In Which I Do Not Complain About Doctors, Part Two

Don't scroll down. Just click to read part one.

Getting back home was more of the same. Wedge in, crawl out. I took the meds once I made my way up to bed. It didn't seem like they were doing anything, although my feet certainly felt like they were going to float away. They felt that way for the next six days.

The pain did not get appreciably better, even after hitting it with the combination of Percocet (which is apparently the correct spelling, although I've seen both) and Ibuprofen and Cyclobenzaprine. I did pass out, though, and I feel that's a rough equivalent to actually feeling better. I mean, if you're not awake to feel the pain, does it even really exist?

The next few days are actually kind of a blur. Somewhere in there we got a heating pad. It may have been that same night. I quit the Percocets, since they did nothing but make me dizzy. I used the heating pad, which felt nice but ultimately probably didn't do much. I took the Cyclobenzaprine and the Ibuprofen and my feet really, REALLY wanted to just kind of detach and go off on their own, but I somehow managed to keep them. I'm not sure if the Cyclobenzaprine actually did anything other than make me dizzy, like the Percocet, but after taking them for three days, my back started to loosen up. I stopped taking them after Saturday night, when I started to feel a lot better. I could actually walk and get up with no pain. Yay!

Sunday morning was even better. I was still riding a wave of Cyclobenzaprine, I think. I don't know, but my feet still kind of wanted to wander off and do some exploring, so I kind of assumed that that was the drugs talking. "I'll just tidy up a bit," I said, picking up some trash in the kitchen and throwing it away.

"Hey, that was no problem! I'll clean the counters off!" I worked for a few minutes, wonderfully, blissfully pain-free.

Then I remembered that I hadn't taken my blood pressure medication yet that morning. "It's upstairs," I said to myself. "Better grab some water on the way, your cup upstairs is empty and you forgot to bring it down." (I'm fairly sure, looking back, that my feet would have been happy to go off by themselves and fetch the medicine.)

I spied a glass of water on the floor. (Just go with me, here, this is how our house is.) "Perfect!" I bent over to pick it up and bring it upstairs with me.

Oh, you know what happened next.

K-k-rii-i-i-ck-k. Actually, it was more like three precise little clicks: click-click-click.

I picked myself up off the floor very slowly. I comforted myself with the fact that my back didn't hurt nearly as much as it had on Wednesday night. And I got angry. Really, really angry. I was so TIRED of spending every waking moment lying down in pain that I wanted to scream. (You know, more than I already had after the click-click-click.)

Back to the meds for a couple more days. Sigh.

Yes, there's more. Part three tomorrow.