Playing doctors and nurses…

The nurse called out my GP just after 11.00. Told her he wouldn’t come and, sure enough, he hasn’t. Good job it wasn’t urgent. Just me in terrible pain, about which doctors appear not to give a shit.

So screw the bugger, I made an executive decision (just give me the drugs, don’t interfere, and let me figure out what works; after all, you’ve been doing that for years, you just didn’t know), increased the Gabapentin, and took 600mg with 100mg of Tramadol (without the Tramadol in my system I get no response from it or from morphine)  Pain abated quite a lot, though still bad by any definition  and, once again, I was utterly stoned. Why people want to lose so much control for some perceived pleasure (does bugger all to brighten my day!), is beyond me. I suspect the pain removes any potential enjoyment.

Actually, if I can keep busy I feel less stoned, but typing is like poking stones at the bottom of a lake with a long stick, and hoping the right letter floats out from under.

Oh yes, and the pain, at some level, will be with me more or less forever, too, I was told**  –  so find me a bloody surgeon, Doc and stop pissing about!

**And all of you, stop dribbling out bad news like this, as if it were gold dust – it makes it no easier to deal with – worse, in fact since I can only imagine what’s coming next. Let’s have the whole story. Then I can decide if I want to stick around for the final chapter.

Thank you for your co-operation. Do stop by again! Or even at all.

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3 thoughts on “Playing doctors and nurses…

  1. You do what you feel right Ron,I don’t enjoy reading, but am sympathetic to your needs .

    • You know, Alan, what I’d like is a little medical honesty – and it’s in damn short supply. There’s really only one lymphoedema support website, and typing in “prognosis” to find out where this is going got me – “no entries match your criteria”. Which is absurd. There is always a prognosis.

      Hell, I can’t even be certain the consultant in APH was a complete fruitcake who can be ignored, or I really am dying. Surely I have a right to know that much?

      Sorry, didn’t mean to whine. I need cake – not allowed beer with morphine and Gabba, so can’t go out and get thoroughly hammered – and that really sucks!

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