“Among the personal objects inside a 2100-year-old Chinese tomb, archaeologists found nine acupuncture needles, four gold and five silver. Long before knowing why, ancient doctors knew that pain must be fought with pain” ~ Luljeta Lleshanaku, from “Acupuncture” (Trans. Ani Gjika)
Friday evening, absolutely beautiful day and evening, 60 degrees.
Got the spring cleaning bug today. Deep cleaned for hours, and now I can’t move. Seriously. My back is spazzing, and I have shooting pains going down my right leg. The back/leg pain hasn’t been this bad in years . . . but my house is getting clean.
In my head, I can relate to those poor women called porteadoras, or mule women, the ones who are paid a pittance to carry heavy bales of goods across the border between the Spanish enclave of Melilla and Morocco for merchants. I cannot even imagine what that must be like.
Anyway, good thing I have an appointment with a pain management doctor in only seven . . . weeks. Yep—weeks. Nothing is ever easy around here. Absolutely nothing.
More later when I can sit in this chair without cringing.
Selections from “Mythologies”
If you were a painter, you’d paint the wind
Green. It would shake the boughs of the honey locust trees.
It would chase the leaves across the continent.
It would scatter their crumbs in a twist of swirling snow.
It would be colorless and green at the same time,
The wind that aligns the pond and the cloud,
The wind that is everywhere, in constant motion,
As buoyant as Ariel and as scornful of gross Caliban,
The wind that holds up the fly ball, drives it back
Into fair territory, causes it to drift within reach
Of the right-fielder, who waves off the second baseman,
Until a last gust lifts the ball over both their heads
And it lands safely for the double that ends the game
In extra innings, costing our team the pennant.
If we were painters we’d favor vibrant stripes,
Primary colors, flat surfaces, a lot of white
Remaining on the canvas. If we were composers
We’d take the music of exotic jungles with us
When we visit the vast vacant tundra. “If I were
Rich enough,” vowed the philanthropist, “I’d move
To a magnolia mansion and spend my days
Translating modern literature into ancient Greek.”
Great plans, distant vistas, a rearguard action
To sabotage the present—and here we’ve all assembled,
At the antiseptic airport, with haunted looks on our faces.
Occasional eye contact between man with tan and woman in white.
“You look like your voice,” she says, breaking the silence.
The rest of us know where we’re going, but we don’t know when.
“The universe is under no obligation to make sense to you.” ~ Neil deGrasse Tyson
Saturday evening. Wonderfully cool, 50’s. At last.
Let’s try this again, shall we?
I’ve been down for the count for more days than I care to remember. My doctor’s appointment on Thursday left me with an egg-sized lump on my neck where my pain doctor (the one I’ve been waiting for to reemerge for 7 months) gave me an occipital block in an attempt to alleviate this never-ending migraine.
It didn’t work. And one of the new medicines that he prescribed for me (migrinal) costs over $1,000. Sooo……..
Anyway, I’m feeble. Last night (this morning?) I couldn’t sleep; the last time I looked at the clock it was 6:20. Truly, can anything else go wrong at this point?
Feeble is the only way to describe it, and I feel really bad that this has happened while Corey is home, but at the same time, I’m so glad that he’s home because just feeding myself is a chore. At least he can play with the dogs and feed them while I lie in my darkened bedroom attempting to read and staying away from anything light-reflective.
I haven’t checked my e-mail or looked at my tumblr, and as for this blog? Not so much. So I thought that instead of running on about pain and agony, I’d try to post my poem, the one from September 28 that didn’t appear on several of your sites (as you’ve let me know), try to post it as a JPEG instead of as a PDF. Here’s hoping it works this time . . .
By the way, I don’t know what possessed me, but I submitted it to some journal. Honestly cannot remember which one. I guess that’s my tactic for avoiding rejection—submit and immediately forget. I made a few changes to that one, but here’s the original version:
“You will either step forward into growth or back into safety.” ~ Abraham Maslow
Saturday afternoon. Sunny and too warm, 84 degrees.
