About a month ago I managed to hurt my back somehow – or as the doctor told me it may have just got its moment of pain after years of preparation. No matter how it came to be, there I was rolling on the bed trying to find a comfortable spot at 3 o-clock on a Monday Morning. Having tried every possible derivation, I came to the conclusion that I was in horrible pain and there was no way to sit, stand, lay, or roll up in a ball that would alleviate the pain – not even for any short period of time. I was definitively in trouble. Having experienced the pleasure of birthing a few kidney stones in my many years, I knew we needed to get to the Emergency Room to rule out the worst. And witth the constant urging of the unrelenting pain, I woke up my wife and explained the problem to her. It didn’t take the doctor long to satisfy himself that the trouble was coming from by back and spine, and that it probably wasn’t dire or life threatening. So with that a nurse placed an IV in my arm and shot in three drugs: something to prevent naausea, a large does of Toradol, and then a super large shot of Dilaudid. It didn’t take 5 minutes for the pain to subside, and for me to begin to breathe again.
They watched me for a little while, got me set up with some prescriptions for a few days of pain meds to hold me over until I could see a spine specialist, and then sent me home to sleep it off. That all worked fairly well. Except for the part where I called the spine doctor and said I needed an appointment right away. All I got was a recording. And that happened a few more times. But I was persistent and eventually got a human on the other end of the line who said it would be necessary for them to call me back and do a 10 minute interview to determine which doctor I should see. So I waited for a callback. I called for a couple of days, each time getting the same story (or a recording) and finally I said no. I’d missed a couple of days of work. The medicine wasn’t agreeing with me. And I was losing the use of my legs. I needed to see a doctor soon! Okay, no problem. He will see you in a week. But the ER had only given me 3 days worth of meds to last until I saw the doctor, and the spine doctor couldn’t give me medicine without seeing me, so we still had a bit of a problem.
Thankfully I was due for a routine follow-up with my primary care doctor on Friday of that week. And he was kind enough, seeing how much pain I was in, to give me a prescription for some meds to last until the following Wednesday when I would see the spine doctor. That still didn’t overcome the fact that I was missing a lot of work, I couldn’t drive while taking the medicines, and my back was getting worse everyday. But then again, happily, the spine institute had assigned a registered nurse to my case who would be following up with me to be sure everything was going well. And while she couldn’t get me in to see the doctor any sooner she assured me I was following the right course and that everything would be okay. I am kind of gullible when I’m on narcotic pain medication, so the earth kept spinning.
10 days after my emergency room visit I got in to see a nice young doctor who took time to do a thorough examination. Like most doctors, he was particularly fascinated by my Charcot Marie Tooth disease and, with his apologies, had to see if it was true people with CMT have no reflexes. After banging on my knees for a bit with a little triangular hammer he seemed pleasantly amused and said what we needed to do was to get some x-rays and to start Physical Therapy. The x-rays would rule out anything bad and the therapy would get me back to some sense of normalcy. Of course, as I mentioned earlier, I am kind of gullible when I’m on narcotic pain medication, so things were looking up. I went across the hall and got my x-rays, and went home.
Pain pills, as you know, have a given life span. You take them ever so often to hold the pain at bay. Interestingly that permitted me an excruciating, spasmodic, check into reality – particularly in the mornings when I tried to get out of bed and walk, neither of which went particularly well. Each day things got worse. Clearly something wasn’t right. Not being able to withstand the excruciating pain for more than a few minutes I would hurry to put something in my stomach so I could take my medicine and sit with my coffee for 20 minutes or so, and the planets seemed to begin spinning again. Of course, as I mentioned earlier, I am kind of gullible when I’m on narcotic pain medication. Nevertheless it began to occur to me through the fog that something was off kilter. So in one of my more lucid moments I called the nurse assigned to my case (after leaving several recordings on the doctors telephone machine asking for help) and told her my story. After leaving her a few recordings I was actually speaking to her and telling her things were getting worse that the PT people didn’t have any openings for me until after the first of the year. I needed help sooner. She said that she would get back to me. And a few minutes later, recognizable even in my dazed state from the pills I was taking, I had the doctor himself on the phone line saying I shouldn’t wait until the first of the year for PT. (Well no shit!).
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By the next round of pain pills the PT folks had called me back and scheduled a bunch of PT sessions – a couple times a week – to work on my back. Now we are getting somewhere! But, did I mention that when I’m on narcotic pain medications I am kind of gullible? Each day the pain got worse, the pills did less, and the couple of sessions I’ve had in PT have left me in worse shape then before we started them. So again I’m on the phone leaving messages on machines and emailing the nice nurse lady that is following my case, pleading to get back in to see the doctor so they can figure out what is wrong. But it seems like spine doctors are kind of busy. So the earliest appointment they could give me was a week away. My math is a little fuzzy, but that appointment will be almost exactly one month after my ER visit. Meanwhile I am losing use of my legs and enduring more and more pain.
Which reminds me, it is time for my medicine. Okay, it’s getting to where I can breathe again. Whew. Glad things are in order now. When I see the doctor – he and his magic wand are going to do wonders; I’ll be back dancing and running in no time!
Oh… did I mention I am kind of gullible when I’m on narcotic pain medication?