Always think we get more time

     6AM.  I woke up.  I had to pee.  I stumbled into the bathroom, labored to sit down and stand back up again.  As I walked back over to the bed, I collapsed.  With everything I had gone through the past 5 weeks, I seriously thought this might be the end.  Everything went black.

     I lost count of how many times over the past several weeks I questioned if I was dying.  At one point I had resigned myself to accepting death as an outcome.  I told myself to quit thinking I could die, but it was still hard to stop the racing thoughts of everything I hadn't yet done with my life.  I had barely even begun to live.  Funny, how in these moments you realize what and who is most important in life. All the sudden everything else seems so trivial when all you want is to live.  I thought about how ridiculous I was in my obsession to have a good looking body, when now all I wanted was a body that had a pulse.  Or complaining about my fat legs, when now all I wanted was legs strong enough to hold me up when I walked.  I thought about the people I cared about, and wondered if they knew I was thinking about them right at that moment.

     I was too stubborn to die.  I was lying in a heap on the floor of the hotel room when I came back to consciousness.  The last thing I remember was my face slamming into the wall as I lost all control over my body.  I crawled over to the bed and had no clue what I was supposed to do next.  Should I call an ambulance or go to the emergency room?  If I went to the emergency room, I would lose my appointment that was a miracle to get in the first place.  I called my parents, 800 miles away, and let them know what had  happened.  They felt completely helpless to do anything for me in that moment, but still got on the road as soon as they could to make it down.

     I decided I had to continue on with my scheduled plan for the day and get to my doctor appointment.  He would at least be able to get me to the emergency room if he thought it was necessary and I firmly believed he would have answers for me.  I knew I couldn't drive at that point, and had started popping more pain pills.  I decided to call for a taxi and headed off to the rheumatologist, still in my pajamas.  I still had no clue how I was going to make it back to my apartment over 200 miles away.


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     The rheumatologist unfortunately didn't have an immediate answers for me. The only visible signs of my illness were the rashes. They ordered more blood tests and prescribed me prednisone (steroid).

     I took a taxi cab back to the hotel; a small  $60 fair round trip.  I started making plans to get back home.  I couldn't take the bus because I couldn't leave my car behind so far away.  I called the only person I could think of that might be able to come pick me up.  I felt so embarrassed to ask such a favor of someone who was practically a stranger to me.  He was a coworker, a law enforcement officer, and I knew it was his day off.  I tried not to give him a lot of details about my situation,  just that it was kind of an emergency and I needed a ride.  He was able to take the airport shuttle up  to Reno and drive me in my car back to my place.  We stopped for burritos along the way and I paid for his meal.  It was the least I could do. 
    

Sober enough to drive

     Since the onset of my symptoms in late January, starting with my cold/flu that I had been told was strep throat, it had been one month.  A full 30 days of torment and anguish.  This may not seem like a long time of suffering compared to other people's experiences, but the intensity was insufferable.  I am not superstitious, but I was beginning to wonder if someone had a voodoo doll of me and was stabbing pins into it.  I was still waiting for the morning that I would wake up and feel better.

     A few days before my appointment, I began to plan for my big trip to Reno  to see the rheumatologist.  The winter weather and storms were completely unpredictable in that area, so I knew I needed to give myself plenty of time.  I had one or two acquaintances I called to ask if they might be able to go with me, or drive for me.  Surprise!  No one was available.   
      My appointment was early in the morning of March 4, three hours away.  In normal conditions, I would of had to leave by 5AM to make it on time.  In the winter, going to an area I was unfamiliar with, I would have to have left at least by 4AM.  I thought it was best to arrive the night before to make sure I would be there on time.
     The last thing I needed was to get into a wreck while under the influence of narcotics. I gave myself ample time for the drug to get out of my system and quit taking pain pills, except for ibuprofen around 6PM that evening.  
     Sometime around 10AM the next morning, I left for Reno and planned to stay in a hotel room that night.  I would be getting into Reno early enough to make sure I got a good night's rest before my appointment.  I was feeling a little sore and stiff, but told myself I could make it through the pain for just a few hours.  Luckily, I was driving during the warmth of the day, and the roads on the narrow two lane Highway 395 from Mammoth Lakes to Reno was relative clear.  But it still took me longer than expected to get into town.  It was almost 5PM when I rolled into Sparks, NV where my hotel was.

Pain...

noun

1.  physical suffering or distress, as due to injury, illness, etc.

2.  a distressing sensation in a particular part of the body:

a back pain.

3.  mental or emotional suffering or torment:

I am sorry my news causes you such pain.

4.  pains.