So I just spent the better part of the morning getting this blog caught up. I know. I know. It’s been a week since my last post. Such a week.
First, let me start off by saying it’s too damned hot for October. We already owe Virginia Power our souls because of running the AC, so I’d really like a break from that whole routine. You know? But no. Hot and humid equal need for AC, otherwise, I sweat and get too hot, and my head begins to hurt more. Plus, my esse is already acclimated for fall.
Speaking of heads, the migraine still hasn’t left completely. My pain management doctor thinks it’s so bad because it’s time for Botox again. Who knows. All I know is that light hurts and the pain is constant, although with the levels abating.
Also speaking of heads, it should be illegal to go to a pain management center wearing a smelly perfume. I walked into the waiting room and was immediately assaulted by a powerful fragrance. I haven’t been laid low by a perfume so badly since Giorgio was popular. Before the doctor got to my room, I was hanging my head over the sink splashing cold water on my face, trying not to throw up. It’s been that kind of week.
“I might enjoy being an albatross, being able to glide for days and daydream for hundreds of miles along the thermals. And then being able to hang like an affliction round some people’s necks.” ~ Seamus Heaney, from the Art of Poetry No. 75
Two hours between the last sentence and this one. I have a feeling that this post may take me well into the night. I want to write, but concentrating is hard. I’m in the midst of another bout of insomnia—difference this time is that I can fall asleep but not stay asleep. Yesterday I was fully awake at 7 a.m., and by 7:30 I was organizing the hall closet. Insomnia + OCD makes for a very bad situation.
Today I am trying to force myself to sit here and finish something, but I keep getting distracted. Our neighbor across the street who helps when Corey is away came over to help me figure out why my water pressure was down to nothing. Yesterday the city was out in the street between our two houses working on the pipes. His water is fine, but mine is down to a trickle. Of course, I cannot get the city back out here until Monday.
I heard them out there working, but was in the midst of a meltdown and didn’t bother to go outside and investigate, so by the time I really noticed that the water was almost non-existent, the crew had already left. Friday afternoon, after all.
So I was sure I would be able to get to sleep early last night because I haven’t pulled an 18-hour day in years, but no . . . it was not to be.
“The trees you planted in childhood have grown too heavy. You cannot bring them along.” ~ Rainer Maria Rilke, from The Sonnets of Orpheus, trans. Anita Barrows and Joanna Marcy
Last night I had the strangest dream: I opened the door, and Corey was there. He had gotten home and surprised me. But it wasn’t Corey; I mean, it was, but physically, it was my Catholic boyfriend Johny. Corey/Johny had come home, but he had brought his entire platoon with him.
There was a reception, and at the bar there were all of these orange alcoholic shots in test tubes stuck in crushed ice. Surreal image, but it matches the field of sliced carrots that appeared later in the dream (don’t ask).
Several of the women from the platoon were surprised that I was there as they were unaware that Corey was married. But after the platoon in its entirety departed, I found a stash of medicine that belonged to one of the women, and I was worried that she had left without her medicine. Then one of Corey’s friends from the unit offered to take the medicine to her, but I didn’t trust him to do it. Michelle Rodriguez (the actor) made an appearance in her usual role of tough female.
It was all just too, too, bizarre.
“Your only problem, perhaps, is that you scream without letting yourself cry.” ~ Friedrich Nietzsche
I’m feeling very in-between: in-between times, in-between moods, in-between states of physical being. There is a restlessness about me that is permeating everything I touch. I begin to do something only to find myself absorbed in some minutiae in less than half an hour. This state is directly tied to my inability to read. I realized that two whole months have passed without my immersing myself in a single book. A very unusual state of affairs, to say the least.
It isn’t quite ennui, as I am too frenetic for that. I am reminded vividly of a time during my tenure at ODU (not as in academic tenure, oh no) when I had morning classes to teach, but I found myself at 3 a.m. sitting in the middle of the dining room floor sorting and categorizing coupons. It was a completely inane thing to be doing, yet I could not stop myself.
