Two Weeks Out

I feel the need to write and yet I have no idea what to write about. I just deleted a big chunk of text I had generated about change, but it didn't seem right. So, I'm just going to keep typing and see what happens.

On Saturday, one week from the completion of our loss, the horrible back/hip pain that triggered the morning of my last doctor's appointment returned. Maybe there is significance in that, but I chalk it up to the pain killers finally wearing off and leaving my body to fend for itself. Clearly, my body, like my psyche, was not ready for that kind of responsibility. I have been in excruciating pain ever since. I tried to simply stay on the 800 mg of Ibuprofen I was already taking, but that no longer made a dent in the pain, so I had to switch to Vicodin. Now, I'm not against taking medication, but I really dislike relying on it. And, right now, I am clinging to it with desperation. If I am late on a dose, the pain drives me to tears and I begin to shake. Not at all what I needed after all of the other trauma we have experienced. So today I went to my doctor. He took X-rays and told me it sounded like a compressed or twisted vertebrae and he wanted me to visit my chiropractor three times per week. I'm not 100% sold on chiropractic and had been to my chiropractor the previous week (with minimal results), so I wasn't completely happy with the news. Nevertheless, I made an appointment with my chiro and continued with my pain pills. I have a massage tomorrow and hope that this regimen will bring some sort of relief.

But my back/hip pain isn't the only physical discomfort we have experienced since we've been home. My poor husband picked up a nasty cold-like thing while at the hospital that has not wanted to let him go and I found myself with a fever off-and-on. Our lives have become a series of pill regiments and pain management, which leaves little of us available for grieving. I suppose that's what life will do with us over time - distract us and allow us to move on - and perhaps that's what all of this pain and illness was doing this past week, but I think I'd rather feel the grief. I wrote in my last blog that I was afraid of becoming numb to the situation and that's how I've felt these last few days. And I'm sure the pain killers have helped with that, too. I want desperately to feel okay and to move on in a healthy way. I want to be able to drive myself to appointments, to return small items, to get my hair cut, and to do things around the house. I want to be able to mourn when I need to and sit on the couch with my husband so we can be near each other. (Right now, I'm most comfortable in our recliner.) I want to be able to take a walk when it's sunny outside and meet a friend for lunch out instead of in our house. But I can't do these things yet and that seems to make everything worse.

So, this is where I stand two weeks from when I was admitted into the hospital. In some ways, it's a much better place; but in others, it's far worse. I can only hope that two weeks from today will be much brighter and healthier for all of us here in the Baker household.