Dear Diary March 10th, 2017
Dear Diary: it’s been 1,368 days since transplant surgery. The pain clinic has officially won the Most Useless Prize. I am only on one medication now, and I get to take it every 3 days. For the first day, it takes away about 30% of the pain. By midday of day 2, it’s worn off. By day 3, I have zero pain control and suffer withdrawal. The down side to getting your medication in a patch is that, well, when the pain is excruciating, you can’t take another one to get by. And, because I don’t have any breakthrough pain medication, there is nothing for me to take when I desperately need it. I put several calls into the pain clinic with no response other than to acknowledge I called. I don’t see them for weeks. I would switch back to my old medications in a minute, but alas, I had to sign a contract to get these medications so now I can’t go see my regular doctor to save me.
So now I suffer. I can barely go out. I’m back to wheelchair time. I should be going skiing with the CADS group tomorrow at a free day at Mount Norquay. But, I can’t go, because there is no way I can participate in it with the pain at the levels it is currently at. I’m excited to be home alone on the weekend. I hate that. I hate that I can’t sleep again, and that I can’t be up and about all day long. I have cannabis that I hate to take because it makes me tired and listless. But, I’m being forced to accept the exhaustion if I want to be up during the day and not confined to bed.
So, diary, I will sit here and wait. I will wait to see if I can walk at all by next week. I will beg my therapist to call the pain clinic and tell them they are destroying my resolve. I was better off before they got their paws on me.