That is how I find myself now.
I saw my psychiatrist this past week, as well, and we talked about adding a mood stabilizer to my anti-depressant, but I really don’t want to do that. I take far too many medications now, and to add yet another one, to risk more side effects, just seems like a bad route. For now, she prescribed trazodone for me to take at night to help with the sleep. Of course, I have yet to go pick it up from the pharmacy . . .
“If we are to make reality endurable, we must all nourish a fantasy or two.” ~ Marcel Proust from In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower: In Search of Lost Time, Vol. 2
Have you noticed how I tend to include water imagery whenever I am feeling restless, leading me to post an image by Dali, one of the few of his that I actually like? A definite correlation, she said, apropos of nothing . . .
Since Corey left this time I have cleaned out and reorganized the front part of the garage in the area of the washer and dryer. I have done some more cleaning in the backyard. I have completely reorganized the hall closet, and I’m about to tackle my closet to do my seasonal switch in sweaters and shoes. I had to force myself not to start on the closet before I sat down to write.
It’s easier mentally to throw myself into a completely mindless project than it is to concentrate on placing one word after another. Speaking of which, I have been referred to a hand surgeon because my ability to use my left hand has diminished so much that writing with a pen is an exercise in pain if I hold the pen for more than a few minutes. Of course, as with most things, I have to go through a bunch of forms and releases before this new specialist will take me on. It almost makes me not want to bother.
Which, of course, leads to the whole health insurance thing. It’s open season for me; I contemplated for about 10 seconds adding Brett to my health insurance (as he still doesn’t have any; ask his father, beh) until I read the chart and saw that it would cost approximately $700 a month to add him. But no, this country does not need affordable health care. But that, my friends, is a topic for another time.
More later. Peace.
Music by Camera Obscura, “Your Picture”
I wish I was a photograph
tucked into the corners of your wallet
I wish I was a photograph
you carried like a future in your pocket
I wish I was that face you show to strangers
when they ask you where you come from
I wish I was that someone that you come from
every time you get there
and when you get there
I wish I was that someone who got phone calls
and postcards saying
wish you were here
I wish you were here
autumn is the hardest season
the leaves are all falling
and they’re falling like they’re falling in love with the ground
and the trees are naked and lonely
I keep trying to tell them
new leaves will come around in the spring
but you can’t tell trees those things
they’re like me they just stand there
and don’t listen
I wish you were here
I’ve been missing you like crazy
I’ve been hazy eyed
staring at the bottom of my glass again
thinking of that time when it was so full
it was like we were tapping the moon for moonshine
or sticking straws into the center of the sun
and sipping like icarus would forever kiss
the bullets from our guns
I never meant to fire you know
I know you never meant to fire lover
I know we never meant to hurt each other
now the sky clicks from black to blue
and dusk looks like a bruise
I’ve been wrapping one night stands
around my body like wedding bands
but none of them fit in the morning
they just slip off my fingers and slip out the door
and all that lingers is the scent of you
I once swore if I threw that scent into a wishing well
all the wishes in the world would come true
do you remember
do you remember the night I told you
I’ve never seen anything more perfect than
than snow falling in the glow of a street light
electricity bowing to nature
mind bowing to heartbeat
this is gonna hurt bowing to I love you
I still love you like moons love the planets they circle around
like children love recess bells
I still hear the sound of you
and think of playgrounds
where outcasts who stutter
beneath braces and bruises and acne
are finally learning that their rich handsome bullies
are never gonna grow up to be happy
I think of happy when I think of you
so wherever you are I hope you’re happy
I really do
I hope the stars are kissing your cheeks tonight
I hope you finally found a way to quit smoking
I hope your lungs are open and breathing your life
I hope there’s a kite in your hand
that’s flying all the way up to orion
and you still got a thousand yards of string to let out
I hope you’re smiling
like god is pulling at the corners of your mouth
cause I might be naked and lonely
shaking branches for bones
but I’m still time zones away
from who I was the day before we met
you were the first mile
where my heart broke a sweat
and I wish you were here
I wish you’d never left
but mostly I wish you well
I wish you my very very best
“This is why it hurts the way it hurts. You have too many words in your head. There are too many ways to describe the way you feel. You will never have the luxury of a dull ache. You must suffer through the intricacy of feeling too much” ~ Iain Thomas, from I Wrote This For You
Tuesday, early evening. Drizzle and warm, low 60’s.
