Learn From It

So I'm weaning myself off of the vicodin, or at least trying to. But the ibuprofen doesn't really help. I can abide the soreness in my side, most of the time. It's the shoulder/nerve pain that scares me, both for what it might mean in terms of anatomical damage and an animal panic that sets in and overtakes when I'm faced with the possibility of that remembered pain revisiting.

It was like being set on fire from the inside, a dimensionless thing deep in my left shoulder which instantly gained width and height to match my own: the pain was everywhere.

I have dreaded, worried, anticipated, had anxiety over, distressed, stressed and even emotionally collapsed from. But I have never feared. Not like I still fear that kind of pain—at its zenith (or rather, nadir), it lasted 10 to 20 seconds...an eternity!—returning. That kind of thing changes you. It is, in the here and now, quite the most direct example of post-traumatic stress (PTS).

Michael asked me to further describe the PTS I was experiencing. I answered:

• In traffic, if Sam is driving, when there are cars that aren't properly in their own lanes, I stomp my foot down, tense up, and panic.
• When I walk across the street (and part of this is that I can't walk fast, must less run), I obey the traffic signs religiously.
• When we drive on streets where there are MUNI rails, I have to look anywhere but at the rails...and even when I realize I'm in a 4-wheeled car and not on a 2-wheeled Vespa, I relax a little but still can't really look at the rails.
• My peripheral vision betrays me: when there's some small motion or even, say light from the TV reflected off of a glass on the coffee table, I try not to flinch and I'm not always successful.

I'm just generally a little more skittish, I guess. When I take the vicodin in the evening, most of my thoracic soreness is gone...and it's one of those things you notice after the fact, i.e., “hey, I haven't been in pain for a while now!”. I suppose the loopy stupor the vicodin produces is also a pretty potent palliative (oy) for the skittishness.

I was stressed last night, I told Sam, because the only time I feel “well” is when I take the vicodin, but I'm also kind of loopy and I hate that. And it worries me that I have to be loopy in order to feel not-pain. He told me I should enjoy the ride, and that it's only been a few weeks and that bones take longer to heal.

And maybe he's right. I've never had broken bones, and I hadn't been in the hospital since I had my tonsils out in 4^th grade (1973!). I have legendary patience with myself, typically. Apparently my patience is less when it comes to uncharted territory.

Many have asked if I'm going stir-crazy, but I'm not, really. I have been watching a lot of TV. I have watched a lot of movies. We get out of the house on a regular basis. I miss being at work, though, but right now, the jostling from the train ride alone—much less the pain of typing all day long—would end it for me for the entire day.

I am tired of being slowed down by the vicodin and the neurontin. I'm tired of the mini-panic attacks when my shoulder nerve pain flares. I'm tired of not being able to even travel to work. Does all that add up to stir-crazy after all?

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