Trigger warning: Mentions suicide. A View from Bed 3 post.
Everything changes next Tuesday when I’ll finally have room to use my wheelchair indoors. The pain won’t end as I still won’t be able to use it 100% of the time, but it’ll be greatly reduced (based on a trial last week).
And I told my original nurse, on Monday (not seen her for a week), that amputation, when, hopefully, the pain will end, might finally be a reality. Instead of being pleased for me, she got quite uppity and obstructive about it!
I really don’t understand that. She’s been coming here since about May last year. She knows how hideous the pain was throughout 2013, how I almost died, twice, how I was told it was the worst pain that I would ever experience and, yet, despite that, how very much worse it is now than then.
I wanted amputation last year, but no-one would even talk to me about it, so fuck her if she doesn’t like it. If I get the chance to end this horror, I’m going to grab it with both hands.
As I’ve said, I doubt surgery will actually happen as I’d likely not survive it, but if it all falls through, if I can’t even get better drugs (my fallback position), then I’ll end it myself.
This morning, I overslept and my meds, including my first dose of morphine, were 2 hours late, and until a large dose of Oramorph** kicked in I was in absolute, merciless, fucking agony. It’s not a whole lot better now; it rarely is. I cannot, I will not, continue to live like this a minute longer than I have to.
**What unwanted effects taking Oramorph (morphine solution) and Zomorph (modified-release morphine), together will have I have no idea – there’s normally 2 or 3 hours between them. Right now I don’t care – the pain has to stop.