Well, in the last three days I have gotten the tree up and trimmed, the house decorated, and the Christmas cards addressed. Just waiting for a check so that I can buy Christmas stamps and pop them in the mail. I’ve also gotten almost caught up on editing a bunch of pictures that I hadn’t tended to, and now I need to take a disc to Costco to have prints made. The only pictures that I haven’t edited are the ones from Lex’s shower, so I suppose that I really shouldn’t be saying anything about her inability to get her thank you cards out to everyone.
The other thing that I finally took care of was to update the flash drive for Corey’s parents’ digital frame that we got them a few years ago. They hadn’t gotten any updated pictures in a while, so between the two of us, we tried to add more recent pix than the ones of Eamonn with his high school prom date.
Okay. So our entire family runs perpetually behind schedule.
“My nature is a quagmire of unresolved confessions.” ~ Robert Creeley, from “The Door”
This afternoon I had my long-awaited appointment with the new pain management group. I am reserving my assessment of them until after my next two appointments. Today’s was with a pain management specialist. Next one is with the neurologist in the group, and then after that with the anesthesiologist to talk about injectable treatment options. All I can say for sure is that this particular practice must have a bunch of drug addicts as patients because I had to sign a medication contract stating that I would take my medicine as directed and that I would not sell it (!), and I had to do a drug test and agree to submit to random drug tests at any point in the future . . . Really? Wow.
I commented to the intake nurse that they must have a lot of drug abusers, and she said that I had no idea. It’s kind of weird, and it puts me off the practice a bit, but I’ll withhold final judgment for now. I also had to complete reams of paper work, and they gave me a copy of everything even though I didn’t really want copies of anything. Lots of dead trees today.
I know that I’m used to my old pain management doctor, but we were at an impasse with my treatment, so not it’s time to explore other options, whatever those might be.
“How deep they drove themselves into me, the things it was impossible to say aloud.” ~ Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals Of Sylvia Plath
I thought that I’d do a post today instead of my usual Two for Tuesday, and then tomorrow I’ll start to wrap presents and get the house clean.
I’ve been doing this odd thing the past week or so: I fall asleep around 10:45, but I wake up again around 11:30 and can’t get back to sleep for a few hours. Not sure what that’s about.Last night I woke up, and I was wide awake, so I watched some recorded episodes of “NCIS” until 3 and then tried to get back to sleep, but the dogs had me up again at 4.
Alfie (other Jack Russell) is also doing weird things. He has gone into the dining room three times and peed in the same spot. As far as we know, Alfie hasn’t been messing in the house for years. Shakes would do his revenge pees, but not so much for Alfie. I have a feeling that he’s going downhill as far as his health, and I feel so sad that he has always been the one to receive the least attention, mostly because of his psycho streak, which made it kind of hard to get close to him. But in the past few days he’s had the saddest look on his face, and it’s breaking my heart.
“Footfalls echo in the memory down the passage we did not take towards the door we never opened into the rose garden. My words echo thus, in your mind” ~ T.S. Eliot, from “Four Quartets”
I got a telephone call from my friend Rebecca this morning. She’s Facebook friends with Corey, who still maintains his FB page, and she saw the pictures from our cruise that Corey posted. She wanted to let me know that she thought I looked good in the pictures. That actually a very nice way to start the day. She moved to Midlothian (a few hours west) this past summer with her long time beau and her eight-year-old son.
Rebecca is a wedding photographer and has quite a successful business. She used to work with me at the realty firm where I was marketing director. She’s done really well for herself in starting her own business and growing it more with each year, unlike some of us who just talk about doing things but never get around to doing them . . .
