Wednesday, July 11, 2012

lightning sizzles

all through my shoulders and down my back. It's like a wave of electricity dancing just below my skin. If you could see it, I think it might actually be pretty. What's not so pretty- me throwing up in a plastic bowl because the pain makes me so sick to my stomach.
When it comes to pain, I'm an old pro. When you have NF2, you have pain, simple as that. One of my doctors once told me, after I complained about the headaches, "You get your head cut open twice, you're going to have headaches." ( I love that and I still quote it all the time. Obviously.) Of course, my head's been cut open more than twice now. And my headaches have become such a part of my everyday existence that they're background noise more than anything. I don't even take anything for them until they start heading toward migraine status. (I'm drugged up enough as it is.)  I've pretty much forgotten what it's like to be truly pain-free. I think it might be a coping mechanism. If I remembered the good, the bad would be that much worse. Or something like that.
The nerve pain, though, used to be just random zaps here and there. The first time it zapped through my head I literally fell on my ass, it was so unexpected. It was not pleasant. At all. But it would just happen once or twice, sporadically, then stop. And it wasn't that common of an occurance. That was 12-13 years ago. These days it's a bit more common. And the location has changed, too. More legs and feet, (sometimes arms), less head.
But this pain is different. It hums just below the surface and you can't ignore it. You can live with it at low levels, and it's not always there, but when it flares, there's not a damn thing you can do but ride it out. To be perfectly clear, I DO take medication for this, daily, and it DOES help. The flares are much less frequesnt and of shorter duration now. And I know when they are coming so I can brace myself. (It's a specific weather thing for me.) But it's a constant pain that is insidious in how it burrows in and builds, not just by a dramatic increase in the amount of pain, but by the fact that it JUST DOESN'T STOP. There's no respite, no chance to catch your breath. For that day or week or however long that specific weather pattern holds, you're just constantly living inside the pain. That's when you start throwing up in the plastic bowl. You just can't help it, no matter how much pain experience you have. Your body needs to find a release somewhere, anywhere.
Now, I'm not telling you this because I want your pity (although if you want to send me presents, that's okay with me). The weather this summer has been extreme on so many levels that I want to help people (ahem, my family) understand what I'm going through. That I'm not just being lazy or trying to "milk" it to get out of being productive. (Hello, it's summer- that's really all the excuse I need.) When you poke me in the shoulder and I flinch and say ouch, do not roll your eyes at me and say "That didn't hurt- I hardly touched you." Because one of these d ays I will brain you with something heavy. And I think I'd get away with it, too. Seriously, how do YOU know what pain I feel? Ahem. Anyway. I'm just trying to give a more accurate picture of exactly what is going on inside me when this happens. More than just "I hurt. Go to hell. Touch me again and I will kill you." This is definitely bitch-tracey's territory. And, no, it's not that time of the month! (Ass.) 
This weekend's forecast is calling for rain. That usually puts out the fire. Let it pour down on me. I'll be the one dancing in the rain. Unless it's lightning. Through with that!

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