Hey there, compassion and assumptions on self! How’s it going?

In the quest to relieve some pretty intense, pretty distracting, pretty “life is on hold while I deal with this,” pain that’s been going on since December, my current doctor decided bloodwork would be fun, so we had that done. It’s been ages, and hey, why not see how things are going right now?

The results came back with some interesting and unexpected news that’s very likely going to end up with me on medication from here on out. It’s not life-threatening, but it’s certainly a quality of life issue (as in, hey, here are reasons why diet doesn’t seem to be altering your constant desire to sleep one iota). It’s not a big deal at all. Further more, I have a household of people on daily maintenance medications (some of whom would die without it) and so it’s not like I think daily maintenance medication is a bad thing. While I do think that much of the pharmaceutical field has the wrong goals, I don’t think pharmaceutical help is evil, lazy, wrong, not trying hard enough, etc. (And if YOU do, great, but those comments will not get through moderation, so save yourself the trouble and don’t even bother.)

Still, I’m sort of sitting in shock over this, and am somewhat discomforted by it. and just . . . uncomfortable. It’s not an ageing issue (I don’t think?) because I’m rather aware of my mortality, and am still more curious about the process of dying than I am scared — though I’m not eager to go, and there are too many stories to get written first!! — so I’m not really sure what my issue of Do Not Want is.

It’s curious, and it’s humbling, and it’s allowing me to dig deeper. Unexpected reactions, when you think you know yourself well, are interesting and fun. Or, at least, interesting and interesting.

In the meantime: some decent pain meds so sleep can happen, and trying to get some PT lined up to help with sciatica issue. (Nerves are stupid. Why can’t they be all, “oh, hey, this is still effed up,” maybe with a burst of pain every, I dunno, 12 hours? Why does it have to be “fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck yoooooooooooooooooooooou!!” so very constantly?)

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5 thoughts on “Hey there, compassion and assumptions on self! How’s it going?

  1. I think that even if you are absolutely supportive and understanding of other people on meds and don’t think it’s wrong/bad/etc, it can be a bitter pill to swallow (no pun intended) to find out that you yourself need to be on medication for the rest of your life (whether life-saving or a quality of life issue). I was told on no uncertain terms that I am going to need to be medicated for my depression for the rest of my life, and I had to wade through my own internal muck of “I am going to need to be on meds permanently”. And that muck was complicated. Some of it was this sort of resentment that I have to take this pill twice a day every day, and while the side effects are fairly mild as far as psych meds goes, there aren’t none – I have dry mouth pretty much constantly. I also cannot drink alcohol beyond a very small taste (1-2 sips) of something, which was hard when I lived with people who quite enjoyed good wine and so on. Some of it was outright fear – it is a pill that stands between me and the abyss, and if I were to somehow lose health coverage and had to pay out of pocket, it would not be pretty, and if I had a physician who decided to just put me on another medication (which literally happened the first time I was on the stuff I’m on now, Wellbutrin has a reputation as being a libido-booster and I had a very sex-negative doctor once upon a time), it would be like playing roulette with my sanity, because I’ve found from experience that this med I’m on is the only one that actually works for me. This isn’t about me, but I mention all of this because my issues with having to be on meds permanently were based in a few different things that compounded together. It was scary for me. It got less scary with time, but periodically I do the “what if” with having access to my meds and that does freak me out a bit.

    Anyway – I hope that the medication makes a difference. ❤

  2. <<<(And if YOU do, great, but those comments will not get through moderation, so save yourself the trouble and don’t even bother.)<<>> (Nerves are stupid. Why can’t they be all, “oh, hey, this is still effed up,” maybe with a burst of pain every, I dunno, 12 hours? Why does it have to be “fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck yoooooooooooooooooooooou!!” so very constantly?)<<<

    Bahahahaha! I wish!

    As to the rest – eh, the hubster was just flat out pissed when suddenly his body was not behaving as expected. I gave him hell for it in the "oh, pooooooor baby" way because I saw it as he got to wait until what, late 40's/50's until some things broke down and here I had been broken for decades. <<——- I have less than stellar moments of demonstrating compassion.

    But I get it in the way that the things I am accustomed to being broken I can deal with, but when something new crops up I'm all *stomp stomp* fuck this shit *wah* even if I've had say … 54 years of eating whatever I want, when I want, with no health repercussions and now I find I should really take to heart "my body is my temple" saying or I will break some more shit. *uber-exaggerated-but-still-mean-it pouty face*

    TL;DR – I feel ya.

  3. For me it isn’t the mortality but the imperfection thing plus the constant barrage of (seemingly) perfect bodies. I mean people.wanting to lose “that last three pounds” and I have to.do prenatal yoga because normal body yoga means I puke.

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