Not feeling so great. Normally I would attribute it to the time of year, but the weather here has actually been quite pleasant (except for last Monday when it sucked, but it was like that from Seattle to Atlanta).
I realize that I haven't been as compassionate as I should have been toward those I've known who suffered chronic pain. This kind of condition is difficult to describe in a way that really conveys how grinding it gets to be. Patience is not my strength when it comes to discomfort. I don't whine--I leave that for my husband. Instead, I turn inward and question everything.
Is it my fault? Am I making this happen? Is there something I'm not doing that I should be? Is it in my head? Am I the poster girl for somatization disorder?
In May of 2008, I started treatment for chronic pelvic pain. The doctor said this would also help my post-herpetic neuralgia. It took awhile to notice any relief, but there was a respite--for a short time. Too short. It all came back with a vengeance around early November, and it spread. I'm starting to have pain everywhere.
The apparent reason for this is related to a malfunction in my central nervous system. You know--the brain. Oh, that again. My nervous system is over-excited and sending out incorrect messages to various muscles and pain receptors. And it's escalating despite the barrage of medications being thrown at the problem. Among others, there's a muscle relaxer normally prescribed for MS; there are two anti-convulsants; there is valium; there is an antihistamine to slow nerve receptor traffic; there is no end in sight.
I got the statement for the CT scan I had done on December 22. The procedure cost almost $6,000. what the hell did they scan? As I told my friend Jolie, this was, without question, the most expensive ten minutes of my life. It appears I was scanned twice. What an interesting patient I must be. Or did they also bill be for the guy who came into the imaging suite after me?
I was expecting a $1500 procedure. When I think of this, it makes me sad. Not angry or frustrated. Just sad. One more thing. One more thing.
I also shared this observation with Jolie: It would be one thing to spend all of my money and be cured of cancer; it is quite another to spend every last dollar and be left with no answers, no cures, no relief. Enough.
To add yet one more disappointment/frustration to my day, the Flip Video camera I got from Angie's List just up and died after I had used it only four times. Angie's List had a report drive back in October. As a thank-you for submitting 20 reports in a month, I received a Flip video camera, Classic model. It was fun while it lasted.
I think the people at Pure Digital (Flip's parent company) excel at providing what I call "The illusion of customer service." If I could rate them on Angie's List, I would and I would nominate them for the Penalty Box. If you send an email for tech support, someone answers your inquiry within four hours. Yeah...They just don't say anything relevant or worthwhile. It's like when you're on hold for customer service and the recording keeps assuring you that your call is important to us. Bull. Shit.
Four emails later, I may or may not get a new Flip. Do these people have any idea what Angie's List is or what they do?? Anyway, one of the pieces of information I was asked to provide in order to get a return authorization (all fields required!) was the camera's serial number. See, that's a funny joke because there is no serial number anywhere on the camera! Maybe it's something you see when you turn on the camera. Hmm. Yeah. I can't turn on the camera.
So, May Voirrey finds herself in a bit of a melancholy mood. I don't feel well, I seem to have gremlins in my house, and every time I think I have my health insurance finances figured out, I'm wrong yet again.
It occurs to me that maybe the muscle relaxers and nerve suppressors are also whittling away at the sunnier aspects of my mood spectrum. Gonna be unhappy either way.
4 comments:
Disclaimer: I wouldn't dream of sticking my nose in if I didn't admire you and care about you. I don't really feel up to sticking my nose in, but I'm doing it because I care for you.
May I quote you, May?
"Why isn't it okay to talk about the pain of sexual abuse?"
I found this about 'conversion' and somatization:
"Nongenetic familial factors, such as incestuous sexual abuse in childhood, may be associated with an increased risk for conversion disorder. The conversion disorder may be the only mechanism for communication that remains available to the child or adolescent." It came from here:
http://emedicine.medscape.com/article/917864-overview
It happens to many, May. Both the abuse and the conversion. It happened to me, too. No 'real' cause for the pain was ever found by any doctor. It is absolutely NOT your fault in any way. It should have been okay to talk about it. Someone should have made that okay for you. It should be okay for all of us.
You can recover.
http://superlagirl.wordpress.com/2009/01/07/no-one-is-calling-you-crazy-thats-only-part-of-the-problem/#more-1006
I recovered. Even though it had become chronic and I had reached the point of just trying to live with it, ignore it, and try not to think about death and disease all the time because of it.
http://spillinginkinpublic.blogspot.com/2006/08/mystery-illness.html
I did ask myself what happened right before the pain started. The problem was I was only asking about physical things. This happened immediately before the pain started.
http://etherealhighway.blogspot.com/2008/12/other-ghosts.html
My body was trying to tell me that I had been attacked sexually after my mother, who despised me, abandoned me emotionally and made me my father's 'job'.
http://etherealhighway.blogspot.com/2008/12/other-ghosts.html
Don't let anyone shame you, May. The shame is not yours. If someone gives you shit, tell me who and I'll go kick some ass.
{{{{{{{{May}}}}}}}}
I guess that last link is redundant. I'll take that as a cue to get my ass back to bed.
No, I am sure to my core there was no sexual abuse in my past. Kind of the opposite--my parents mostly ignored me. We didn't even hug in my family. Well,my parents were affectionate with each other, but there was almost no physical contact with us (siblings or me), normal or otherwise.
I know you have a lot of insight into this topic and I've heard this theory elsewhere, but I can say with rock-solid confidence that in my case, sexual trauma and/or abuse are not factors here.
A central nervous system mystery yet to be resolved.
May I quote you, May?
"Why isn't it okay to talk about the pain of sexual abuse?"
I wasn't referring to myself when I said that--sorry if it seemed misleading. It was meant more in the general sense of the painful topics that cause suffering yet are considered off-limits to mention outside of therapy. I know two people in my life who've been through it, and I see how they struggle not just with the memories, but with feeling like they have to keep it all secret. I can only relate by having bipolar disorder. It colors every aspect of my life, but even on my most crushing and painful days, I can't tell anyone except my husband why I'm in that state.
The point I wanted to make was that we live in a culture that compartmentalizes which types of personal tragedies we can reveal. The rules are arbitrary and yet so specific. The world would be a more authentic and less dysfunctional place if those topics weren't relegated to therapy and daytime TV talk shows, I think.
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