The visit to the neurosurgeon went as expected. My back is jacked. Here’s a pic of the MRI. The circled areas are what is making me hurt so bad from the waist down. It’s twisting, bulging, pinching. The space between those circles on my spine is where I had my first spinal fusion surgery 6 years ago. Strong af.
I need surgery again, but I have to jump through insurance hoops first, one of which is to quit smoking. I honestly don’t think that’s gonna happen. I also have to go to PT, and I honestly don’t think that’s gonna happen. I’ve been so many times, it doesn’t help, it wastes everyone’s time, and I’m too indifferent to care. I’m just being realistic right now. This is NOT the time to try to quit smoking. I have no desire to quit, so I won’t succeed. I kinda feel like I’m entitled to my damn cigarettes. I don’t ask for much. So I smoke.
The neuro put me on Lyrica for nerve pain, and it’s kicking my ass. Hopefully I’ll adjust to it. I’m not having a negative “reaction” to it, it’s just a very strong drug, for me anyway. I’m very foggy, slow, dulled. I’m sure I’ll build up a tolerance. The nerve pain is still here, and I’m told Lyrica can take up to a week to kick in. So I live in a fog and I wait.
STILL no word on my bloodwork/autoimmune testing. It’s been almost 2 weeks. I’ll call the doctor AGAIN today.
Emotionally, I’ve suffered a serious setback and feel like I’m at square one. I’m not beating myself up about it. As an observer of all this, it’s fascinating to “watch” my process when I’m not steering it. I’ve done a really, really good job (maybe too good sometimes) becoming a passenger in my life, letting my heart and my instincts take over. It’s been really freeing and terrifying all at once. But if I step out of the observer role and into the widow role, I’m stunned. I am extremely surprised at how hard this is. Again, I’m not beating myself up. This is what it is. But I cannot believe how hard this is. I KNEW I’d miss him. I KNEW it would hurt. But I cannot believe how much I miss him. It’s a torturous ache I cannot describe. And the REAL torture lies in this: It’ll be worse tomorrow. I don’t think the emptiness and the pain can get any worse, but every day proves me wrong. I miss him more with each passing moment. And it’s the hardest, most painful, most gut-wrenching, most defeating, most hopeless, deepest depth of private hell that you can ever, ever begin to TRY to imagine. It’s a pain that is impossible to describe. It feels like it is never-ending. It’s deep into my soul. I think it has finally happened. I am broken.
It’s okay. It’s just surprising. I thought I was “stronger” than this. Michael and I would even talk about this, that if something were to happen, I’d be okay. I’d make my way. We both thought I was pretty independent and that as sad as it would be, I’d be okay. I still believe I will. The process is just horrifically worse than I could have ever even begun to imagine. I needed and relied on him more than I ever realized. I never once took him for granted. I have no regrets about anything I didn’t say or do. He knew I adored him, and vice-versa. But nobody ever talked about the emptiness, and I just didn’t realize how much I NEEDED his love and support. Without it, I’m just absolutely lost. Broken.
I’m getting lots of invites and offers for company, Thanksgiving, etc. I appreciate all of them. I still feel I need a sabbatical from all of it. I’m fragile and in a drug-induced fog. I’m unpredictably emotional and break down for seemingly no reason. I don’t trust my own instincts and decisions right now. So I am a hermit.
Today this blog is my therapy. If I don’t share stuff with SOMEONE, I will retreat into isolation. I don’t want to do that because if I do, I may not be able to come back from it. Yes, I’m isolating now, but the isolation is only physical. I still need/ want to talk about things and feel connected.
QUICK NOTE: My floors are going to be finished today 🙂 Then, the steps will be done this weekend. YAY!
So to summarize and not sugar-coat: things are bad. But please don’t worry. I’m not executing my “plan” and I’m not thinking about dying. I’m broken but I’m still in here, and I’m safe.
Until next time.