adventures in disaster

What I want to be when I grow up

I have no idea.
I wake up and realize half my life is over and I have done very little with it. I try to placate myself with you save lives, you offer care..you are a good nurse but that is ringing empty .
I never thought this would be my life. I had grandiose dreams but I had no ambition.
I was raised by wolves, they struggled to survive and finally when they reached a level of comfort they broke apart scattering their children to the wind. I learned that it was best to be quiet, to not bring on their attention. They could not find an easy truce so they used their children as weapons in a battle that still hasn't ended.
It is impossible to have an adult relationship with your parents or your siblings. At least it is in my family. We carry our hurt and anger forever, my sister has held a grudge full of fury for twenty years. She has grown fat and bitter on it. It is her third child, one she has raised with much more care than her other children.
I have no way of understanding how anyone can be like that and I think there must be someway to fix this but every time I try she vomits bile and I run scared.
I know it's not me but how can you make a friend of this? Half my life is over and I know how fragile this life is. I have seen what unresolved anger can do to families at the end of life. I have witnessed families screaming at each other blaming new wives, old wives for the death of their loved one. It is embarrassing for everyone.I don't want my death to be clouded by old hurts.

I am thinking about death a lot lately. I have been so unwell that I am trying to adjust to my own mortality. I have such pain every day that sometimes I wonder how much longer can I go on like this. How much is too much?
I suffer the pain of the injury and then I suffer from the side effects of the drugs I take to cool the pain. I suffer the anxiety and embarrassment of going to the doctor and saying it's not working. I feel like I need to beg for relief. I sit chastened when the doctor puts limits on my medications. Like a small child I nod eagerly and agree to not take more when it hurts.
I must ration my meds and suffer for hours before I get to take a pill that will give me some relief for a few hours and then I get to do it again and again day after day.
How much is too much?

Why do strangers get to decide how much pain relief I am allowed to have?
I never limit my patients, my patients get the pain relief they need. I don't say to them "your pain is not a good pain , not an accepted pain" I say tell me when you hurt so I can make it better. Tell me as soon as you feel the pain so I can stop it.......

Why can't I find someone like me to help my pain?

I don't want to whine, I want to talk seriously about pain. I want to understand why doctors, nurses, the public are afraid of treating pain. What is so scary?
The drugs are not that frightening and it is well proven that people with pain are not at risk for addiction. Why do you care so much about addiction but nothing about relief? Why are you consumed with worry about mad drug addicts taking them nasty drugs and getting high those bastards?. Every doctor I have had has said to me addiction is not an issue from one corner of their mouth and out the other side whispering don't take too many okay?
I can't live with your fear, I can't live with your contradictions.

Pain is real.It can be measured. We can measure suffering because we are scientists. What kind of monster would measure someone's pain instead of stopping it? Scientists...Scientists
afraid of accusations, afraid of being accused of pushing drugs. So we let your pain bloom and then we measure it..how high is your heart rate?, how high is your blood pressure? are you breathing fast? are you sobbing or have you turned inward hiding in your own subconscious? Sweating,writhing panting and begging..did you pass the test?

Chronic pain sufferers are the pariahs of medical world. No one wants to look after them. As my own doctor said to me "It's so depressing".
I laughed, why yes it is and if it is depressing to you imagine how I feel. No one wants to imagine that.
I think that is the problem..it is a failure of imagination.
If you had to wake every day assaulted by pain,staggering to the drug cupboard and choking the drugs down and then waiting, waiting for relief to come before you can start your day maybe your imagination would expand.
I wish I was creative, I wish I could study a medical text and make magical connections and discover the answer to pain.

I don't want this pain, I am not nurturing it like a child. I do everything I can to divorce it's ass..I try everyday to get it to sign the papers..so far it won't even pick up a pen.
It is not my friend,it's my enemy..we are bitter , we fight and everyday it wins.

All I ask from you my medical partners is a weapon or two..I want a bazooka, nuclear weapons to kill the little bugger. Give me something better than a rubber bat okay?

That is what I want to be when I grow up..I want to be the head of the department of defense. I want to have the power and the weapons to beat the crap out of my pain every time the little terrorist raises his sneaky little head.

Great , I used the word terrorist..know I will be watched by the secret service, just what I need. But that is what it is.There is no better word for it..it lays in wait, probing defenses, watching and waiting causing anxiety and then it strikes..sometimes small, sometimes huge..I never know. There is no defense except vigilance and really great weaponry...I am sorely lacking in the weaponry department.

posted by adventures in disaster @ 12:45 AM