.  Thursday:  the day I am allowed to resume taking Celebrex.  There is no question about me doing the first.  I’m still undecided about the second.

            But, upon evaluation, at 9:30 in the morning, I feel as expected when there is a cold front and snow:  chilled and aware of my joints with the traveling pain centered mid-back this morning.  Not bad.  Not bad at all.

February 25, 2011

            I went on a crunchy fiber splurge yesterday:  celery sticks.  Frozen blueberries.  Steamed vegetables.  Whole grain pasta.  M & M pretzels (just to let you know I like my junk food, too).

            But I did not take my Celebrex.  I’m still weighing my options.

Snow Day (a very rough draft)

            It snowed yesterday and today.  Both days Mom commented all day long about how pretty the snow was and how unusual it is for us to have snow—in her memory, she had never seen snow like this since moving here from Michigan ten years ago.  (And, believe me, there have been snows like this since I moved here in 2008.)  She walked over to John’s house tonight to watch TV with him.  When she came back, she was convinced that all the snow had fallen in the time since she went over to his house.

            Mom loves to do acrostic puzzles.  The end result of an acrostic is a saying or quotation created from the answers.  She said with delight tonight that the puzzle’s answers yielded a definition.  Unless I misunderstood her, she was commenting on the very nature of an acrostic.

            Today, one of the recurring comments was that she didn’t have anything to do.  One of the variations brought a smile to me:  “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

            I’m feeling sad tonight as I see her deterioration continue.  Today she was tired after only playing a roll or two on the player piano, a far cry from the woman who used to haul several loads of brush a day.  She tried to unload the dishwasher but didn’t know where the dishes went.  She thought it was morning in the afternoon and thought it was autumn in the evening.  When she is with me, she does not remember that John has a job in Seattle.  When she is with John, she thinks I am gone for several months helping with my grandson in Oklahoma.

            It has been a long week.  But the rhododendron we never got around to planting last spring and which now sits on the desk in her bedroom is in bloom.  It reminds me that there can be unexpected beauty even in the winter of life.  I just have to open my eyes to see it.

Let the Pain Begin! (cont'd)

February 19, 2011

            Even if I end up collapsing into bed later, I am still pleased with how these few days have gone.  I expected the time to be much worse.  The parts that I especially dreaded—the extreme lethargy and depressed mood—simply have not happened.  I’ve been conscientious about maintaining what is a normal routine and level of activity, and I’ve been careful not to push my limits.  (Let me add that though those are great coping mechanisms, they don’t always work.)  So I’ll give the credit to God, who deserves all praise anyway, even when things go horribly wrong. 

            Another wave of the fatigue/flu/nausea rolled over me this afternoon.  The important thing is that it went away.

            How self-centered does a pain journal get?  Writing helps me deal with discomfort; the danger is when I focus on the discomfort too long.  So I guess the value is in the process of writing itself—to a point—and in thereby creating a written record to refer to later when I’ve forgotten the specifics.  It could help me make a decision for or against Celebrex.  Right now, though, I’m going to go recline for awhile.

            Around suppertime the malaise, nausea, and achy pain set in.  I’m impressed I made it this long.  Since I’ve done so well until now, I wonder if next week I could cut back the Celebrex to every other day?

            I’ll admit it:  two Tylenol 3 around 8:30 p.m.  It is now almost 10:30 and though the neck pain is just as sharp, the rest is a little better.  I wanted to try to break the pain cycle and was only partially successful.  I won’t be able to take any more T3 tomorrow because taking it on an empty stomach makes me nauseous.  Clear liquids, here I come!

February 20, 2011

            At 3:45 a.m. I awoke, noting I was pain free (hallelujah!) but had restless legs.  I suppose it is a trade off.

            This morning, I’m feeling pretty good and anticipating being REALLY hungry later.  For breakfast I had a sports drink (Reliv Orange Innergize—no food colorings) and a small cup of black coffee.  And, of course, my morning medications.  So far no complaints from my sensitive stomach.

            The fatigue hit after church, so I came home and laid down for awhile.  But, boy, am I hungry!

            I’ve done most of my preparations and am waiting for the dreaded four o’clock hour when I drink the bottle of magnesium citrate. . . . The preparations basically involve having anything I could possibly need for the evening moved to the bathroom. . . . My theory is that these “Golytely hours” will make the discomfort from not taking Celebrex seem—as the cliché goes—like a piece of cake.

            Finished!  Sometimes the dreading is far worse than the doing.  The hardest part right now is being VERY hungry.  Still, I will be glad to have all this over tomorrow.

Daily Duties

            The pharmacy technician didn’t even blink when I told her I was there to pick up the prescription for my brother’s cougar.

            I always kind of wonder what the reaction will be.  I mean, the situation could seem a little out of the ordinary.  But Eiger, John’s 150-pound cougar, has severe arthritis and needs his Tramadol.  I don’t mind picking up the prescription, but I draw the line at administering the medicine.

            Delivering the medicine to John’s house, I noted the dead chicken on his back porch.  I wonder which cougar will get that treat tonight.  Let’s see . . . Homer (or was it Craiger?) got the last chicken.  John doesn’t like to give chickens to Talina because of the feather factor.  (She’s the one with the indoor cage.)  I don’t think Eiger eats whole chickens anymore, so that leaves either Craiger (or is it Homer?) or Tiva to enjoy the black-feathered tasty treat.

            I’m done with my cougar duties for the day.  I decided not to open the sliding cage door between Tiva’s and Eiger’s enclosures:  I doubt either one will venture from their heated platforms in this snowy weather anyway. 

            I did, however, remind Mom to take the trash out to the curb in her golf cart.