My Story, Part IV: Where Things Stand….

Saturday, November 24, 2012 – 3:07 PM

 

In the words of one of the plethora of songs that make up my internal monologue…

The anchor holds,
Though the ship is battered..
The anchor Holds,
Though the sails are torn…

I have fallen on my knees,
As I face the raging seas…
The Anchor Holds…
In spite of the storm…
             -Ray Boltz. “The Anchor”

As anyone who has been following the soap opera-esque trials
I have been going through since August knows, 
I have been in a battle for my very life to try and find pain relief.
Sounds melodramatic, doesn’t it?
But it is, unfortunately, true.

Like many silent broken people in our society,
I was cut off due to a seemingly whim of fate,
From those medicines I so dearly need
In order to live any kind of semblance of a normal life…
From those tools I use to fight back the pain and do more than
Merely survive as a broken, mewling…… thing.

I have done everything short of actually bleeding
To gain some kind of caring medical help for my pain issues.

I had an interesting conversation with one of my case managers
While locked down in the Psych Center this week.
She said:
“You say you are willing to ‘do anything’ the doctors offer to get relief,
but then you go on to tell them what you consider acceptable.
Doctors don’t like being told what to do!”

Huh.

I mulled it over for a day or so before replying.
Thought through all the permutations of what she had said.
She was *right*.
I *have* been setting limits on what I would accept.

But am I wrong for doing so?
They offer the equivalent of a Tylenol when my legs are
*actively* stuck in a meat grinder,
And seem to think that should be sufficient somehow!
NOT. FRIGGIN’. HARDLY.

She’s right, that just isn’t “acceptable” to me!

I still smoke 10 or 15 cigars a day. Every day.
Doctors don’t like that either.

Oh, friggin’ well!

I don’t figure that I will survive this fight anyway.
How am I supposed to fear some *possible* damage that may or may not
Manifest itself *years* in the future,
When it is all I can do to draw breath and survive *Today*?

So….
I sat back down with her a day or so later and explained.
She was *right*. Dead on!
I told her so.

Then I asked her what I was supposed to do when I had to *literally*
Break my own bones in front of them
To get *any* kind of help? (Even the pittance I am on…)

They don’t like being told what to do?
I don’t like being *ignored*!
Left in a series of un-ending agonizing minutes
With no real relief in sight!

I *am* desperate!

I know what the environment out there for *any* doctor willing to actually treat us is.
How the DEA has made it “career suicide”
(Quote from an ER nurse a while back) to do so!

What are people like me supposed to *DO* when the very professionals
We count on to treat our medical issues fail in that trust?

She had no answers for me..
Just that all-to-familiar blank stare…

And neither have I.

So, I will continue to fight this fight one day at a time.
But I am under no illusions.
I will probably have to bleed to get decent treatment.

As terrible as that is.
It just is what it is, folks….

IF I had bones sticking out of my skin, or even a kidney stone,
I would be “Hot and Shot”, and on a gurney, less than 10 minutes
After hitting the doors of the ER.
Yet, like so many of us have found,
Even though my pain is at times much *greater*
Than those kinds of visible injuries,
Because we carry this anguish inside, out of sight,
We are treated like if they cannot *see* it, it simply must not *exist*.

And so, for now, I go through the motions,
Jump through the hoops.
Hold out as long as I possibly can.
Waiting for the ever-so-slow gears of the ‘establishment’
To grind to their inevitable conclusion.

I might even get lucky and find some doctor
Willing to treat me with at *least* as much compassion as we show our pets!
But I doubt it.
History has too often proven otherwise of late.
I have already seen the lengths to which they will go
To *NOT* treat us, you see.

So I fear the next time I willingly enter those selfsame ER doors,
I will be bleeding…
With a *visible* wound…
Something they can relate to..

Regardless of the cost to myself or those who care about me……

Advertisements

~ by daveprime on November 24, 2012.

2 Responses to “My Story, Part IV: Where Things Stand….”

  1. I hear…feel your utter exhaustion.

    • Thank you, Tyla.
      You’re right. I *am* tired. Tired of the fight.
      And, frankly, something has to give soon…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

 
%d bloggers like this: