Bring the Pain

I used to think I had a pretty high pain tolerance. I don't like taking pain medications, and most of the pain meds the doc gave me for my port surgery haven't been used. I took them for a day or so, when I was sore and for the anti-inflammatory effects. Once I realized that the full pills made me feel like I was drooling and my IQ had dipped into double digits, I cut them in half. I might have taken 3 full pills -- the rest were halved and staggered. I figure I can't function in pain, but I certainly don't look confident with a glazed look in my eyes.


So, Tuesday night was just like any week night. I was preparing to go back to work Wednesday, so MJ and I hung out and watched TV with some friends for a bit that night, but I was in bed pretty early, snoring, as usual. Most of the steroid-high had worn off, so I was really excited to feel sleepy, and not just tired.

I went to sleep, and woke up at around 2am writhing in pain. My knee joints, my ankles, my hips, my legs - the BONES HURT. "Hurt" is such a paltry word. "Pain" would have been a picnic.

There's a Verbal Numerical Pain Scale, which is pretty standard:

0 - No Pain
1-3 - Mild Pain (doesn't interfere with daily activities)
4-6 - Moderate Pain (interferes significantly with daily activities)
7-10 - Severe Pain (disabling, unable to perform daily activities)

Right now, I'm at about a 3 on the pain scale. I'm slightly uncomfortable, because my knees ache a bit, but I'm able to move around, and function. I'd like to be at a 2 or a 1, but I'm not stressing it.

Wednesday morning, at 2am? Totally different story. The pain was probably 8.5 or 9.
I was a blathering, sobbing, incoherent idiot. I was rendered completely useless. It was excruciating if I lay still. It was torture when I tried to move. I felt like someone was driving a hot poker through my knees. It made me physically weak. MJ got me an old-lady-walker to help me move through the house, because it hurt to stay still. It didn't help to move, but I couldn't just lie there and cry (which I managed to do for most of the 4 hours I was conscious.) To add to my humiliation, I had a hot flash right in the middle of my pain. Luckily, when the red-heat of it snaked up my chest and into my neck and through the top of my head, I was on my way outside anyway. So, there I sat, in panties and a t-shirt, on a cold metal chair, with a death-grip on the walker, PRAYING for SOMETHING to stop, because I just couldn't take anymore.

MJ got me a glass of ice water with lemon, and watched me freak out for about 15 minutes until the hot flash subsided. There wasn't really anything else she could do.
MJ said that I cried and flailed about until 7ish, when I finally just exhausted myself and passed out. Everything but the pain of it is mostly a blur to me, and I never want to feel it again.