My back has become a real brat in the last 24 hours.
Last night was godawful. Hours spent trying to twist, stretch, bend, splay, or otherwise contort the knot upon not of tension out of my traitorous spine.
So of course I didn’t get much sleep. Motherfucker.
This is definitely my OG back pain, the kind that comes when my digestion is messed up by trapped gas.
So clearly I need to eat and drink my carbonated beverages more slowly.
Anyhow, eventually I had my little “hulk smash puny back pain!” moment and pressed super hard on my spine with my fist and managed to flatten things out enough for me to finally get some goddamned sleep.
Resulting in me oversleeping for the day’s IV antibiotics dose. Eep!
Much was the rushing and dressing and cursing.
Sorry for putting you through that, Julian!
As luck would have it, we were only around 8 minutes late. No harm done.
But it took way, way too long for me to catch my breath after. Like half an hour until I was actually back to baseline.
That is…. quite worrying.
Today was a big day in my grubby little world because it was visit with the doctor day and that means opening all the dressings so he can take a look, then of course changing them once he is done.
No big surprises. For me, anyhow. I finally got around to telling the nurses about the wound on my right foot that I used to go to the Community Care Clinic for.
I was supposed to tell them almost two weeks ago, but shyness happened. I just couldn’t seem to make myself bring it up.
I guess on a child-like level I worried they would get mad at me for bringing them more work they had to do.
I really am just a foolish little boy with way more brain that he knows what to do with, aren’t I? Le sigh.
Medical scuttlebutt is that the wound on my left foot has healed remarkably well, so it is no longer under medical supervision.
And the one on my right foot that has been around forever is fine. The infection is long long gone, so, no biggie.
Oh, and I got a thorough debridement from the wound care nurse. That’s always nice, but especially nice when you have four wound sites.
And I am always a little amazed at just how much dried dead skin comes off of me. It gives me a childlike sense of wonder.
Like… gee, did all that come from ME?
The back pain keeps coming back. It’s getting very frustrating. I may well have to invest in some kind of anti-gas medication.
Or a nice strong-ish muscle relaxant to pop these goddamned knots. I would even settle for a general as opposed to topical one.
So I end up sleeping a bunch.
What else do I have to do with my time?
More after the break.
Catching Covid is so trendy right now. All the big celebrities are doing it.
It’s totally gone viral.
The blackest of nights
You know…. the kind you don’t come back from.
I have been really, really depressed lately.
Having all these health problems piling onto me, with all the pain and suffering and fear they bring with them, have really blackened my perspective and my mood.
It really seems like life is just going to get worse and worse for me from now on. My body will self-destruct and I will lose faculties and abilities one by one until I am (un) lucky enough to live my “paralyzed and full of tubes: nightmare.
I’d love to see hope instead. But I just don’t.
And this has taken me to the Bad Place. The one where there only seems to be one way out. The one where I feel trapped and panicky and hopeless and the urge to have it all be “over” grows strong.
I should probably check myself into somewhere safe, to be honest. Somewhere where I can’t hurt myself.
But I can’t afford a place like that and in order for the province to pay for it I would have to somehow get them to take me seriously and why should they be any different than all the doctors I have seen?
I don’t want to be in the Bad Place. I honestly thought I would never be here again. I thought I was past all that.
But here we are again, worse than ever before.
So I am going to need to ask Joe for a very special favour.
You see, I recently had a thought. A very, very bad thought that I wish I could unthink and never think again forever.
It goes like this : Here I am, suicidally depressed, and what do you know, right here sitting on my computer case is a whole lot of different kinds of sleeping pills…….
But I can’t do that. I won’t do that. I could never do that to my friends.
And yet…. I might.
I don’t want to. But I might. The thought has crossed my mind,
So I am going to gather up all these rejected (because they made my sleep apnea worse) sleeping pills and give them to Joe so he can hide them,
That way I don’t know where they are and can’t use them by myself. In the highly unlikely event that I ever need one of them, I will have to ask Joe, and he will give me exactly one dose of them, no more.
I wish I was strong enough to just throw them away. Dump them down the drain. Throw them out the fucking window even.
But that would be “wasting” them so my compulsions say no.
I wish I could just sell them. There has to be a market for these kinds of meds. I could probably get enough for a fancy new computer chair AND a new PC.
But either way, they need to go away.
And come to think of it, so do I.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.