Tag Archives for Pain Medication

Dry Heaving Ended A Good Time

I had a few good days last week. Not because I didn’t have pain – assume until I tell you otherwise that I live every minute of my life in pain – but because I was able to spend time with friends I hadn’t seen in a while. I made the effort to make sure those hang outs happened. I rested on the days leading up to all the activity. Actually, I napped a lot because otherwise I might not have had the energy to do the things I wanted to do with my friends.

I started by hanging out with my friend ‘P’ on Friday evening. I’ve known her since kindergarten. It amazes me at times that we have managed to maintain a connection that started when we were five. That’s not to say we haven’t lost touch at various points over the years, but we always reconnect in the strangest ways. Right now I’m just happy she tracked me down about five years ago. I enjoy spending time with her because she’s always positive and has a smile that can light up the darkest day. It amazes me that I’ve known her for so long and she’s still the same person: honest to a fault and funny as hell.

P knows what foods I crave, but can’t go out to get for myself, so she brought me some treats. She also took me out for a short drive so I could run an errand, and on the way back we picked up ice cream. We spent the bulk of the evening sitting in my living room eating, chatting and laughing. It felt good and I felt normal for a few hours.

On Saturday I was still feeling positive, and I was single-minded about my plan to go to a movie and dinner with my friend ‘J’. I’ve known J for about a decade and she has been an incredible support to me since my illness arrived. Unfortunately, in the last month or so I’ve had to cancel our plans repeatedly because of my pain. Last week I decided that I was going to go out with J no matter what.

I was up early on Saturday morning – I didn’t sleep much on Friday night so I’m not sure if saying I was up early is accurate – and just before 10:00 AM I started to feel extremely tired. I was being overcome by the need to take a morning nap and started to feel anxious that I might not make it out the door for the day. To solidify our plans I sent J a message and we picked a time for the movie. With that done I set my alarm so I would wake up with enough lead time to get showered and dressed and rest a bit before the movie.

This time out J let me pick the movie. We got lost for a few hours in Cinderella. We enjoyed it. Cate Blanchett’s portrayal of the wicked stepmother was outstanding. After the movie we went for dinner at a restaurant that is a short walk from my apartment. I ordered a hamburger, which is a big deal for me because I generally don’t eat beef – or other red meats – but since my illness arrived I’ll eat just about anything when I have the appetite to eat. While we were waiting for our meals to arrive my evening medication alarm went off. I took my pills then focused on enjoying a meal and conversation with J.

After dinner the plan was to walk J to her car that was parked across the street. As we started crossing the street I was overwhelmed by a wave of nausea. I was certain I was going to vomit, but nothing came up. As we continued walking toward the car my stomach turned again and again nothing came up. J became very concerned and decided that it might be best if she walked me home and stayed with me until I felt better. I wouldn’t feel better for hours.

When we got to my apartment the nausea reached a high. I started to dry heave. At one point I actually vomited in my mouth a bit. J’s concern climbed. She wondered if I might have eaten too much in a short space of time (popcorn, a large Coke, peanut M&Ms, a hamburger, and fries) or if the nausea might be a reaction to my medications. She got me a bowl from the kitchen so I didn’t have to keep getting up to go into the bathroom each time I heaved. She checked my temperature to rule out the possibility that I might have a fever that could be an indication of a bug or some other infection. It was normal. Then she started to wonder if she should take me to the hospital emergency room – a valid concern considering my not at all straightforward illness. I decided against the emergency room and continued to sit in my living room heaving into my stainless steel mixing bowl for another hour.

Around 10:00 PM when it was clear that I wasn’t going to vomit and I had no other worrying symptoms, I told J she should go home. She was a bit reluctant to leave me alone. Before she left she made sure I had everything I needed (water, juice, and a blanket). And she asked me to send her a message after I took the last dose of my medications before going to bed because she was worried that I might vomit them up, which would probably mean a visit to the hospital emergency room would be necessary later that night. Thankfully I did not vomit up my medications and the dry heaving came to a halt around 11:30 PM.

I can almost laugh about this now because, except for the dry heaving on Saturday night, I did have an enjoyable weekend. Sometimes I feel it is crazy how unpredictable my life has become, but if I’m being honest with myself that’s not true. Life is never predictable. Even when we’re healthy life throws unexpected things our way. And just like when I was dry heaving on Saturday night, we deal need to deal with the unexpected by taking deep breaths and hoping for the best.

