Friday, December 16, 2011

Oh, What A Night!

I haven't had one in quite a while. I wasn't missing it! But apparently it missed me... The specter of my wretched illness raised it freaking head, crawled out from under the bed and impaled me like a pig on a bar-b-que spit.

O.k. Maybe that's a little over dramatic, but, allow me my mellow drama; I've been up since 1:30, in unbearable pain. It's just before 5:30 (a.m) as I begin to write this. I've beat the pain back enough that I can settle... To be more honest, it didn't start exactly like being lanced with a pike staff, it felt more like a giant can opener. Not the kind you twist the knob, with the circular blade, but the older kind, with the point and hook that you lever up and down.

I was just sleeping away, deeply, after a difficult day, when suddenly that wrenching, burning pain tore through my stomach. Groggy and unwilling, I knew I had to get up. I stumbled from the bed, staggering around the room in the dark, collecting slippers and robe. Good Lord! It was burning a hole in my chest! I breached the refrigerated and swilled a couple of ounces of cream. No relief. I slammed down a couple more... Pain begins to spread to my lymphatic tissue and lymph snot begins to form in my stomach and throat, and forcefully spew. I mix and down 10 ounces of homeopathic herbals for lymphs and vomiting. I pace and massage lymphs as the pain continues to rise. I go to the rebounder. No help. I return to the kitchen and take a coupe of toxin absorbing caps with another 10 oz of water and C powder. The pain has reached the level of ice pick, front and back... Oh shit! I make a cup of coffee. Perhaps the heat and drawing will alieviate the pain? Thank God! A moments respite. The pain recedes enough to bear. I take my cup, and nurturing it, I withdraw to my chair. Rosie looks at me dubiously in the subdued light. She snuggles up and starts licking my hand. We get about 5 minutes of respite before the demon launches its next attack and I'm forced out of the chair, seeking relief. I scrounge the fridge and surface with Glute and Methyl B12. I leave them on the table to warm up. I pace and hit the rebounder. No relief! NO RELIEF! I stumble back to the kitchen and inject the B12. Better, that's better. It ebbs a bit. Back to the chair. I try to settle. I try to rest, but it has me firmly now and it's not letting go. I fight my way back out of the chair and gather the injection supplies. I'd left my glasses on the dresser by the bed. I don't want to wake Ron so I decide to try injecting without them. I collect my ipad so I can check my calander. I need to see which arm I last used. I discover that calander pages don't expand. I think it says I did the Right arm last time. Close enough. I hear me crying out softly with every breath. I'm breathing, ow! Ow! Ow! A lament. Tears are forming, I can barely stand it. I begin to shake deep inside. A kind of cellular vibration. O' damn! This takes so long. I have to be careful. Breathe! I tell my wheeny-assed self. There's no point in telling her to stop crying, she doesn't listen... Steady! The strong part has to do it now. I open packages and prepare the injection. Steady, I draw air, jab the stopper through, push in the air and draw the glute. I tear the tape, and stick it to my arm. Steady! She's crying, still crying. Ignore her! Prep the infusion kit. Now, carefully, make the stick. There! the blood runs up. Draw out the air, slowly, slowly push in the glute. Its cold, too cold! My arm aches with the chilling cold. No relief! No relief! I rock and cry. My lament broken now and then by a rising moan, and agonized whimper. I force myself to pace, to jump, to massage. The ripping, tearing screaming pain galvanizes me to make a run for the sauna.

Hah! That sounds like I'm moving quickly but the pain is so bad I can barely force each leg to take the next step as I laboriously pull my unresponsive body up the stairs. We make it to the bedroom and I will myself to the control panel. I'm aware I'm staggering like a drunk. "Focus!" I command my errant thoughts. I punch "start", and then the "light off" button. I'm breathing hard and moaning under my breath. I don't want to wake Ron, I'm trying to be quiet. The air in our room is chilly. I make my way to the recumbent bike. I need to bike while I wait for the sauna to warm up. It will keep me warm; it will move lymph. The lymph pain is spreading from my chest and back now and engulfing my legs and arms in swelling, glowing pain and weakness. I can't give in! I can't. There's no one to call, there's no one who can help. Ron wakes up and asks, "Something you ate?" my response interjected into my song of pain,
"No, lymphoma. I can't find anything. I can't smell anything. will you check? Make sure the kids haven't left anything out?" He gets up, grabs anything in the room that's suspect and dissappears. I get up and pace madley, massaging lymphs, Rosie at my heels... When he returns he informs me that there was nothing. He returns to bed. I keep pacing. Finally the sauna's ready and I crawl in writhing and pressing my back as close to the heat as it will allow. I'll wear stripes tomorrow, but am willing to exchange one pain for the lessor if it will help.

I hurt so bad I can not sit still; the heat is too much. I tap the off button and break for the shower. Scalding hot- beating against my spine where it feels like I'm being torn apart: relief. Enough. I can breathe. I stand there, easing up the dial as I drain the hot water tank. The pain is still there, but I can bear it now. I climb out, dry off and continue pacing, massaging: keep moving lymph. It ebbs further and joy swells against the pain. I roll my weary eyes and risk a gritty grin, I've beat it back again. 'Jamas and robe back on, I leave the bedroom and Ron to sleep in piece and head down stairs to let it ease a bit more before I will be able to crawl back into bed to sleep.

Back to the chair both a blessing and a curse. Yet, as a settle, I feel the rising pressure that signals a return of pain. Cursing, cursing, I make my way, again to the kitchen. Damn, and damn again! What the hell is going on? Why can't I shake it? Back to my cupboard, I mix more C. Chugged and still no relief! I'm desperate now. It's not porphyria, but I have no cards left. I draw together ingredients for porphyria cure. I'm stirring, cooking, thinking, "I've hurt worse. When did I become such a wheeny? Suck it up!!!" by the time I've got it done, the pain has risen to stabbing ice picks again. "What the hell?" I drink my 'cure.' an ineffectual blow against my invisible enemy. "What!?" My eyes cast about, searching for a likely suspect. They light upon the trash compactor. "Hell, why not!" I pull open the bin and draw out the liner. And while I'm at, why not the rest of the garbage, just in case. The pain it nearing unbearable, again. Cursing as I push from garbage can to garbage can, I pause beside the shredder. That's when I smelled it. Benzene, toluene. I remove the top; it billows out. I found it. My chest and spine are screaming in fury. My legs and arms flame and burn! I dump the bin, seal my bag and immediately the pain begins to melt. I drug the cursed thing to the back door, opened it and flung it out.

I turned on exhaust fans and cracked a window open. I lit organic beeswax candles? Faster and faster the pain melts away. I wash my face 3 times. Peace. Soreness. Exhaustion. To the chair. I pull my iPad to me and begin to type. Part way through I pass out of consciousness and into blissful sleep...

No comments:

Post a Comment