Dealing with pain management is a topic many of us feel uncomfortable around. We live healthy lifestyles where narcotics are only talked about when watching shows like The Shield or Scarface (or Breaking Bad). Pain management is a fact I now have to deal with until my surgery is scheduled.
The first week I spent in the hospital when my tumor was discovered, I was on several rounds of heavy narcotics until we could find a suitable cocktail. To give you an idea of the amount of pain: I was put on morphine, but I could have been on aspirin for all I knew.
As narcotics were put directly into my body intravenously without much effect, my mind started to shut down. My body began to revolt. Sleep was a stranger. The presence of yesterday and today became a moving blur. What I remember most during those first few days was how much better I felt when Sadi was near. Just her presence was able to curb the pain.
And the Clouds were Everywhere
Once we found the right narco-cocktail, it was as if someone turned on a soft white light to hide the piercing darkness.
The narcotics became a regular visitor. Every four hours more narco-friends would come by for a visit. I remember looking forward to my intravenous injections. I watched as the fluid left the syringe and happily took on new residence in my body. It was if I was rolling around in a meadow of wild flowers and puppies on warm mid-summer afternoon.
I was able to sleep again. Not just regular sleep. As I drifted off, I could feel my body floating in a pillowy cloud. As I was coming out of my slumber one afternoon, I had to snap myself into reality. I actually thought I was floating in a cloud.
Concrete Clouds?
With the good came the bad. The cloud I was sleeping in was also the thunder-storm I was awake in. My ability to concentrate was impaired. Reading my Kindle DX became a chore of three for every passage. Repeating myself was as common as repeating myself.
Without the pain placing my body in the limelight, my body must have felt lonely because it found new ways to discomfort me and pull itself right back into the center of attention.
Warning... t.m.i…
I could barely get a deer dropping out of my pooper. I think the narcotics morphed into concrete blocks in my colon. Three days, then four without so much as a turtle. Thinking about what they did to kick start me again still makes me cringe... yep, they "did that" to me.
When I was finally home again, I spent another week in narco-purgatory. My narco-friends made me feel no pain. Bliss. My narco-enemies made me incoherent and unmovable. Crappy.
Self-Imposed Detox
I decided enough was enough. I was man enough to go without mother's little helper. I wanted to, I needed to feel my mind and body again. So, I spent the days before and during Labor Day weekend getting myself off the junk.
Nearing my mental edge at the end of my detox was a mind-crippling feeling. I cannot recall a time in my life I've felt so low. As if a 10,000 watt spot-light was shining directly into me with the intention of exposing every mistake I've ever made in my life. It was at that point I realized I could deal with the pain. It was the mental mind-fuck I was having difficulty coming to terms with. Strangely, I was thankful for the pain because it made the psychological battle disappear.
Once again, the singleton in my life was there. Strong as ever. Never a complaint. Sadi pulled me through each day.
Compromising is Good for the Soul
By the date this is published, it's obvious my mental war recently ended. I'm now taking a lower dosage of narcotics. Though there is constant pain, there is also constant consciousness. Maybe a little pain is good for us?
Thanks for listening.