Thinking+Hormones+Pain=Someone isn’t going to be happy

I’ve been trying to cut back on the pain medication this past week.  Why, you ask?  Well, several reasons.  Slowing down my GI system unpleasantly is one, a basic avoidance of medication in general whenever I can help it is another, and the third reason is paranoia.  I’m so afraid of being labeled a drug seeker.  Doctors immediately become suspicious about anyone complaining of pain; for my previous doctor to prescribe a bottle of Vicodin, I had to sign several “contracts” stating how I would use the drug, promising to only fill my prescriptions at one pharmacy, surrendering my rights to my first born… ok, that last one was hyperbole.   But you get the point.

This is one of the hazards of having an “invisible” illness.  One that can’t be quantified by lab tests, or by visual examination.  I walk into the office and I look fine.  I walk ok, I smile, laugh, move ok.  I look like any healthy person on the street.  But check in with me later in the day when simply moving through a normal day has worn me down, tired me out.  You still can’t see the pain I’m in, though I might be limping a bit.  You can’t feel the aches in my hands, the burning of the soles of my feet, the fire burning in my lower back.  You could watch me cook dinner though, watch me as I have to sit down while I cut and slice and chop, and invariably despite the sitting, by the time dinner is done, I’m on the verge of tears.  You definitely can’t feel how utterly exhausted I am.

I had a bad day today.  A fight with the kid, exhaustion, over-stimulation, trying to do too much, and I’m probably premenstrual.  I went into the kitchen to get some lunch, had the aforementioned fight with the adult child, ended up never making lunch.  By four pm, I was cranky, hungry, irritated, angry, in pain (not having even taken a Motrin today) and was trying to figure out what to make for dinner.   I did take a pain pill then, at least, but was so overwhelmed that I could not plan dinner.  The Beloved fed himself and the child while I tried to de-stimulate with solitaire.  Finally, I made myself dinner (vegan sausage sandwich, kale salad, Fritos) which was delicious; but by then was so tired that literally, the effort involved in lifting my fork to my mouth and chewing was almost too much. I know how melodramatic that sounds.  Even having felt that way, later, when I’m not in that state, I can’t quite remember the depth of that kind of exhaustion.

Later, after the Vicodin peaked, I was able to do some laundry, clean up after myself in the kitchen.  And that’s why I take the Vicodin.  It allows me to function, least a little bit.  I only take one a day usually; on a bad day I might take two.  Never taken more than two in a day.  I feel so defensive about it, which makes me so angry.  I should not have to avoid taking medication because I’m afraid my motives are in question.

My one consolation is that I’ve gotten really good over the last few years at recognizing the sources of my discontent, and don’t generally take it out on the people I love (though Eric might disagree with that today.) At least I don’t have to add the guilt of that to my ills.



Warning for Diabetics; this post is unbearably sweet

So, everyone knows I hate having my picture taken.  I turn mirrors to face the wall and I avoid reflective surfaces. The Beloved, who has a new photo app on his phone to play with, doctored our anniversary picture, and I can’t resist posting it again.

Yeah, I know.  We’re too cute for school.

I love the tiara.  And it’s appropriate; he makes me feel like a princess every day.

It’s a dreadful picture of me; but since the Beloved is too cool to smile for most photos, it’s worth it to see the adorable laugh lines at his eyes.

What can I say? Can’t ever have enough happy.

How bad can you feel?

Just when you think you’ve reached bottom, that you feel as bad as you can ever feel, you discover that it’s really a whole new level of lousy.

Friday was a wonderful day. It was our eleventh anniversary.  Since we’re currently living at “poor church mouse” level, I didn’t expect much in the way of celebration, except I  knew we’d probably go out to dinner alone, without the children, for a change.  Which we did, and it was lovely.  That would have been enough, really; he gives me  so many gifts every day I don’t need more.  However, the Beloved surprised me with three cards and  a gift.  I was amazed.

The cards were perfect, as always.  The Beloved and I have a slightly warped sense of humor, as evidenced by the April Fool’s Day Wedding.  So for the first card, it was sweet.