What’s ironic is that when I was doing the cards yesterday, I wrote a few letters to include with some cards to special people, and one of those was to her. We always seem to think of each other around the same time.
“There are days that walk through me and I cannot hold them.” ~ Katherine Larson
This morning as I was coming into consciousness, I had a poem. I had the title and the first part. I did not write it down, and now, now I cannot remember even one word.
My dreams last night included some kind of interaction with the FBI criminal profilers on “Criminal Minds,” but that’s about all that I can remember, and all of this makes me wonder if my memory has always been this bad. I don’t think that it has. I know that when I took the Topomax for my migraines that it seriously affected my cognitive abilities in a negative way, but I wonder if it did permanent damage to my memory. I just don’t seem to be able to remember anything from one day to the next. Corey, on the other hand, remembers everything (of course, he does).
Oh well . . .
A few things that I’m looking forward to in the next few weeks:
Peter Jackson’s first part of The Hobbit is in theaters. Can you tell from reading this that I have a really insipid smile on my face just from thinking about this?
The new film version of Les Miserables opens on Christmas day. The cast is stellar. Can’t wait for this one either.
The “Dr. Who” Christmas special airs on Christmas day. Really looking forward to this one as well (does it reflect badly on me that these first three are movies and a television show?)
On December 22, I’m going to run outside and say, “The Doctor saved us from annihilation,” which is only funny if you’re a Whovian and/or if you think that the Mayans just didn’t finish their calendar.
A few things that I’m not looking forward to in the next few weeks:
Christmas morning without Shakes to sit in the middle of the presents and beg for treats from his stocking.
The entire Christmas without Olivia, even though I know that this year she really isn’t going to understand anything that’s going on.
My mother telling me that what I got her is nice and then asking where I got it so that she can take it back.
There’s something else, but for the life of me, I can’t remember what it is . . .
More later. Peace.
Music by The National, “You Were a Kindness”
All day on the radio flat static
filled the car as I took
the river road, deep
into Vermont. I knew you only
by the glint on the water, reflected
off some deeper, moving thing like clean
white bones, or fish.
Vermont, Late fall, the sun
backing off a bit each—it seemed a good
place to find you, heading north
into the dark.
I found an inn
by the river and lay all night, the wheels
still in my head and the river
and the river road stretching on like
your breath into my body but still
I could not dream you.
I saw only the vacant waves opening
and slamming shut, slamming shut some
floating door. And then from nowhere
your palm, cool
on my forehead, closing softly
like the last word.
Then I didn’t know
which side we were on—the water calm,
too close to set or else too far—
as if you’d wakened me
from my dream, into yours.
“Dreams are the unfinished wings of our souls.” ~ Simon Van Booy, The Secret Lives of People in Love
Tuesday evening. Hot and humid.
Two dreams from last night that have stuck with me:
First, I dreamed that I was with Jammi. She and Austin (her ex) had bought a home, but the house itself had to be moved. Jammi was driving the truck that was pulling the house on a trailer. I was in the truck with her. We moved through the streets of Norfolk very slowly until we arrived at the location in which the house would be placed. It was on a hill.
Great, I thought, but Jammi backed the house onto the hill, and it slid into place. We went inside, and there was a lot of work to be done. We worked on painting and putting up wallpaper, but the next day, it all had to be done again. I didn’t feel that I could do all of that work again.
Austin had to leave that day to go back to the war. I asked Jammi if she ever regretted her decision. It was a question that had been on my mind. She looked at me a long time and then looked at the floor as she answered me, “It was the right thing to do for the kids.”
In the second dream, I am embarking on a cruise with my mother, father, and my two sons; my sons are about eight and nine. It is very crowded getting on the ship, and my mother and I become separated from my father and the boys. I tell my mom that we need to follow the line to get to the dining room. We go down a long hall full of people, and then we are in line for dinner, but it is cafeteria style. I’m wondering what happened to the dining room and the wonderful food.
