DIATRIBE ON PAIN

Mornings are blissful because I have no pain. My legs feel a little stiff to start out, but that fades away with the busy happenings of the morning. There are showers to be taken, lunch to be packed, children to get to school, and traffic to be battled before arriving at the office.
I can work comfortably for about two hours, then the pain starts as a dull ache in my right hip. The ache lingers. I know it's coming. I take walks, and that makes it feel better for as long as I'm walking. I've walked around the business complex three times today. The pain extends its tendrils down the back of my right thigh and causes the toes on my right foot to tingle. Sitting becomes torturous, and I get up regularly before it's unbearable.
I can't take NSAIDS like Advil, Aleve, etc. because of the risk of intestinal bleeding so soon after my surgery, yet I have sciatica. The pain is intense and increases as the day goes on. The hydrocodone apap (acetaminophen) prescribed post-surgery doesn't do anything for it. I read the bottle intently as though somehow I'm taking it wrong. How could something that is considered a controlled substance not be effective. But what do I know of medications. I'm taking it every six hours, as recommended. I don't want to take any more. I don't want to become addicted. I don't want to use it as a crutch, so I carefully take only what I'm told to.
I hate this. My only relief is laying down. I spoke with my doctor, and he prescribed me a medication that's supposed to work on the sciatic nerve, but on day two, and I don't feel the benefit. He also requested physical therapy from my insurance company, but as of right now, I'm still waiting for approval.
Labels: medications, NSAIDS, pain, sciatica, walking







We always wore what my mother chose, and I can’t remember ever hating anything she made me wear. In fact, the only clothes I truly hated were brand new ruffle dresses with poofy sleeves. There was nothing inherently wrong with them, except I would have to wear them to school with little shiny shoes while the other girls had tennis shoes and sneakers, jeans, and a t-shirt. When I was a bit older, I remember buying old dresses to cut up and make into skirts from this very thrift store.
Going to the local thrift store to pick out my latest batch of used books is always exciting. The pleasure I get from looking at the worn and not-so-worn spines is only topped by actually picking the books and getting to read them. During my last visit, I found a few gems: Tolkein’s The Hobbit and Rudolfo Anaya’s Bless Me, Ultima. I also picked a rather meaty, but altogether random romance novel, a suspense novel and Dean Koontz’s Phantoms.
I loved Phantoms. Not because it is extremely well-written or impressed me terribly. It is classically Koontz. What I loved about this book was the previous owner’s notes. On several of the book’s pages, the previous owner had written her impressions, predictions, sarcastic comments, and references to other books. At least I think it is a woman from the handwriting, but I cannot be sure. Where else could I have picked up such a book if not from the thrift store? I can’t decide whether I will follow this woman’s example and mark up my books with my thoughts. There is an ingrained distaste for defacing books. But I will think about it.