Who, us? Fight over the remote?  Never happen.

The second card was amusing.

The third card, as always, was a Sympathy card

I personally think he’s the one who needs sympathy, but if he sees it that way, who am I to argue?

Here’s the earrings:

As always, he has my taste down perfectly.  I love multi level, mixed metal jewelry.  Gorgeous.

How did I find a man with such good taste?  Lucky, lucky woman.

Then we went to Sea Fresh for dinner. Yum.  Serious yum.  I had Sesame encrusted Ahi Salad, with a citrus teriyaki dressing.  I even splurged and got the optional tempora veggies.  Yum yum yum.

The Beloved had the Ahi sandwich, sans bread, with onion rings.  He even shared.

Oh, I forgot; we got an appetizer!  The Monkey Dragon Sushi Roll;  awesome! Those chopsticks are blurry because I tried to get a picture before we dove in; barely made it!

It was a lovely anniversary.  But honestly, there is so much love in our house every day that it’s redundant to celebrate so extravagantly; though it won’t keep us from doing  it!

So, that’s the good stuff.  Here comes the not so good.

I woke up very slowly on Saturday.  Having had a lot of activity and excitement on Friday, I knew I’d be tired, so I woke up but didn’t get out of bed for hours.  I puttered on the computer and read, and listened to music, and got caught up on Craig Ferguson on DVR.  Made the video in the post below, which was a blast.  Then around 12:30, I got up to get dressed to go to Murphy’s baseball game.  Gave myself an hour, figured that would be plenty of time so I wouldn’t have to  rush.

Somehow though, at the time to leave, I found myself running around crazy collecting blankets and jackets and snacks and water bottles and pain meds to bring along, and by the time I got into the car, I felt AWFUL.  Seriously exhausted, headachy, and pain building everywhere.  So I took the pain meds I brought with me immediately. Without food.  Big, big mistake.  Watched the game, which was fun, but tough; the Padres took a beating, though Murph played really well, got a couple of great hits.  It was cold (again with the temperature changes; last weekend record lows, mid week record highs, and back to near record lows this weekend) and I’d worn sandals; feet and fingers were not happy.  Hubby offered his socks, the sweetheart. Came time to go, and I stood up to find I could barely make my legs move.  Even using the folding chair as a cane didn’t help much; it hurt my hands as much to lean on them as to walk.  Added to that was HORRIBLE nausea.  I knew I was going to throw up in the car if I didn’t get something in my stomach, so the whole way home I nibbled the granola I’d brought and not eaten, as I hadn’t been hungry.  Made it home without vomiting, though every bump and turn was agony.  Went right to bed, didn’t even take off my clothes or unpack my bag.  Slept about five hours, on and off.  Woke up just in time to say good night to Murphy. Ate some dinner the Beloved had left for me.  Watched TV with him, but felt so incredibly bad I kept tearing up in pain and frustration.  Medicated again, though I’m terrified my practitioner will not renew my dwindling pain prescription.   Spent the rest of the evening snuggling on the couch.  Then slept a full night.

I feel a bit better this morning but there’s so much to do.  Laundry is overflowing, taxes need to get filed, knitting for money needs to be done.  Never mind the normal household stuff, which the poor Beloved is having to do more and more by himself.

I think I need another tour through “How to be Sick” by Toni Bernard.  I never did get around to making notes on it, so I can keep a pocket reference.  I think it’ll help.  But mostly I just have to learn how to stop to think in the middle of feeling so bad, not let it overwhelm me, so that I can redirect my energies.

I really want to cook today; I want to make Amish Friendship Bread starter. If anyone is interested in receiving a starter kit, let me know, I’m happy to enable others. I also want to make baked donuts.  Can you tell I’ve got a Carb Lust on?  I’ve been pretty good lately, eating mostly salad and veggies, so maybe I’ve earned a treat.  Will have to see if I can stay vertical that long though.  Maybe I can enlist Murphy and Eric to be gophers in the kitchen…

Happy Anniversary Baby

Happy Anniversary Baby.