1. laborious or careful efforts; assiduous care:
   Great pains have been taken to repair the engine perfectly.
2. the suffering of childbirth. (which does not even compare to the level of pain I experienced) (www.dictionary.com)

     I was in so much pain it hurt to sit any longer, and my arms could barely hold onto the steering wheel.  All I could think about was taking my pain pill and laying down.  Before I could take my pain pill, I had to find food to take the medicine with so I would not throw up.
     I drove through rush hour traffic, getting stopped at every red light it seemed, to find the closest grocery store.  I wanted to buy a few groceries so I would have food on hand throughout the night if I needed to take more pain pills.  I was frustrated after driving a few miles I could not find a grocery store.  I had no GPS or smart phone back in these days and had to figure out the hard way how to find what I was looking for.  Of course I had directions from the internet to the hotel and doctor's office, which turned out to be across town from each other, but I was unfamiliar with where anything else was.  My patience was exhausted, my pain level was at a 10, and I felt as if I were going to throw up, or pass out from the pain.
     I finally found a grocery store, parked the vehicle and hobbled across the parking lot.  I held onto a cart while I walked around the store to help relieve my lower body from some of the agony.  While at the checkout stand, I fumbled pulling out my debit card from my wallet.  My fingers could barely grasp my card and arms didn't want to lift my card to run it through the machine.  I was near tears with every step and choked back tears walking to my car in the parking lot.  I felt embarrassed because I looked like a freak limping around, dragging my feet so slowly, no crutches, casts or bandages, otherwise looking perfectly healthy.  I kept breathing and told myself everything would be fine.
     I began eating as soon as I got in the car so I would have food in my stomach to take my pain pills when I got to my hotel room.  I checked into my hotel, popped a couple Vicodin, and laid on the bed and tried to watch tv for the first time in at least a month.  I turned it on, stared at the screen for a while, but couldn't lift the remote to change the channel.  But I managed to lay my hands across a keyboard so my fingers could type out a quick message on Facebook to my friend.  I set my alarm for 630AM, took a couple more Vicodin, said a quick prayer of thanks for getting to Reno safely and went to sleep.

Watching it burn

     It had only been two days since my appointment with Doctor Barry.  “I got you an appointment with the rheumatologist!" Dr. Barry said.  "He was able to squeeze you in early in the morning before regular hours!  You have to be there, March 3, 8AM, in Reno.  You can't miss it!  It may be months before he can get you in again.”

     I felt like a prayer had been answered and I would soon get down to the bottom of this illness.  The rheumatologist, Dr. McClure, was highly regarded in his field and in medicine as a whole.  I felt like I would be in good hands, that he would know what was wrong and would be able to cure me.  I trusted the fact that he came highly recommended from Doctor Barry.  She was clearly taking a genuine interest in getting me the medical attention I needed.

     With every day becoming increasingly painful, waiting for my next appointment felt like an eternity.  The Vicondin pretty much quit working.  The only thing it was doing for me was helping me to relax.  The pain that awakened me in the middle of the night would be my reminder to take my next dose.  I still felt the pain just lying in bed, and anytime I needed to roll over in bed the pain was slightly tolerable while on the pain killer.  


Lonely...

adjective, lonelier, loneliest.

1.  affected with, characterized by, or causing a depressing feeling of being alone; lonesome.

2.  destitute of sympathetic or friendly companionship, intercourse, support, etc.:

a lonely exile.

3.  lone; solitary; without company; companionless.

4.  remote from places of human habitation; desolate; unfrequented; bleak:

a lonely road.

5.  standing apart; isolated:

a lonely tower.

(www.dictionary.com)

      I felt a loneliness I hadn’t felt in a long time.  I had been trapped in my 400 square foot apartment for weeks, with no television, no internet and my cell phone barely got service.  I felt like I was literally cut off from the rest of the world.  If I stood in just the right spot in my apartment, I could get enough signal to make a call.  For the first time in my life, I realized I needed my family.  I called my dad and stepmom, just to say hello.  I never really got along with her, she was always very mean to me as a child.  I didn't feel like I could be vulnerable to her and I was determined to stay strong.  I didn’t want to let them know the hell I was going through.  But I couldn’t keep it in.  I cried to my stepmom.  I told her it was because of the pain I was in.  She felt absolutely helpless to comfort me, I’m sure.  She was nearly 2,000 miles away.  She asked me if I had a candle and said that some people find comfort in watching the flame of a candle burn.  It was about all I could do; light a candle and watch it burn. 

     I sat in front of my electric wall heater for hours watching the flame from the candle flicker and played solitaire.  I tried desperately to do anything to get my mind off of it.  At times I would be staring at the candle and begin to cry and couldn’t stop.  I was still scared of what was happening to my body.  I stopped exercising.  I couldn’t lie to myself any longer.  I stopped working.  My doctor wrote a note explaining to my management that I was incapacitated and unable to work.  I went on the Family Medical Leave Act and a leave program that allowed others in my agency to donate their unused annual leave to me to cover my extended absence.  Without the help of coworkers who donated leave to me, I would have gone without a paycheck as well.  Friends and people I didn’t even know all came together to donate leave to me.  I was so very thankful to God for everything that was coming together despite the traumatic experience I was having with my health.
      Despite all my medical documentation I was turning into management, they were growing tired of my absence.  They started to doubt I was even ill.  They didn't understand how I could be so ill that I couldn't just sit at a desk and at least answer phone calls.  There were rumors around my office that I was faking it, and that maybe I should see a psychologist.  One rumor was reported to management that I was simply depressed because my boyfriend had broken up with me.
     That stung.  A lot. Because a part that was true.  My boyfriend did break up with me because I was so sick.  
     Each moment loitered around for as long as it pleased while I waited for my appointment with the rheumatologist.  The appointment was still one week away, not to mention 3 hour drive away.