A letter to my vascular surgeon…

>Trigger warning – suicide.<

 

Who, depending on his response, might soon become my former vascular surgeon. Doctors’ names have been redacted, no matter how justified I might be in publishing them – I still need them so would rather not piss them off just yet.

 

Dear Mr. Vascular Surgeon,

Re: Morphine Sulphate Oral Solution (Oramorph, for the sake of brevity),

and Zomorph.

In response to your request, my Zomorph was increased to 130mg b.d. after my last appointment. I am finding, however, that the expected reduction in pain and, thus, in my Oramorph consumption, is elusive.

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Morphine and paradoxical pain…

Increasing my Zomorph from 100mg to 130mg b.d. (in 10mg steps due to the risk of catastrophic respiratory failure if I hit the full 30mg increase all at once), has resulted in much more pain, not less. This, to my surprise, is not entirely unknown, though the research was relatively recently published on January 6, 2013.

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Hospital needs a reality check…

I have a hospital appointment next Tuesday.

They’ve phoned twice, so far, wanting me to confirm I’ll be there. How the bloody hell do I know? It’s a week away. I could be dead or – more likely based on events tonight – an in-patient by then.

It’s at 9.45 so it’s going to have to be a spectacularly good day for me to be there by then, but I won’t know until the day arrives as, to get there by that time I’ll have to be up at 05.00. Getting up at that hours is doable – being mobile most certainly is not.

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Much more pain than I can deal with today…

Written at 08.00 today. And wow! was I ever wrong in yesterday’s post!

Apologies if this rambles a bit – I’m not in a good place right now.

***

My weak-as-piss Oramorph is useless (dose is 2.5 or 5ml – even 10ml does bugger all), and my Tramadol is now banned.

I know why, it’s because it competes with the same receptors as Gaba and morphine, to the detriment of all, but knowing that is no fucking help when I’m sitting here in absolute agony. And in tears – and believe me when I say I’m a hard bastard when it comes to pain, and it takes a hell of a lot to tip me over like this.** It’s happened just twice in my life, the first time just a month or so ago. But if I mention to my docs that I Continue reading

Lymphoedema progress…

If, indeed, progress is the right word – I have my doubts.

Since Wednesday, my left leg has been swathed in a compression dressing, looking like a giant, pink, Elastoplast. This, against the laws of extremely basic physics would, I was assured, force the leaking lymphatic fluid back into its proper channels within the body. My belief, in accordance, as I say, with basic physics, was that it would take the route of least resistance, i.e., worsening the existing leak.

And Lo! Continue reading