I wrote this years ago, what was going through my mind when a crises hit me. It’s kinda long, but really loopy. It’s also really convoluted, I wrote this under the influence, I’ve tried editing but even I can’t decipher the craziness that is the talk between my brain, my body and my spirit.
Tuesday Morning 3am
Damn it. You can’t be sick again. You just got well. WTF is going on? It must be because you wasn’t well all the way, it must be because you willed the pain to originally go away. Well ain’t this a bitch? And you to be celebrating that you had gotten better. Got a serious makeover
and everything. Must have overdone it. That is what your useless body is telling you. Crap, you hate this body. Its so weak and useless and frail. You want to trade it in for a better one. Are you allowed to do that? What should you do?
Analysis: excruciating bone crushing pain, all over body. chest, back, arms, joints, knees. Not the head, thank God.
Plan A: Freak out, pop some pills, wake up the whole house and tell everyone.
What is wrong with you lady? You are in independent woman of the 21st century. Your new family have jobs you nonworking lazy shiester. Get a grip.
Plan B: Take some pills. Lots of pills and hope to God that they work. That way, noone is any wiser to your foolishness and you won’t disturb anyone. Ok, let’s go with Plan B. Sounds effective. hope it is.
2 Vicodin, 800mg Motrin, 2 hours later…
SHIT! It didn’t work. What’s a girl gotta do? Calm down for starters. You can see that you are starting to freak again. No crazy ass, you aren’t going to die. Having 2 back to back crisis’ usually means there is something internally wrong. Something that pain meds, fluid and rest can’t fix. Ok, the family wakes up soon. You have to hang on till they wake up. Try to
go to sleep. Place the heating pad over your back. Think pleasant thoughts. Goosfraba.
Clock watching begins. Hang on honey, you are doing just fine. 512AM. 523. 530. Ok, they’ve got to wake up soon.you haven’t heard anything. Did you doze off? You must have. Let’s go handle Miss bladder and her jealous paramour. Damn, reduced to crawling again! At least it’s not as bad as before. your face isn’t touching and carpet. Yeah, go team! Shut the fuck up.
Flush bathroom. Wow, emptying that bladder awakened more back neurons. Son of a bitch! All your plans have been screwy thus far. Any more bright ideas blondie?
Hey, the door just opened.
“Hello beautiful” Hey, it’s your uncle, sleep tossed hair and everything. He will fix it, he always has a plan. Note: you’m not forgetting that he called you beautiful either, but that’s he’s up is top priority. Focus.
“I’m sick. I think I overdid it yesterday. I’m sorry,” you were able to mutter.
Instant concern flashed in his eyes. “It’s going to be ok” he replies as he gives you a big hug. Your knees revolting, you straighten them willfully for that embrace. He hugs like God made humans to hug and you wouldn’t miss that for the world. You hide your eyes so he can’t see the
tears in yours. You can’t let him see you cry, tears would hurt him more.
“Why are you sorry? It’s not your fault.” was the reply from your darling aunt, although technically everyone knew that some of it was your fault. Miss I-can-will-myself-to-be-well-and-it-shall-be-so. Dream on. Noone died and made you the owner and ruler of things high and low. Pie in YOUR face. HA HA HA!
“Don’t worry, it will be ok,” They both informed you. You believed. They solicitiously offered you more meds and you took them. Granted the timing was overkill but when in severe pain, you got to do whatever it takes. They tucked you in, made sure you were comfortable then headed out the room.
The whole session took about 5 minutes. you guess it’s ok, you didn’t make them late, kept is short and simple. they are now informed. Communication is key. Everthing is going to be fine. Uncle said so.
T’ante comes in a few minutes later. Water and juice, emergency numbers at work for both of them. “If it doesn’t get better I want you to call 911 and tell them to take you to the Hospital”. Cool, you filed away for future reference. “Thank you sooo much.” Hopefully the new infusion of pain meds would knock Mr. Sickle Cell on his backside, or seclude it in one body part like it
did last time so you could isolate it in your mind and not be ‘dying’ all over.
15 minutes later
The shadowed figure of Uncle comes into the room following a quiet knock. “I called in late for work. I’m going to stay and make sure you are ok.”
No!!! No!!! NO!!!!!!!! You vehemently oppose this new plan. Uncle HAS to go to work, Theresa the Lazy might get away with her nefarious roofing plans of the day. He had to get to work, he’s the only guy that can do the job. They can’t function without him. Valid protestations
were highlighted on your part, but he refuted them. Finally we had to acquescice. Neither of you stubborn bulls was giving an inch.