I get in the salad line first, and the lettuce is frozen. I’m already disgusted and wondering where my father is. Then I get in a line for sushi, but the sushi is like the nasty kind that is prepackaged in supermarkets. I order something that will take 15 minutes and am told that it will be brought to me. I wonder how they will find me.
A steward approaches my mother and me and tells me to follow him. He takes me into a room where my dad and the boys are lying on a blue bed; the boys are playing a video game. They’ve been there the whole time waiting for me. The boys are wearing communication devices on their wrists, and they could have sent us a message using those, but they didn’t think about it.
The whole cruise sucks already.
“I write this very decidedly out of despair over my body and over a future with this body . . .” ~ Franz Kafka, from The Diaries, 1910
Friday night. Cool and clear.
So I didn’t get back to this post until now. On Wednesday, I saw my pain doctor and got trigger shots all over my neck, back, and lower back. I lost count. My doctor said afterwards, “Wow. That’s a lot of shots.”
No kidding. I actually thought that I might throw up on the way home. I guess they bothered me more because it’s been several months since I’ve had any trigger shots, and I was one giant muscle spasm. I woke up every three hours or so and took another muscle relaxer (no worries, I’m supposed to take two at a time, and I only take one usually). By Thursday morning, I still hurt.
Fortunately, to take my mind of my excruciating back pain, I got to have my breasts smashed. Yes, the annual mammogram, which, it turns out, I have not had since 2008. I’ve been—shall I say—neglectful of my ta tas. Anyway, let me explain this to those of you who may be unaware: Mammograms hurt more for small-breasted women because the technician has to take your champagne-glass full (before flutes) and pull it onto the platform. I feel like saying, “I’m not Gumby. I don’t stretch that way.”
Not to mention, I went to the wrong building for my appointment and was told to go to the first floor of building 880. I went into the office in building 880, and the woman says, “We don’t have you on the schedule.” Finally, I take out my appointment sheet, and I say, “Am I here?” like I’m some kind of moron. The woman says, “No, that’s next door.”
I’m hot, and the little bit of makeup that I dared to put on is running down my face, and I’m afraid that I’ll be late for my 3:30 therapy appointment. I ask the woman if they can just do my boobs there. She checks with the people in the back (those ominous faceless people one never sees in a doctor’s office), and then tells me that sure, they can work me in.
Done and done. Of course now, I hurt on my back and front . . .
“We hear in retrospect what we have understood.” ~ Marcel Proust
Well, the computer is going so slowly tonight that I feel sort of like I do in a traffic jam: that I could make more progress if I got out of the car and ran alongside the cars, only in this case, it would be faster if I turned pages by hand instead of searching through files. I fear that I may have to abandon this post once again and come back to the computer possibly in the morning after running a scan; I know when I’m defeated.
Saturday evening. Hot and humid.
After removing spyware and adware, deleting unwanted files, and scanning, the computer seems to be working a bit better, seems being the operative word. I did get this funky black screen when I rebooted, one I have never seen before, so that was a bit scary . . . So where was I?
“The color of truth is grey.” ~ André Gide
I find that my mind is not even anywhere near the track I was on when I first began this post, and I probably should have scrapped the whole thing except I hate to do that. I feel as if it’s wasted time. I mean, I’ve picked out the quotes, and I have an idea as to the theme that I’m going to use for my images. I usually already have my poem and song picked out, so to scrap everything because the post is all over the place is a bit disingenuous, especially since that’s exactly how my mind works most of the time anyway—all over the place.
So I’ll finish on this note: I went with Ann, my s-in-law to see her mother today. It was not the best visit as she was in and out as far as being able to converse. We had stopped at McDonald’s to get her a cheeseburger and fries for lunch, which she seemed to enjoy, but she turned down my offer to paint her nails, and didn’t really seem to want me to put lotion on her legs. A few other things happened while we were there which caused me to get rather brusque with her nurse, but I don’t want to get into it.
