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.
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