The Last

Awhile back, while I was pregnant with Jonas, a Nurse Practitioner I saw on one of my visits informed me that I absolutely HAD to have physical therapy for the ligamentitis that had developed causing me to walk with a cane. I told her I had no way of doing that, as I had no child care and my husband worked. She said, “Can’t he work from HOME?” I told her that he could, but it would be WORKING from home, with no ability to handle the regular every minute shit that went down in the house. Then she said,

“Don’t you have any FRIENDS???”

I informed her that the friends in the area I do have happen to work full time as well, and I couldn’t very well ask them to take personal time so I could see a PT for a few hours.

Twunt.

Tonight my husband brought me a bottle of four dollar wine, because tonight is the last that I can drink alcohol. For awhile at least. It’s pretty good wine, actually. We’re not talking Mad Dog here. Tonight is the last night that I can drink because tomorrow I start taking Opana ER for my pain. Opana is synthetic morphine. If you drink alchohol while taking it the drug levels raise in your body, and you essentially overdose and die.

Yeah, the pain is that bad. Vicodin stopped working. Percocet doesn’t do jack shit.

I bring this up because I was thinking about what I’ve pushed through over the past almost 1.5 years now, and you know what? Even though I’ve been on some type of pain medication all of that time, I PUSHED THROUGH IT. Sometimes the meds don’t work. Sometimes I don’t get a refill right away. I have to do my job anyway, and that includes lifting a 30+ pound toddler just because she wants to be held – because I’ll be damned if I’ll destroy my kid’s psyche by not being able to carry her or lift her for hugs when I can pick up her brother more easily.

I shouldn’t be doing any of this. I should be taking time on the bed to rest and heal. Folks, my husband works 70+ hours a week, and that just ain’t an option. Shit around here has to get done, and I’m the one who has to do it.

So tomorrow I start Oxymorphone. We’re hoping it’s temporary. Next Wednesday I’m receiving my first epidural steroid injection. I’m doing this because I need to be able to get on the floor. If I can get on the floor I can stretch. If I can stretch I can heal. If I can heal I can say fuck you to the pain medication and work on saving my liver.

And you know what, you fucking Nurse Person who obviously failed Bedside Manner in college? I have a veritable BUTT TON of friends. They love me. I love them. So take your sour-ass self somewhere else, and get the fuck out of my head after a year of being there.

This glass of wine is for my friends. You’re near and far. You come and go. But goddamn if you aren’t a large part of WHY I could push through this.

*clink*