The other news is that my ex father-in-law, who was admitted to the hospital about ten days ago after falling and breaking a couple of ribs, will also not be coming back home. Ann went to see him on Friday, and she said that while he is more coherent than m-in-law, he seems to know that he is dying.
I texted the kids to let them know the status on their grandfather. Eamonn got back to me right away. Alexis got back to me eight hours later with more of the same: Sorry, will be over soon, ya da ya da ya da. I didn’t bother to reply. I’m going to try to take Eamonn and Brett to see their grandfather this coming week.
This is all too depressing.
More later. Peace.
Music by Aimee Mann, “Save Me”
The Tawi-Tawi group of islands is located at the southwestern tip of the Philippine archipelago. It lies along the earth’s equatorial zone and is composed of 307 islands and islets, 88 of which are characterized by extensive reefs. Tawi-Tawi is an island province of the Philippines located in the Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (ARMM). The capital of Tawi-Tawi is Bongao. The province is the southernmost of the country sharing sea borders with the Malaysian State of Sabah and the Indonesian Kalimantan province.Tawi Tawi is a province that consists of 107 islands in the Sulu Sea, once part of a land bridge linking Borneo
in time of daffodils(who know
the goal of living is to
forgetting why,remember how
in time of lilacs who
the aim of waking is to dream,
in time of roses(who amaze
our now and here with paradise)
forgetting if,remember yes
in time of all sweet things
whatever mind may comprehend,
and in a mystery to be
(when time from time shall set us
forgetting me,remember me
“Methought I heard a voice cry ‘Sleep no more!
Macbeth does murder sleep’, the innocent sleep,
Sleep that knits up the ravell’d sleeve of care,
The death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,
Chief nourisher in life’s feast . . . ” ~ William Shakespeare (Macbeth II,2)
Just a quick update. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in many nights/days. Today, I had a caudal injection at my Pain Management Center and have spent the day in bed on the heating pad, napping fitfully.
Sorry not to be posting, but I feel absolutely useless. The picture above reflects my current state perfectly: I feel as if I hit a brick wall while traveling 100 mph. Discombobulated, ringing in my ears, throbbing muscles. Not a pretty sight. Hope to be able to post something more meaningful tomorrow, perhaps.
“Give me life, give me pain, give me myself again” ~ Tori Amos
Just a short post tonight, short for me that is. I had an appointment with my pain management doctor today. During these appointments, I usually get trigger shots in the parts of my back that are knotted. I’ve mentioned these trigger shots before.
Now, my tolerance for pain is actually quite high, which is how I continued to work for four years before having back surgery to try to remedy the problem. Of course, the surgery did not remedy the problem. No, it exacerbated it, but that’s another story, one that I have already told.
Moving right along . . . So these trigger shots do not usually bother me. I have had up to 12 in one day, and the shots themselves have only, on occasion, caused me a bit of pain.
May I just say that today was a first as far as the pain level? When the doctor came in, I greeted him by telling him my story of how I fell down the stairs and landed on the cement floor with my foot turned under me. I told him that I thought that the shape that my back was currently in was probably attributable somewhat to the fall.
I ended up having 10 shots in total. Each and every one felt as if he were sticking the needle into a solid mass in my back, neck, shoulders, and even derrière. Probably too much information there, but you need to appreciate how much of my body was involved in this situation. By the time he was finished, my jaw hurt from clenching.
Now some of you may think that I am exaggerating here, that no one gets that many trigger shots in one visit. Trust me, I did, and I have. It’s just that this time my back was so tight (this after taking muscle relaxers before going to my doctor), that it rebelled against the insertion of these tiny needles.
“The two enemies of human happiness are pain and boredom.” ~ Arthur Shopenhauer
So anyway, I’m supposed to go home and put heat on my back after these shots. Did I? Of course not. Don’t be silly. While I was out, I wanted to get some things done, like getting the nose piece put back on my glasses. Afterwards, I was amazed by how well I could see again. Without the nose piece, my glasses were not fitting my face correctly, and I was looking through the wrong part. This may account for my trying to work on the computer without my glasses. The big screen helps, but I’m pretty sure that I was squinting at times (which may have contributed to my recent stress headaches).
