A little bit about pain. And how NOT to manage it.
After 7 years of uncertainty, with the last 18 months being lit with the shiniest bulb on earth, you would be correct in thinking that my nerves are pretty much shot. There's not a day goes by that Lenny isn't in the forefront of my mind, mostly because of the pain he causes. Some days, I get away with minimal pain, but no matter how strong the painkiller, they are never enough to eradicate the pain completely.
This can be tiresome.
There was a brief moment of madness a few months ago where I must have breathed in some kind of 'make yourself insane in one easy step' type of gas that had me believing I could manage without morphine. Morphine is one of those drugs that works wonderfully in dulling chronic pain by altering the receptors in the brain which change the way in which we perceive pain. It doesn't so much eleviate it, as make the patient less aware of it. One of the side effects of this is that all of the senses are dulled, so events such as finding a bag of flour in the fridge or a dirty tea towel under the grill become commonplace. I could be feeling fairly sprightly and crack on with doing say, the washing up, but after cleaning 2 plates and a teaspoon I'll feel as though I've run a half marathon. This will lead to a quick nap which in far too many instances turns into a period of slumber that Sleeping Beauty would be hard pushed to beat.
Of course, being on a strict regime of 12 hourly morphine doses, these mega sleeps often cause problems besides flattened pillows and the threat of bed sores, and the instances in which I sleep through dosage times are far more common than me and my aching back would like. I've often awakened at 6 o-clock, yet unaware if it's morning or evening, absentmindedly flicking the TV on expecting to see 'You're only young Twice' and getting the early morning repeats of Jeremy Kyle instead. Believe me, nothing sets me up for a bad day quite as effectively as seeing that gormless idiot gracing my TV screen.
The brief period in which I experimented in lowering my morphine dosage had me reliant on fast acting Oromorph liquid morphine. Up until now, I'd been steadily increasing my dosage of the slow release tablet form of the medication in units of ten mgs until I reached what Donky Face called 'my ceiling'. Her opinion was that increasing further would have zero effect on my pain levels. I find this rather difficult to comprehend to be honest, and I'm sure if I consulted a specialist pain management doctor, Donkys opinion would turn out to be Hogwash, but as was usual at this point I was far too tired and wrung out to be bothered.
Anyway, at this point I was on 1 pill of 100mgs slow release morphine twice a day, each of which offered pain relief for 12 hours. To cut down without medical supervision required me to stop taking any pills at all and dose myself with Oromorph, the liquid immediate relief alternative, of which I had a few bottles knocking about the place in the event of breakthrough pain.
The morning of Day one - I awoke rather abruptly as I recall, probably my unconscious mind reminding me that something of significance was about to occur. The bottle of Oromorph lives right beside me on the bedside cabinet, in case of night time emergencies, so, with one eye still closed I reached over, unscrewed the bottle and swigged. Yep - swigged. Not to worry though, I'd been taking this medicine for some time now and knew without the plastic dosage spoon how much was required to take the edge off.
All was well for the following 3 hours. Another swig, same outcome. I thought I'd cracked it - all the tales I'd read on the web about coming off morphine were grossly exaggerated, this was a doddle. Until I woke up at stupid o clock the following morning, my lower back in spasms that took my breathe away. I was completely unable to move without crying out in pain. Lola was nearby as usual and her eyes were the size of saucers watching me wiggle and squirm, whimper and cry, whilst trying to reach that magic bottle beside me. I'm not sure if she was more worried about my pain or whether she might not be getting fed for some time, but whatever it was she was definitely worried, her eyes sparkled whilst getting larger and larger.
The scene was one of complete chaos.
"Iz ok, Lolly, Mama be orwite in a minit, AARRRGH, WHAT THE HELL, iz orwite Baba", and so on..
To say the Oromorph had little effect is an understatement. Each 'glug' probably gave me 40ml at the most and my body was used to massive 100mg doses of morphine and that is what it was crying out for. Every single bone in my body hurt, from my skull to my little toe, and with a headache to boot, I sat there, finally upright in my bed, calling myself every kind of twat under the sun, whilst stroking poor old Lola who looked like her eyes were fit to pop right out of her little head. It took some time, but I was finally nimble enough to search for the correct pills - those magic little capsules that made it possible for me to exist.
The relief one hour later was immense.
To say I regret trying this method of morphine reduction is an understatement. Morphine alone doesn't by any means work to relieve my aches and pains, but along with its pals Naproxen and Paracetamol it is absolutely necessary. Without it, I just cannot function. The pain that morning has stayed with me and probably will until the day I die. It was on a par with the final stages of labour, perhaps even tougher, with it being the kind of pain that carries so much negativity in its wake, and I never want to experience it again. As much as I detest the awful drowsiness it causes and it's determination to turn me into an incapable mess who puts full jars of coffee in the bin and leaves wet washing in the machine for a fortnight, I will take that any day over waking up a quivering, sweating, pain addled lump that can't even wriggle their big toe without gasping.
And I'm sure Lola prefers the dopey me too - at least she has half a chance of getting her breakfast on time.
Thanks Lenny, but even though it took a day or two of stupidity fed agony, I've got this bit beat.
