February 18, 2022
When I was a little girl I kept a diary. I honestly thought if I wrote down the terrible things that they would be “trapped” inside those pages. Locked behind the little key I had. Diaries were very common back in the ’70s and ’80s. None of mine survived to be placed in electronic pages with the exception of some poems. I’m grateful in some ways. Those terrible days were lost to time. I’m terrified to know what was in those pages. To know what was locked away in my mind.
Each time a memory has been recovered the results have felt like a part of me dying inside having to face the awful. The validation I believed it held. That said how “awful a child” I must have been. What was imprinted in those pages? In my nightmares, they bleed blood. The pages accept every awful moment to hide from everyone, even me. Left with a false feeling of how it all must have been because of me, because I existed. Even at this age, it can still be a mental struggle to fight that familiar place in the family. The one to blame for all ills.
Electronically I know there are blogs out there full of pain and bleeding of family hellish drama. I remind myself how far and how hard I have worked to recover my brain from drowning in it all. In these moments when my body is full of medications given in order to go through yet another horrible treatment, made better only by another medication that causes a loss of memory. I live through it but I get to forget most of it, if not all. That might take the entire day or moments after it as time moves on. It’s a bizarre side effect to deal with, and only a handful around me know how to handle it without blaming me for what I can’t control. At times it can be devastating.
Today marks day one post right lumbar RFL (Radiofrequency Lesioning, also known as Radiofrequency Ablation) I had done yesterday. The left side was done only a couple weeks ago. I’m hurting and tight but alive. Most Important part right, LOL. Pains about six when I stand up. I’m shuffling to walk but I am walking. Even if I resemble Ozzy Ozborne’s gait. I can feel the bruising.
This is the suckiest part. The part where the pain is harder than most days to handle. The part I will suffer through and never ask for medication. I can’t go there. I can’t be the patient under suspicion. It’s an exhausting condition that comes with major complications. It’s a place my entire life was created under suspicion of being “bad.” Breathing is all that causes suspicion. I choose to not accept those options. So I “suck it up” what a horrible way to have to live when the only other choice is dying.
The RFL basically burns the bundle of nerves in certain areas of my spine. LIterally killing them. It will take weeks to over a month for a lesion to form where that fresh burn is now. If it sounds grotesque it is in part. What a person does to simply stay on the “right side of the dirt.” I heard that once I think it was from a relative but it’s hard to really put those memories forward. Perhaps that is a blessing of sorts.
This pain will diminish over the next few days. In six months we do it all over again. It truly feels heavy at times. The doc said it will not do anything for the pinched nerve he found on MRI. At this point, I have stopped counting diagnosis codes. I guess a disc is a bit out of place. I much prefer to hide under the hood of my sweatshirt or a closet for safekeeping. For as long as I can remember it has been my “safe” space to hide from any of it or all of it. My nightmares never seem to stop going there. It’s exhausting.
Apparently, my spinal cord is being forced to bend. Figures nothing in this body can seem to stay straight. It can cause anger and madness almost for losing the future I should have had. I could have been a really great EMS provider. I miss being able to “lift people” for a living. My heart is heavy for how it makes me feel like a failure. Having nothing good to show for myself. Despite the accolades in life, I judge myself harshly and unfairly. I learn from how others have reacted to my existence. It’s just a reality that I struggle to live with.
Apparently, this pinched-off nerve is ticked off and causing a lot of inflammation. My existing treatments don’t do a lot for that. I gained another treatment of high-dose spinal steroid infusion. Ugh sometimes being sick feels like a rock and I feel like a burden on those who love and surround me. I don’t think I would do very well If not for having support. Being sick is often so terribly lonely. Support doesn’t always come from where you think it would. You have to be open to receiving it. Everyone who loved me is gone for the most part. It’s a hard reality, but not one I ignore. I’ve always been an odd guy out. The couch surfer. It’s just how it was.
Today is a reminder that I am worthy of life. I do matter and there are people who look to me for support. I can’t be there for them if I can’t see myself as worthy of life. Yes, my body is broken but that is all the more reason to live to the fullest. I hope to live to be 100 just to piss off a few. I’m joking of course, but I chuckle nonetheless. I’m not done yet, and neither are you. So set no expectation of longevity. Just live to the fullest with daring volubility. Drawing from a research scientist far wiser than I.
As for this, blogging. I plan to write when it hits but not on a schedule. I share my good and bad. Nothing is more valuable than validation. We can give each other that, as altable individuals, simply by sharing our #TRUTHS.