Ow. God, please make it stop. Ow…Fuck.
That’s my existence right now. No. Wait it’s not. Dullness has come and the agony throbs rather than stabs. I’m squinting at the screen.
What is “mild to moderate bone pain?” I want to tell you, because the drug company doesn’t…and nothing you will read will tell you like someone in it’s throes can tell you.
Neulasta…the night after.
Swells of pain that wash over me, climax like an ice pick through my flesh and to my bone…only to fade into dull, hot, sweaty agony. It buzzes under my skin. Everything is under pressure. Everything stings and burns and hums and refuses to let me sleep. I clench my fists and my fingers tingle uncomfortably. I curl my legs and my stomach heaves and rises and churns as though hoping against hope I might be able to just expel these sensations through my lips and be done.
I lose time. I lose thought. Words pass in and out. In and out. In…
I don’t know if I sleep. I don’t know the day or time. Sometimes I barely know my name, but am left only with feverish whispers praying and pleading for mercy. For sleep. For anything other than what is.
Videos play in the background. I catch fragments. I feel like I’m coming in later and later. Maybe I am sleeping, but rested is the last thing I feel.
There is no comfortable position. There is no relief. Movement burns like alcohol in an open wound then tingles and then aches. Stillness throbs with every heartbeat and burns beneath the nerves. Life is beyond uncomfortable. Existence is agony. Breathing is something I wish I could stop doing…it makes me aware of my ribs and back and hips and hands and legs and feet and oh dear God, dear God!!
My head spins. The bed is moving. I’m moving. My head is swimming.
I’m nauseated, but am terrified of all the movement retching brings.
I clench my eyes shut and urge time to pass. Will it with every fiber of my being. Sleep. SLEEP. Let this pass. Please God. I pray. I pray so hard I almost believe my pain an offering.
I wait for the medication. I wait for the dulling. It’s too late for numbness, I know that much. But dulling. Just a little. Just that sharp, bleeding edge in my legs and hip. Just the glass shards between my joints and around my bones. Dull it, take it so I can have words or thought again. Please God. Please Jesus. Please…
I see shapes when my eyes are closed…the outlines of my heartbeat and the silhouettes of jagged, subterranean nerves on fire. Every now and again, I feel like there’s no way my nerves can take any more…surely they’ll die out and fall silent. Surely they’ll kill themselves. Surely this is the limit of what a human can endure….
The dullness comes. Movements happen in slow motion but everything rings with a memory of pain. I regard it warily but refuse to look at it directly. I close my mind to it. I hide behind the pill in my bloodstream and say my thank yous for this reprieve. The pain is still there, under the surface…but I can contain it. I can hold it. I can move and think and work around it.
Everything seems distant and far away. The keyboard seems unreal. I type these words with caution, afraid that the monster beneath my skin might sense my thoughts and reappear to ravage my poor body again. I shroud myself in prayer. I turn the worship music high and hang my head and grip my crucifix as though fighting vampires.
Please…keep it at bay long enough for me to sleep. Keep it away….