Ego sentio miser. Meus somes sino.Whining doesn't sound so petty if you do it in Latin. After getting through a week that included a pelvic exam, two ours with a lawyer, the trans-vaginal ultrasound, the resentment necklace, and shopping for pants, it seems unfair that I find myself in my current situation.
At the beginning of the week, I realized I was developing a bad knot in the Latissiumus Dorsi muscle on the right side of my back. Instead of getting better, it has continued to worsen day by day. I've taken Aleve, used ice and a heating pad, consumed wine (what the hell?), and put myself through a long sequence of site-specific stretches again and again. Sometimes, my breath catches if I inhale too quickly. It's that bad.
Now, I have a high pain tolerance, and this by itself wouldn't bother me, but something else happened at the beginning of the week. What I thought was a hive appeared in the middle of my back and it itched like crazy. I managed to keep my hands off of it. As the week progressed, my hive-like bump grew into a constellation of large, red, hard bumps on a scarlet background. The itching is driving me insane, except now it has changed--the bumps still itch, but if I touch them, they burn like fire. My husband lovingly swabbed the area with a Gold Bond antiseptic wipe and followed up with a gel for poison ivy (but not without a running commentary along the lines of "Eww. Honey. That's disgusting. What is it?").
I went online to scope it out. My husband walked by and said, ""What site are you on...reallyscareyrashes.com?" I shrugged.
It's either bed bug bites (oh, please, no) or the dreaded Lamictal Rash (no, no, no, no...). Now, The Rash only hits about one in a million Lamictal users, but believe me, I am the person more likely to be that one in a million. I used to take time-released Xanex every day when my anxiety was off the charts. I had to stop because I started getting quarter-sized welts all over my body. It's an extremely rare reaction. Of course.
Of all of the meds I take, Lamictal is the one I am least likely to give up on easily. It is the glue that holds my meds together. It is the one thing that truly targets Bipolar I depression. Without it, the whole damn house of cards that is my BP medication cocktail will collapse dramatically.
In a better world, I would not need any medications. In a perfect world, I would not be ill. I hate having bipolar disorder. I hate the glitch in my brain that forces me to be ever-vigilant about every nuance of my health and mental state. It forces me to acknowledge my defect
every single day. I want to go back to a life without medication, without weird physical blips, without worrying about whether or not my behavior is appropriate or reasonable.
Sigh. We, as humans, are capable of getting through so much more than we know. It's not until we are challenged, tested, and have our feet put to the fire that we truly know our tolerance for discomfort. Every day, I interact closely with people who have experienced horrors far beyond my comprehension. I have no frame of reference for their experience, yet I believe it to be tragic. They, on the other hand, believe that true tragedy exists in those who cannot find a reason worthy of surviving life's harshest blows.
Sometimes I wonder how ever made it this far, but I also have days when I wonder how I can make it one more step. I think about Karma and I wonder why I, as a person who has tried to be good and right and compassionate, still face weeks like this one, filled with poor health and intense physical discomfort.
I want a new brain, a new body, and a bit more strength to tolerate the challenges coming my way.
As a footnote, I am about to stress myself out into the stratosphere. Early tomorrow morning, I leave for a conference in New York City. The medications nauseate me, my body is its own portable torture operation, and I have to hare a room. If this doesn't trigger me, then I've proven the strength of my constitution.
