So I went back to the Community Care Clinic for the first time in a month today.
And yup, my legs are pretty sore now. Hello Mister Gabapentin and Miss Naproxen!
Please take the pain away. Sincerely, me.
The question now is whether or not I will have sufficiently recovered from this trauma by the time I have to do it all again on Friday.
The record suggests I will not have, and that means I will face it difficult decision.
Because as patient readers know, what I think happened that led to my needing a month of home wound care was that I wasn’t recovering from any given Wound Care appointment by the time the next one came up.
This caused the damage to accumulate over time until that fateful Friday when the pain got so bad that I knew something had to change.
So if the pain is worse after Friday’s appointment, I will have to decide how to react.
I might have to make a stand. Like I said way back when this whole cluster fuck started, I am not going to cripple myself in order to make life more convenient for the nurses.
I know that the home care system is very busy. That’s not in question.
The real question is whether they are so busy that they are refusing to take on ANY new patients at all, or is it just mild mannered fat dudes like me who get refused care?
Because this would hardly be the first time I have gotten screwed over by people who want to make life easier for THEM at my expense.
After all, he’s such a sweet and gentle dude that we know we’ll get away with it!
So why not? It’s not like we see him as human anyway.
Little do they know that the sweet guy they have known so far is but one side of my multifaceted personality. The one the world sees when I am calm.
Another emerges when I feel threatened. And it roars like a lion.
More after the break.
Reading the above
Reading the above, it occurs to me that despite being sweet of temperament, I am a really bitter guy.
And that tracks, because embitterment is a logical consequences of having a lot of repressed anger for a long period of time.
Stew in your own juices for long enough and it makes you into a pale and withered version of yourself filled to the brim with that distillation of anger known as bitterness just waiting for an excuse to come spewing out.
In a person with less of a fanatical devotion to self control than I, this would manifest itself as classic “anger issues” such as lashing out at those near me and going on lengthy tirades about anything and everything.
Just like my father, may he rest in peace.
And society applauds my self control. But that doesn’t make it the right answer.
“I’ll just suppress it forever” is never a good plan.
There must be some way to express all this bitterness, resentment, and latent rage that is making everything toxic and chaotic in my soul.
But it has to be morally acceptable to me. I would rather die than become a rage monster like my late father. Taking it out on others is completely unacceptable.
And yet, I don’t have any healthy examples of how to deal with anger. My mother almost never expressed anger and my father expressed his all the time he was home.
There has to be a middle path.
But I might have to go crazy for a while to get there. Le sigh.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.