Doing anything I can to keep my mind off searing pain - so, yeah the first thing that comes to mind is gobbling up any drug that is available to me (which is next to nothing) and blogging. What is wrong with me?
Can't get into the PCP until tomorrow. I'm nearly out of my mind. I am now almost certain I have an infection somewhere in my chest. Not a cough, cold or flu kind of infection, but some kind of horrible thing surrounding my chest incision and what lurks beneath it. The area is inflamed and actually hotter to the touch than the rest of my skin. Still have fever of around 100 while taking fever reducing drugs, namely Tylenol and aspirin. I have had constant fever since November 29, when I visited the new Neurologist (might have had it before then, but wasn't keeping track)
Since then I've been waiting for the shoe to drop - waiting for some obvious sign of sickness to appear but nothing really has. I've had a headache the whole time. A couple days when I was kinda stuffy, but not really anything I'd call a cold or flu. Just general blah sick feeling--nothing I can pinpoint, and just a little worse every day. If I think about it too hard I might get stuck in one of those worry/crying loops to which I'm prone. I have to rest my bleedy fingers, so no guitar until at least tomorrow. So I think it's time to digress...
Three people died in Memphis today while being robbed. I don't get it. WTF do you have that is worth being killed for? Absolutely NOTHING. Give it to them. If someone is holding you up for money, give them everything you have. Dammit, if they look hungry while they're doing it, make them a god damned sandwich! (Addendum: I should clarify, these were store robberies.)
I have personally said this more than once, "I will give you more than you can EVER steal from me, all you have to do is ask." Fucking idiots. If they DO try to steal from me, they will get dog bites and gunshot wounds, and a punch in the snoot. If they ask, they can have the shirt off my back.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Friday, December 9, 2011
Pain Haiku x 2
Stabbed with knife-like ribs
Every deep breath is torture
Movement agony
Desperate for relief
No treatments can touch my pain
I demand an end
Back to square one. I can think of nothing else but pain. Once again, pain is my ruler. It sucks bad, and I can't explain it to someone who has not ever had unrelenting pain. Wondering if I should gobble some more steroids, but will be right back in the same position I'm in now as soon as I wean off again.
I am beginning to think that either the metal in my chest needs to come out, or
my ribs are separated, or my sternum has a non-union. The pain is exquisite, and it seems I can't get anyone to listen to me.
I am considering trolling the streets for a pain pill supply. Or at least polling everyone I see for a pain pill-prescribing doctor who is accepting patients.
Every deep breath is torture
Movement agony
Desperate for relief
No treatments can touch my pain
I demand an end
Back to square one. I can think of nothing else but pain. Once again, pain is my ruler. It sucks bad, and I can't explain it to someone who has not ever had unrelenting pain. Wondering if I should gobble some more steroids, but will be right back in the same position I'm in now as soon as I wean off again.
I am beginning to think that either the metal in my chest needs to come out, or
my ribs are separated, or my sternum has a non-union. The pain is exquisite, and it seems I can't get anyone to listen to me.
I am considering trolling the streets for a pain pill supply. Or at least polling everyone I see for a pain pill-prescribing doctor who is accepting patients.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Tango Till I'm Sore
I worked all evening on rearranging a Tom Waits song into a tango. Kinda hard to do that crap with only a guitar. I surprised myself.
It makes me wish I still had a piano. My mother sold it for $600 when she moved to California in the early 80s--losing that piano just killed me, therefore I wanted to kill her--probably best she left town for awhile. The last song I played on it was Bob Seger's "We've Got Tonight," (the piano movers stood there until I finished) then it got carried out the door immediately thereafter. Meh.
As for my drug intake, I have totally weaned off the steroids. Pain has returned in full force, so obviously the steroids were keeping it in check. My body feels like I've been in a knock-down-drag-out fight, or in a 20 round boxing match. The problem is, I can't maintain that high of a steroid dose for long - it does terrible things to me. I called the pain doc today, and he increased the Gabapentin to 1200mg/day. It's the only choice I have besides advil and aspirin, so I'm taking it. I can't get a real GD pain pill to save my life. I will have to pay close attention and watch for any weird neuro symptoms.
In the meantime, I'll play my guitar. I'm treating it like a job - playing until my hands stop working, then resting and playing some more. My memory is total CRAP. I have to read what I play, since I can't remember a damned thing. It's excellent that a skillion leadsheets are available online for free. You can find just about any song you want without too much difficulty. Playing also keeps me occupied so I don't get stuck in the "perpetual worry loop," which I actually fear.
I live for the day when I can stop hurting and stop worrying. Hopefully this guitar and my own brand of music therapy can help me do that.
It makes me wish I still had a piano. My mother sold it for $600 when she moved to California in the early 80s--losing that piano just killed me, therefore I wanted to kill her--probably best she left town for awhile. The last song I played on it was Bob Seger's "We've Got Tonight," (the piano movers stood there until I finished) then it got carried out the door immediately thereafter. Meh.
As for my drug intake, I have totally weaned off the steroids. Pain has returned in full force, so obviously the steroids were keeping it in check. My body feels like I've been in a knock-down-drag-out fight, or in a 20 round boxing match. The problem is, I can't maintain that high of a steroid dose for long - it does terrible things to me. I called the pain doc today, and he increased the Gabapentin to 1200mg/day. It's the only choice I have besides advil and aspirin, so I'm taking it. I can't get a real GD pain pill to save my life. I will have to pay close attention and watch for any weird neuro symptoms.