The Compromise: He can stay, but he can only stay for a few hours and then come in once he is assured by you that the new set of pain meds were working and that the pain was under control.
The rule suited you just fine.You knew that by 11, regardless whatever Mr Pain was decreeing at that time….homeboy was going to work. Even if you lied to get him there. You didn’t come to disturb their life, you came to frolic in it, and being sick doesn”t follow the frolicking plan. you had to be better by 11, or at least well enough to fake being better. You couldn’t let him sacrifice a whole working day like that….you just couldn’t.
So with your fingers crossed under the bed covers, he agreed to the compromise. You could tell by the glint in his eye that he probably wouldn’t leave without a fight, but you figured you would have stored upenough energy and come up with enough reasons in the next five hours.
Sometime around 8 am
Uncle came in and asked if you were ok. You muttered a response and he entered the room, sitting on the bed and fixing you with his ‘stern and concerned’ look.
“Vixen, I think you should take the Number 1 Stunner. (ok, he really didn’t say stunner). He took the bottle from the bookcase, you instantly knowing what he was talking about. The #1 Stunner was Hydromorphone aka 4 mg of Dilaudid, guaranteed to cure all manner of painfill ills. It was the oral form of the Iv drug that you usually got at the hospital, dosed the same
amount. Being that when you got to the hospital, you were given Dilaudid, you remember that you didn’t take it outside the hospital setting because you only had 3 left. Having 3 left was a better insurance than having 2 left, and you didn’t want to take the #1 Stunner. You tried to
explain the logic to Uncle but was soon made to realize that:
3 Stunner in bottle+ pain = pain
2 Stunner in bottle + pain = no or less pain
Kind of like a bird in hand is better than 2 in the sky, that kind of logic. Although you came to agree in a matter of minutes. you was floored that Uncle knew about the Stunner, being that he’s not in the medical profession but he knew! Plus he also knew that he would get you to do anything. Plus the pain was to such a point that you was willing to do anything to find
relief that breaking into the secret Stunner Stash was no exception. So you took the plunge and ingested your Magic Stunner Pill.
Around 908 am
The fight was over. you had unwillingly surrendered to the pain. You had to give up, there was no more left in you to fight.You had used every single medicine in your arsenal, and tried every single pain management method out there. In fact, it had gotten worse and nowhere near better. It was unrelenting, unyielding, crushing, little jackhammers relentlessly gnawing in you blood, in your bone marrow, to the core.
Crying: sometimes weeping the frustration out helps. Don’t look at me like I’m crazy it’s a psychological thing!!
Distraction: Tried to read some pages of mags and books. I couldn’t focus.
Sleep: got a total of about 2 hours, all in segments, interrupted when the pain reached a stunning crescendo that was hard to ignore even in REM
Pain meds: Yeah, you saw the effectiveness of that
Heating: Heating pad was alternated ineffectually between all the major spots.
Ignoration Therapy: Ok, tried it too, but it was ineffective (ya think?)
So, all your skills was down to one simple fact. You were in excruciating, bone crushing pain and you needed help. You needed to get help from the experts. You needed to get to the hospital.
“Uncle, I need your help, I have to get to the hospital,” you wailed.
Within seconds he was at your bedside verifying the details and running through what we needed. Uncle Lon is amazing under pressure, he takes charge and you don’t have to worry about a thing. He went to get directions from his computer so that we could’t get lost in our mad dash. Then he came to your room and helped you find everything that you needed, putting them close to hand and giving you the necessary privacy to throw your comfy pants and cotton shirt on. He returned moments later dressed and ready to go. He helped you put your socks and shoes on, then he went to pull the car closer, load it with essentials (drinks) and get
your seat ready.
By 916, you was safely enstowed in the car after being escorted gingerly to your seat. He has mad skills as a care taker/driver, he didn’t weave lanes unnecessary and prevented any jolts whatsover that would have caused you pain. It was the smoothest ride to the hospital that you
have ever had. You pulled up to the front of the ER about 26 minutes later, and he had held your hand halfway with you holding a tight grip for dear life. The grip had instilled lots of hope and strength to you from him, and you was ready for whatever lay ahead. The journey had just begun and what lay ahead was far greater than any of you could ever imagine.