 

Good Times – Chic (1979)

The Brain Fog Rolls In

Yesterday, as I prepared to take a shower – yes, I have to prepare to take showers now and I know that there are many people who can identify with this – I realized that the harder hit I am by something the longer it takes me to share it with the people in my life or write about in my journal, or here. I had to think about that for a bit. What is it that is blocking me from opening up about things, even in this anonymous setting?

The answer is nothing. The delays are cognitive.

I’ve always been a thinker, but I believe I am truly suffering from what I keep seeing referred to as ‘brain fog’. It’s taking me longer to process things emotionally and intellectually. I’m used to emotional delays because I tend to compartmentalize my feelings to deal with them when it feels safe or when I’m forced to because anxiety gets the best of me and I have to unpack some of my baggage. However, I’m usually pretty good at sifting through logical puzzles by taking information in, synthesizing it and then applying it in relevant situations.

But not now. Not since my illness arrived.

Now my concentration is spotty. I will have the intention to talk to someone about something significant that happened in my day then that conversation won’t happen. Because I don’t remember or I’m too overwhelmed by emotion not to cry. I will have the intention to write about an experience then that writing won’t happen. Because the words needed to articulate the tale don’t show up or come in such a rush they get jumbled. I will have the intention to journal to sort through the mental and emotional tangle but that detangling won’t happen. Because the effort to put pencil to paper or fingers to keyboard feels too great.

Those few moments of introspection made me see that I’ve been looking for a defect in myself where there isn’t one. My thoughts and emotions are out of whack because of my pain and the pain medications I take to manage it. Intellectually I know this, but in the moment when something goes askew I forget and I beat myself up about what I should have done and question why I didn’t when the answer is obvious. I don’t do or remember to do because my brain is submerged in a soupy fog for many hours of each day.

I read about this same experience in the lives of others daily. I have great compassion for each person who shares their struggle. Now I have to be compassionate with myself.

 

Train – When the Fog Rolls In (California 37)

Everyone Is Faking It

I talk a lot about the fog my pain medications create around my brain and how difficult it can sometimes be to remember or find words to express myself. But my pain medications have also had an oddly positive effect on my awareness of the world around me. I seem to be getting better at seeing people. By seeing I don’t mean I don’t have to wear my glasses. I mean I can see into them: their vulnerabilities, their resistance and their fears. I’ve joked to a close friend that when I get better I might have to figure out a way to continue getting refills for these brightly coloured perception pills.

It’s been happening like this. Every day I watch – but mostly listen to – the people in my life faking feelings they don’t have or suppressing the ones they do have. They feign love for their spouses or significant others when all things about that person makes them cringe or often deliberate disengaging from committed life. They pretend to get excited by work that leaves them dangling partially comatose on wobbly swivel desk chairs. They groan about dragging their asses out of bed in dim morning light to care for children they never wanted. They engage in carnal play to avoid mind numbing conversations about where to take the next vacation or what colour to paint the front hall while visualizing distant objects of desire. And worst of all, some are trapped living a life lie because to live freely as who they truly are would see them disavowed from their bloodlines.

They fake their way through whatever ‘it’ is to fool anyone looking to closely into believing they are happy. It seems that the longer my illness hangs around the deeper I’m able to see into people. It’s as if they feel safe being vulnerable with me because I’m in a weakened physical state. Perhaps they think my mind is so scrambled by the pain medications I can’t or won’t remember their hesitations before they assume a perfectly light-hearted tone or the way their voices trail off without completely answering a question about the supposed important things or people in their lives. It’s possible they think I don’t recognize the longing in the too long pauses. Or maybe it’s just a relief for them not to have to pretend with someone just for a moment and they hope it goes unnoticed.

Whatever the reason, they are faking it. At first I thought it was me. That I was being too sensitive and looking for things that aren’t really there. But the more I listen the more I hear the discontent and longing for something, someone or someplace different; and I want to tell them all to run. Run fast. Run far. Run to that other existence they believe they can have.

But I know that’s not fair or the right thing to do. I don’t have the right to tell anyone to run away from the thing(s) making them unhappy. Especially when I can’t guarantee they will find better things or any happiness at all.

Besides it would be hypocritical of me to tell anyone to stop faking anything when I walk around trying to fake not feeling pain.

 

Freddie Mercury – The Great Pretender