In the meantime, I'll play my guitar. I'm treating it like a job - playing until my hands stop working, then resting and playing some more. My memory is total CRAP. I have to read what I play, since I can't remember a damned thing. It's excellent that a skillion leadsheets are available online for free. You can find just about any song you want without too much difficulty. Playing also keeps me occupied so I don't get stuck in the "perpetual worry loop," which I actually fear.
I live for the day when I can stop hurting and stop worrying. Hopefully this guitar and my own brand of music therapy can help me do that.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Blues, Music Industry & Yodelodehooo
I have probably mentioned before that my voice has been classically trained. Eight years of lessons and nearly constant singing earned me an unusual voice and range. Tooting my own horn here, I can still fucking SING.
I had my first professional gigs by age 15-16 singing and playing guitar in the nightclubs and blues bars in downtown St. Louis. I had huge restrictions as a minor--such as I could never approach the bar, and I had to have an adult guardian present at all times while in an adult venue.
My last gig was doing studio work with a 12-string in '95. (Surprising how few 12-string players are available for studio sessions, and how few there are in general.) I was doing all this while holding down a full time day job. Ugh. I gradually let the music business slip away.
So I picked up the guitar again, having no day job, and being extremely ill with nothing else to do to occupy my time. And yes, I have played till my fingers bled...not active bleeding, just a few little blood blisters on the fingertips. I've been playing daily - still really slow, but it's coming back a little at a time. It's not quite like riding a bicycle, but I know it's buried in my brain somewhere. (At least I'm starting to get some decent callouses again. Ouch in the meantime.)
I ran across a yodeler on YouTube today and it piqued my interest. I wouldn't be caught dead yodeling under ordinary circumstances, but I've been yodeling all damned day and it's kind of fun! It sounds like an indistinct cross between a Cajun swamp person and Swiss goat herder. Jesus. I am a Bastard Yodeler! My aim is to get the dogs to yodel along with me. If I can do that I promise to film and post!
I had my first professional gigs by age 15-16 singing and playing guitar in the nightclubs and blues bars in downtown St. Louis. I had huge restrictions as a minor--such as I could never approach the bar, and I had to have an adult guardian present at all times while in an adult venue.
My last gig was doing studio work with a 12-string in '95. (Surprising how few 12-string players are available for studio sessions, and how few there are in general.) I was doing all this while holding down a full time day job. Ugh. I gradually let the music business slip away.
So I picked up the guitar again, having no day job, and being extremely ill with nothing else to do to occupy my time. And yes, I have played till my fingers bled...not active bleeding, just a few little blood blisters on the fingertips. I've been playing daily - still really slow, but it's coming back a little at a time. It's not quite like riding a bicycle, but I know it's buried in my brain somewhere. (At least I'm starting to get some decent callouses again. Ouch in the meantime.)
I ran across a yodeler on YouTube today and it piqued my interest. I wouldn't be caught dead yodeling under ordinary circumstances, but I've been yodeling all damned day and it's kind of fun! It sounds like an indistinct cross between a Cajun swamp person and Swiss goat herder. Jesus. I am a Bastard Yodeler! My aim is to get the dogs to yodel along with me. If I can do that I promise to film and post!
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Distant Weed & Ass-Dragging
I watched the first episode of "Weed Wars" on Discovery the other day. Makes me want to move to California. I couldn't afford to live in California. Meh. Ok, rephrase: Makes me want to move to one of THOSE states.
If you haven't watched Weed Wars, it is all about the inner workings of a marijuana dispensary in Oakland, California. Wretched people with various hideous ailments start lining up outside the store well before it opens, all of them clamoring for the best and most expensive pot money can buy. It reminded me of old footage of the Great Depression I've seen, with people in cardboard shoes and tattered suits lining up at soup kitchens. Apparently this impressive queueing is an everyday occurrence since that store reportedly cleared $120 million last year. If I went to that store I'd have to send an agent, as I'd be unable to stand up for as long as it takes. Sheesh.
Gabapentin, which is the latest offering from the pain monger, makes me sleep. I can only take it at night. I have been warned by the neurologist to not exceed the dose I'm on now or it would be neurologically devastating. I am on the minimum dose. I still hurt.
When I went into the neurologist's on Tuesday I checked in with a fever of nearly 102. That means I'm sick with something. I feel like a wet dishrag. Limp and weak on top of my usual limpness and weakness. Yay. Back to riding the couch, sucking Communist Nyquil, and waiting for less ass-dragging to occur. Don't wait up.
If you haven't watched Weed Wars, it is all about the inner workings of a marijuana dispensary in Oakland, California. Wretched people with various hideous ailments start lining up outside the store well before it opens, all of them clamoring for the best and most expensive pot money can buy. It reminded me of old footage of the Great Depression I've seen, with people in cardboard shoes and tattered suits lining up at soup kitchens. Apparently this impressive queueing is an everyday occurrence since that store reportedly cleared $120 million last year. If I went to that store I'd have to send an agent, as I'd be unable to stand up for as long as it takes. Sheesh.
Gabapentin, which is the latest offering from the pain monger, makes me sleep. I can only take it at night. I have been warned by the neurologist to not exceed the dose I'm on now or it would be neurologically devastating. I am on the minimum dose. I still hurt.
When I went into the neurologist's on Tuesday I checked in with a fever of nearly 102. That means I'm sick with something. I feel like a wet dishrag. Limp and weak on top of my usual limpness and weakness. Yay. Back to riding the couch, sucking Communist Nyquil, and waiting for less ass-dragging to occur. Don't wait up.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)