In the very, very early hours of Saturday morning, I woke with pain in my lower back.
This isn’t new. Nor was the pain in both hips. The trouble was, I couldn’t find a way to sleep that didn’t aggravate one or all three of the offenders, so I didn’t sleep very well. I got up, ate cereal, and maxed out on Vicodin, then went back to sleep as best I could.
Saturday, I didn’t do well. I was groggy and hurting, and I couldn’t get going. Worst of all, there was something seriously wrong in my left hip. It felt very much like something was pinched. It hurt until I took my stash of drugs, but even when the pain was managed, I felt like there was something seriously wrong. It panicked me so hard that when Anna went to a playdate, I went to find Dan and told him something was wrong. I wasn’t very coherent, and I ended up mostly crying. Which means he ended up leaving work and escorting me to the clinic. Where they heard "pinched nerve" and sent me to the ER.
I will never let this happen again.
Essentially the woman in the ER was such a worthless non-help that I eventually ground out a not-at-all-felt "thank you" and leaving, crushing wax cups from beside drinking fountains on the way out before bursting into first screams of rage and then completely defeated sobs in the parking lot. I don’t normally wish pain on people, but I really hope that woman had horrible chronic pain and has to be seen by someone as non-helpful as herself. She blamed my symptoms on whatever was handy: my Effexor, my period, and probably other things I blocked out. Dan was along and tried to get through to her, but she was resolute that she wouldn’t help me unless my arm was falling off. It’s a sign of my mental state at that moment that I quite literally had to restrain myself from grabbing something from the drawer and trying to hack it off on the spot. I think I might have tried, but I was too afriad I’d try to ram it into the center of her chest. I quite seriously wanted to put my hands around that woman’s throat and choke her. I wanted to hurt her so badly. Worse than I’ve ever wanted anything before in my life. No one ever has made me feel so belittled and so fantastically unheard when I was in pain and panic.
By the time we got home I was a mental mess. Dan, getting an ominous feeling about how I was acting, asked point blank if I was going to hurt myself. I had to pause, and when I answered I said, "Not just yet." I was very shaken. I was tired, impaired, drugged out, and available medicine had pretty much told me I was overdramatic. Had this happened without Dan there, I really don’t know what would have happened. It was pretty much one of my darkest moments.
Once again, Dan called Lynnette, our family physician. She is pretty much the only person who has taken my condition seriously outside of my current PT and my chiropractor. After swearing about how worthless ER docs are, she called in a scrip for something to calm my nerves down and something to calm me down. (I’d asked for the latter in the ER, and she’d given me a you’re-so-stupid look and told me to take the sleeping pills I already had prescibed.) This did help, and they were handy in the middle of the night when my neck got into the act as well. I woke up sort of groggy and hurting, but I muddled through.
And then I started dancing.
During the wait for the ER Saturday I’d begun to twitch. Little spasms where my leg would give out and then, as I lay waiting for and then while the worthless doctor was present, I spasmed on the table, my legs kicking and twitching. But this was minor. I spasmed a little before bed too. But during the day today, I really started going. By the time we ate dinner, I was stomping the floor and beating out weird patterns whenever I moved. It’s happening now too while I type this. If I keep one foot tapping, I can hold most of it off, but if I let it go, there will be a sudden thump, thump, thump, kick! as my leg dances to some strange neurological rhythm only it understands. One leg, both legs, sometimes my arms. The kicker (ha, ha!) is that if I lie and watch TV or get very distracted, it will quiet. If I hold still, it slows to almost nothing. If I concentrate, I can get it to turn into almost nothing. And then without warning it will come back, and I’ll be Thumper the bunny again.
We called my chiro, who thinks maybe this is a reaction to the nerve drug. Which would work, except this started before I took it. We’ll see what PT has to say tomorrow and what an adjustment does. Or doesn’t. Dan took the day off to shuttle his little Rockette around.
There was a moment at dinner when we were all pretty much crying, scared and upset and overtired and worried about the future. I cried when Dan had to cancel his date to watch the finale of a show with a friend in Ankeny. Dan looked grim and blinked a lot as he looked at his wife, thought "neurological" and imagined eight million way-too-educated worst case scenarios. Anna sobbed as her parents looked so nervous and wondered what was wrong with her mom.
None of the cats cried. Predictably.
Half an Ativan and an episode of House later, I’ve reached the point of black humor. I’d like to make some brash declaration that they’re not going to put baby in a corner or whatever, but I suppose if I have to run around like an idiot tomorrow while people ignore me or dismiss me or poke at me or in general be irritated with me for not following their medical textbooks, that’s what I’ll do. Until someone figures it out or I go postal and end up on the psych ward.
If it’s the latter, I’m going to try and negotiate it so I’m back with the bitch in the ER. I think I’ll start by biting her leg. Or maybe I’ll just kick her since I can always claim the Effexor or whatever other drugs of mine she’d like to blame it on made me do it.
Anyway. That’s my story. And I’m kicking to it.