Tag: pain

Low Down

I have a hard time articulating pain, like that low down, punched in the proverbial gut while the rug is yanked out from under me kind of pain. The kind of pain that is tinged with shame or embarrassment. The kind that would send me to bed with the covers over my head for five days straight if I indulged in that sort of wallowing.

Instead, I tend to suck it all up. Say nothing. No comment. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m FINE. Let’s focus on the task at hand because I am fucking fine.

And for a while, I will be fine. I can fake fine until the cows come home. Stoic. Solid. Determined. Work long hours. Keep myself busy. I am fine.

Eventually, I’ll snap. Sometimes I snap in baby steps: I get suddenly sick and can’t shake it no matter how much Emergen-C I consume. Or I blow up at the drop of hat, a screaming banshee straight from the mouth of hell to make damn sure everyone in a three mile radius is well aware I’ve had enough enough ENOUGH of this.

I’m working on coming to terms with all of this. I am a work in progress. I’m fine.

Stupid Ankle Update

My injured ankle has now become “my stupid ankle,” because I am frustrated and over it.  I was excited a month ago that the physical therapist determined my talus bone was out of place, wedged under another bone, and freeing it would put me back on my feet in no time.  I endured a super painful manual effort to free the bone that was supposed to be supported by the exercises I was doing to move the talus back where it belonged.

At my evaluation yesterday, it was determined, nope, the bone is not yet free, and basically all my strength and balance exercises for the last 2 months mean nothing until the bone is free to move in my ankle again.  I sat through the excruciating process to try to push the bone out from its stuck spot and nearly barfed, ending with the physical therapist shaking her head and saying we’d have to get “more aggressive” in coming appointments.  MORE aggressive? I am already sweating and nauseous from the pain…maybe I’ll be just lose consciousness if it gets more aggressive.

I’ve been sleeping a whole lot more lately, and if someone else told me they were going through a few months of physical therapy and sleeping more, I’d tell them that they need to rest and heal.  Of course, I tell myself not that I need to rest and heal, but that I need to get out of bed and do something.  Sigh.  Stupid ankle.

Send healing thoughts; I need them.  I found something on the magical world wide web that I will mention to my therapist tomorrow, because I’m sure she’ll be delighted that I am trying to create my own treatment plan, right?  I found an option where a doctor numbs the area, puts it into traction like you would if you were setting a broken bone, and then exerts the necessary force to free the bone; if this is possible, while I’m sure the surrounding tissue will be inflamed and sore afterward, it would put an end to the slow painful efforts being made at PT.  It’s worth asking.

Well, here’s a lie!

Stupid Pinterest and all the handy dandy hints and tips.  Read a list over the weekend of different uses for household stuff, like “put chap stick on a paper cut to stop bleeding and pain.”  So I had one of those itty bitty paper cuts today that is so small but feels like flaming gasoline is being poured under your skin…alrighty, I know just what to do, right?  Whip out that chap stick and swipe some on…and 3, 2, 1…pretty sure my flesh is going to boil off it hurt so bad.  Went running down the hall to the sink, oh god, it’s blocked in by a maintenance cart…run the other way…omg, the bathroom door is locked…I am waving my hand in the air, positive that this tiny inferno is a gateway for demons to enter this dimension and that they are squeezing their way out of this centimeter of open skin on my thumb.  Keys in hand I finally make it to soap and water to wash the damned chap stick off, which is only slightly a relief since it still hurts as bad as it did to start with…but I’ve learned my Pinterest lesson: always make your friend try it first.