Thursday, 25 August 2011

More morphine battles

So like I said, I made it to the doctor's. It wasn't a great appointment. Actually, it was pretty bloody bad. But it was honest.

I told him how bad things have been, and how much morphine I've taken the past two days. I told him why - that it wasn't working and I had to take more and more to get any relief. I told him it made me throw up.

He said he didn't want me taking any more than that, because it obviously wasn't working, and anyway 'you've got to come off it some time'.

Back to having to come off it.

So I told him that I had had two choices these past two days, to keep taking the pills till I got some relief, or suicide. I told him there was no way I could have borne that pain, so without the pills I would have had no choice but to slit my wrists.

He moved on. I told him about the spa and he said it was good that I'd tried swimming again, despite the fact that I nearly drowned. He also confirmed that it's the morphine causing the nasty sweats I've been getting lately (I was starting to wonder if it was early menopause!).

Then he came back to the morphine. He said if it wasn't working yesterday, I should just have not taken it - I would have been no worse off without it. I argued with him. I said I would have been worse off - without it, I would have killed myself. By taking the pills, at least I'm still here today.

Then he started on about the new drug, which I refused. He'd been fine about that when we emailed, but now he wasn't. He was musing about the Pain Clinic - how 6-monthly appointments aren't doing much for me.

He was clearly very reluctant to give me any more morphine, and was looking for any other option. But there isn't one, we've already established that. And I just had to keep on telling him that until something changes, morphine is all I've got. Without access to some pain relief - however limited - I would die. I would choose to die.

At least this time, I was calm about it all. There were no hysterics that could be construed as a junkie's tantrum. To be honest, I just felt tired of the whole thing. It's not worth fighting over, this life that I'm living. Anyway, he eventually conceded that stopping the morphine isn't an option in the forseeable future. And he gave me the prescription.

I'm worried about it now though. I'm worried that I was too honest, that he'll try and get me off the morphine and he'll lock me away while he does it, so I can't hurt myself. I'm worried I should have kept my mouth shut, so I actually have the freedom to do it, when I want to. It's my life, after all. And I want it to be my death.

I'm probably overreacting; they keep saying what a 'low risk' i am, however suicidal I feel. They probably don't believe me about this either. But it makes me feel I should just get on with it, in case.

Towards the end of the appointment I was ranting about how little help there is out there for me, about the Pain Clinic, the emotional support, all of it. 'I pay my taxes, I have a right to see the doctor of my choice - and have him tell me there's nothing he can do for me. . .' He said it was good I was angry, because it meant I still had some fight left in me. I disagree. I feel nearer to the end every day.

I may be angry, but to me, that just means the moment when I say 'the hell with this' and mean it is getting closer.

Posted from Blogium for iPhone

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