You don't know how to ease my pain
It's come to something when the only thing I can think to write about is pain. I mean, it's not as though I'm in any way a novice at this chronic pain mallarkey: my last pain-free day was November 30th 1991, FFS.
But, when my osteopath told me that coming off the NSAIDs would result in my pain levels being dramatically increased, he wasn't kidding. There isn't even anything particularly wrong at the moment. Nothing's locked. Nothing's trapped. Nothing's out-of-the-way stiff. I don't need anything to be manipulated to free it. I've been on bed rest for weeks, so my back is actually in relatively good nick. And God forbid anything does get trapped or locked because I'm barely coping with the pain resulting from it being comparatively ok - add anything else into the mix, and I'm going to experience a serious sense of humour failure.
This is ridiculous. I don't have any sharp, agonising pain of the type which makes me wince, and hiss, and scream. It's all just dull, constant, absolutely bloody relentless pain of the type which I really feel I ought to be able to deal with better than I am currently doing.
It's just about tolerable as long as I don't do anything at all, but I've only got to empty the washing machine or pick the post up from the mat for it to be Really Not Funny. And I've no meds to take which will have an immediate analgesic effect. In the old days, if it was really painful, I'd take one of my dwindling stash of Celebrex to knock it on the head. Now I'm on one Tramadol and two Paracetamol every four hours, and necking those three doesn't make any appreciable immediate difference. Indeed, it was so bad on Friday evening that I took two extra Tramadol, thus taking me up to the safe maximum of six, and that didn't make any appreciable difference either.
The worst thing is that the combination of the pain and the Tramadol-induced mental blurriness is having a pretty negative effect on my psychological robustness. Which means that poor Pop is astonished when I take huge offence at the sort of gentle, affectionate teasing which can generally be guaranteed to reduce me to helpless giggles. And, trust me, I can see that I'm being totally unreasonable and a complete drama queen. Which makes me despise myself but which, unfortunately, doesn't alter the nature of my response one iota.
Anyone who knows me well is quite used to me being snarly, but weepiness is not a state with which I am generally associated. If it's any consolation to those who have been wept at, I don't like it any more than you do.
Ho hum. Anyway, back to the GP tomorrow. Let's see what the next suggestion is.....