Then, while I had Corey in the mood to go places (ha), we went to Bed, Bath & Beyond (Beyond what, exactly? The horizon? The budget? Reality?). I had a 20 percent off coupon that was burning a hole in my wallet, and I had seen a tablecloth that was on sale. Need I say more?
Suffice it to say that we made the entire circuit of the store; however, we did not spend a great deal of money. We got the tablecloth, which I want to put on the dining room table to protect it from the people in my family who fail to use coasters with sweating glasses. I know that if I walk in and see glass rings on my new dining room table, I will blow a gasket or have heart failure, so in an effort to avoid that, I thought that a nice, inexpensive tablecloth would be the perfect solution.
While we were there, I had to look at everything though; otherwise, how would I be able to enjoy the whole Beyond experience? I found a very reasonably priced black canvas basket to put my books in, that is, the books that I have not yet read. Corey’s response was incredulity: “Another basket? Don’t you already have a book basket?” I replied that yes, I do have a basket, but it does not have corners as it is an oval basket. Consequently, my books are being mistreated by having to adapt to a curved surface. We bought the basket.
Then I remembered that I still don’t have a picture insert for my wallet. All of my family pictures (except my beloved picture of Caitlin and me) were taken with my wallet, and I’m sure, immediately tossed (Why would a thief want pictures of my family?). I like to have pictures of all of my honeys with me just in case someone I haven’t seen in a while says, “Do you have any pictures?” If I have to answer in the negative, I give the impression that I don’t really care about my family, including the dogs, so I really needed the photo insert. Which resulted in a trip to Dollar Tree, where everything is one dollar (such a deal)!
We were supposed to run in and out as it was getting late, and Corey hadn’t cooked dinner yet. But then I saw the silk flowers, and since tomorrow is Caitlin’s birthday, I realized that I needed to make a new arrangement for the urn at the cemetery. And then there was all of that Easter stuff, and I wanted to make a basket for Alexis. Yes, I realize that she is a grown woman. So? She still gets a kick out of Easter baskets just as I do. I found a very nice square, pink cloth basket that she can use for accessories afterwards.
As a result, the in-and-out trip to Dollar Tree turned into another half an hour before we made it home, which is why I am posting so late. We arrived home four hours after I got my shots. Imagine how my back feels . . .
I have my regular doctor’s follow-up appointment tomorrow morning at 11 at which time I will find out the results of my lab work. I’m not at all sure that I want to know. I’ll just hope for the best.
“Our souls may lose their peace and even disturb other people’s, if we are always criticizing trivial actions . . .” ~ St. Teresa of Avila
So I’ll just end of this note for now: Teresa of Avila may have been a saint, but I don’t agree with her assessment of pain, and I’m not sure that given the circumstances of her life, she should agree with her assessment. After all, during her illnesses she experienced religious ecstasy, which led some to accuse her of being one with the devil. As a result, Avila was a proponent of self-flagellation. Avila’s most well-known quote is “Lord, either let me suffer or let me die.”
I know. I know. I’m horrible for making fun of a saint. But I’m not making fun of Saint Teresa. I’m merely contesting the validity of her quote. So before anyone gets torqued out of shape at how disrespectful I’m being of a revered saint, just remember, I’m irreverent about everything. I’m an equal opportunity cynic.
Now that I’ve cleared that up . . .
Lyrics from Joan Osborne’s St. Teresa
Oh, St. Teresa, higher than the moon
You called up in the sky
You called up in the clouds
Is there something you forgot to tell me…
tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me
Show me my Teresa, feel it rise in me
Every stone a story, like a rosary
We all have our quirks and beliefs, but I draw the line at mortification of the flesh. But then again, I’m not a saint.
And yes, I know. This post wasn’t any shorter. I’m a blonger; what can I say?