Have 2 fingers from me.
After 7 years of uncertainty, with the last 18 months being lit with the shiniest bulb on earth, you would be correct in thinking that my nerves are pretty much shot. There's not a day goes by that Lenny isn't in the forefront of my mind, mostly because of the pain he causes. Some days, I get away with minimal pain, but no matter how strong the painkiller, they are never enough to eradicate the pain completely.
This can be tiresome.
There was a brief moment of madness a few months ago where I must have breathed in some kind of 'make yourself insane in one easy step' type of gas that had me believing I could manage without morphine. Morphine is one of those drugs that works wonderfully in dulling chronic pain by altering the receptors in the brain which change the way in which we perceive pain. It doesn't so much eleviate it, as make the patient less aware of it. One of the side effects of this is that all of the senses are dulled, so events such as finding a bag of flour in the fridge or a dirty tea towel under the grill become commonplace. I could be feeling fairly sprightly and crack on with doing say, the washing up, but after cleaning 2 plates and a teaspoon I'll feel as though I've run a half marathon. This will lead to a quick nap which in far too many instances turns into a period of slumber that Sleeping Beauty would be hard pushed to beat.
Of course, being on a strict regime of 12 hourly morphine doses, these mega sleeps often cause problems besides flattened pillows and the threat of bed sores, and the instances in which I sleep through dosage times are far more common than me and my aching back would like. I've often awakened at 6 o-clock, yet unaware if it's morning or evening, absentmindedly flicking the TV on expecting to see 'You're only young Twice' and getting the early morning repeats of Jeremy Kyle instead. Believe me, nothing sets me up for a bad day quite as effectively as seeing that gormless idiot gracing my TV screen.
The brief period in which I experimented in lowering my morphine dosage had me reliant on fast acting Oromorph liquid morphine. Up until now, I'd been steadily increasing my dosage of the slow release tablet form of the medication in units of ten mgs until I reached what Donky Face called 'my ceiling'. Her opinion was that increasing further would have zero effect on my pain levels. I find this rather difficult to comprehend to be honest, and I'm sure if I consulted a specialist pain management doctor, Donkys opinion would turn out to be Hogwash, but as was usual at this point I was far too tired and wrung out to be bothered.
Anyway, at this point I was on 1 pill of 100mgs slow release morphine twice a day, each of which offered pain relief for 12 hours. To cut down without medical supervision required me to stop taking any pills at all and dose myself with Oromorph, the liquid immediate relief alternative, of which I had a few bottles knocking about the place in the event of breakthrough pain.
The morning of Day one - I awoke rather abruptly as I recall, probably my unconscious mind reminding me that something of significance was about to occur. The bottle of Oromorph lives right beside me on the bedside cabinet, in case of night time emergencies, so, with one eye still closed I reached over, unscrewed the bottle and swigged. Yep - swigged. Not to worry though, I'd been taking this medicine for some time now and knew without the plastic dosage spoon how much was required to take the edge off.
All was well for the following 3 hours. Another swig, same outcome. I thought I'd cracked it - all the tales I'd read on the web about coming off morphine were grossly exaggerated, this was a doddle. Until I woke up at stupid o clock the following morning, my lower back in spasms that took my breathe away. I was completely unable to move without crying out in pain. Lola was nearby as usual and her eyes were the size of saucers watching me wiggle and squirm, whimper and cry, whilst trying to reach that magic bottle beside me. I'm not sure if she was more worried about my pain or whether she might not be getting fed for some time, but whatever it was she was definitely worried, her eyes sparkled whilst getting larger and larger.
The scene was one of complete chaos.
"Iz ok, Lolly, Mama be orwite in a minit, AARRRGH, WHAT THE HELL, iz orwite Baba", and so on..
To say the Oromorph had little effect is an understatement. Each 'glug' probably gave me 40ml at the most and my body was used to massive 100mg doses of morphine and that is what it was crying out for. Every single bone in my body hurt, from my skull to my little toe, and with a headache to boot, I sat there, finally upright in my bed, calling myself every kind of twat under the sun, whilst stroking poor old Lola who looked like her eyes were fit to pop right out of her little head. It took some time, but I was finally nimble enough to search for the correct pills - those magic little capsules that made it possible for me to exist.
The relief one hour later was immense.
To say I regret trying this method of morphine reduction is an understatement. Morphine alone doesn't by any means work to relieve my aches and pains, but along with its pals Naproxen and Paracetamol it is absolutely necessary. Without it, I just cannot function. The pain that morning has stayed with me and probably will until the day I die. It was on a par with the final stages of labour, perhaps even tougher, with it being the kind of pain that carries so much negativity in its wake, and I never want to experience it again. As much as I detest the awful drowsiness it causes and it's determination to turn me into an incapable mess who puts full jars of coffee in the bin and leaves wet washing in the machine for a fortnight, I will take that any day over waking up a quivering, sweating, pain addled lump that can't even wriggle their big toe without gasping.
And I'm sure Lola prefers the dopey me too - at least she has half a chance of getting her breakfast on time.
Thanks Lenny, but even though it took a day or two of stupidity fed agony, I've got this bit beat.
Have 2 fingers from me.
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