F M L

 It’s been one weird week.

I had a realization I believed was HUGE.  I’ve been a paradoxical breather for as long as I can remember.  It causes an extra exhale to occur when I am done speaking.  I used to get teased for it.

I had no idea it was a medically known condition.  They do not understand it, of course, and maybe that is why my doctor, after I tell him this, hoping to finally bridge the gap in understanding between us regarding my folded, perverted postural issues and muscle memory, he responded, “My dog has a reverse sneeze.”

All the excitement of the previous two days was gone in an instant.

All was not lost, however, as I did manage to talk him into allowing me to try Ativan when my anxiety spikes, before I have cascading pain events.  I do need to be careful, as I still have Vicodin, and the two should not be mixed.

I’ve been a total mess for months now, the appointment was a goal, and I at least managed to to completely come out screwed.  I was in agony by the end of the visit, the drive, the waiting, the exchanges.  I set up blood draws and tests for the rest of the week, and then he said I should get both the Flu and Shingles Vaccines.

I was an idiot to do them both.

I am just now regaining my wits.  I spent two days delirious with fever/chills and incredible pain.  I could not sleep for the first 38 hours because both shoulders were in too much pain to lay on.  It was one of the most miserable experiences of my life.  Except for two 5 minute stretches where I begged my wife to scratch my back, I was moaning and screaming and miserable and alone.

Coming around today, thinking again, everything came flooding back, how I am friendless, how my hopes of my doctor understanding me finally went for naught.  I lost all motivation.  I feel dead inside.  I did force myself to swim, but it remains a difficult experience.

I used my first Ativan about 3 hours ago, and it’s why I can write this.  It appears to be working.  It headed off a crying spree and mental collapse.  Maybe this stuff will work.

I did go off on my doctor for a while in the visit.  He wanted to give me Cymbalta and refer me to psych, just as I had worried he would.  After not even trying to understand how paradoxical breathing fits with my situation, I ranted.  I ranted about my condition and how no one has even been able to say back to me anything near what I believe is the problem.  I ranted that I have had an exceptional record using my Vicodin, yet still am untrusted.  I ranted about how my daily regimen, and how it fits the goals you find in any psychological treatment of chronic pain, my exercise, my meditation, my activities with friends …

Then I pointed out to look at our records, our appointments in the last 2 years, and how I begged every time for stronger meds, needing a break from pain I was not getting.  I pointed out it was to supplement my activities, the very things a psychologist would be trying to get me to do.  I pointed out that I HAD friends that also helped me so much to distract from pain, and maybe had he given me what I had begged for, I would not have collapsed as I did.  Maybe I’d still have friends.

No, I ranted.  I am lower than ever, and still not listened to.  He told me he did not want to give me Ativan because I could overdose.  Quite angry, I went lawyer on him, “So, … Cymbalta … do they still have suicide warnings on those bottles?  Did I not tell you earlier that if you get rid of my fear that I’m a definite suicide risk?  How is Cymbalta less a risk than Ativan?”

He caved.  We’ll see how it goes with this bottle, but at least I get to try it.

Then, the vaccines.  Fuck my life. That was ridiculous.  Such pain.  Wiping my memory, too.  I could not think for 2+ days.

It’s like I am starting all over again, like 20 years ago, new city, no friends, pain, no one believing or understanding me.  I do not want to try all this shit again.  I was so miserable and alone for so long.  I don’t have Maya and Matilda this time, my favorite dogs.  I don’t have the West Sac rec center where I was respected and liked by many.  I don’t have a backyard with nature and birds where I could sit in peace.  Everything is so much fucking harder now, and I have so little help.

The people at the Club pool all avoid interaction with me.  I tried a few conversations, but it’s clear the rumors about me after the cops visiting have had an effect, coupled with my difficulty walking and chronic dislocations, occasional tears and the slight muffled screams of pain.  It’s not at all like my old pool.

It’s going to be well over 100 degrees every day for the next week, too, lol.  So much for the swim spa.

So, I’m struggling, you could say.

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I’ll wake up tomorrow and go to the pool.  It’s all I can do.  Maybe something gets better.

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Update - home from swim, NOT ONE person at the pool gave a return nod to me today.  Many that made eye contact were people I used to speak to, only now their eyes went back to straight in front of them and no return nod.  I wanted to go full Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique on their asses.  Not one person?!?!  What the fuck do they think of me?  

Maybe I’ll bike farther and try the new rec center pool tomorrow, though I’ll have to pay to get in and likely have to share a lane.  I truly among the unluckiest people on the planet, managing to to achieve isolation from online friends and all real world acquaintances, when I need a friend, Jesus, just someone to have a random conversation with and distract myself for a while.

It’s 19 hours until I go out and swim again.  So many hours to endure.  Do I deserve this?  I must be such a worse person than my greatest fear.