He'd asked me to go back in to see how things were. The pain hadn't been too bad so far - I didn't have to take a top up pill till lunchtime (as opposed to 9am the day before), and I wasn't feeling too low. Then shortly before leaving, a friend suggested chatting and I got panicky and tearful at the thought of having to talk about things. It took me totally by surprise. Round about the same time, the pain ramped up again, so I had to take a second pill only two hours after the first one. I didn't want to, but I couldn't drive otherwise.
I got to the surgery OK, but the pain was still rising. About ten minutes into my appointment, it really started to ramp up. The doctor had to go and fetch something and when he got back I was in agony, hunched up in the chair, unable to speak. He suggested I take something (you know it's bad when your doctor tells you to take more morphine) but I couldn't even reach for my bag.
There was nothing more he could do, and there were other patients waiting, but I couldn't even stand up, never mind make it back to the waiting room. He had to help me up and into the next room and get me up onto the bed; it was three quarters of an hour before I could go home.
To be honest, I got off pretty lightly - usually when that happens, it takes twice as long to be able to move.
I think the most disconcerting thing, though, was the look on his face when I was leaving. He seemed so relieved that it made me realise how bad I must have looked before.
Because looking in the mirror isn't exactly a priority during a pain episode, I tend to forget that it's not just me telling people it's bad; my whole body is affected, and it's very visible. And from the one time I did catch a glimpse in the mirror, I know I look like death warmed over.
Posted from Blogium for iPhone
No comments:
Post a Comment