Having fibromyalgia, I'm part of several groups and message boards online discussing the treatment and management of this mysterious, incurable disorder. A topic that seems to come up a lot is opiates, or pain pills as you probably know them(Vicodin, Opana, Oxycodone, etc.). I'm extremely against opiates and I'm often criticized or questioned for my responses.
My life has been touched by drug addiction in many different ways. If you're a follower, you fall in with the crowd and let the same things destroy you. If you're smart, you learn from the mistakes of those suffering and try to help them as best you can. You learn family history to see your risk factors and you weigh benefits and risks of any mind-altering substance.
To those who criticize my reaction to their usage, I could tell them many stories to defend my stance, but I don't often find that to be necessary. Statistics speak for themselves. I've lost a home to drug addiction. I have lost cars to drug addiction. I have lost pride, trust and sometimes dignity to drug addiction. I've lost priceless things to drugs. I've lost beautiful, innocent relationships with brilliant, loving human beings to drug addiction. I have sat up all night trying to entertain a drug addict so you and your family could drive on safer streets. Keep in mind, I never took the pill!
You can't quite comprehend the pain of watching someone kill themselves slowly unless you've witnessed it firsthand. You are as powerless to help them as they are powerless to the drug. They don't want to lie and steal from you. But they will. You'll want to believe they didn't and you'll question your sanity at times. They'll feel guilty for hurting you and do it some more to cover up the pain. You'll try to find a way to blame everyone but them. The economy, drug dealers, medical problems they have or claim to have, but deep down in your heart, you know whose fault it really is. Theirs and theirs alone. Although I have made it abundantly clear to drug dealers that I think they're lowlife scum who better live it up while they can on the money and sorrow of people and families, because it's my hope that there's a special place in hell waiting for them. If you can't help people, at least don't hurt them.
When you use opiates, you're basically gambling. You're gambling with your life and the lives of those around you who love you and depend on you. Is that a risk you're willing to take? Can you afford to? Do you like those odds? Once you discover you're an addict, it's with you for life. It will be a battle you'll have to fight everyday. You'll try so hard to recover, but it's a long road and subject to relapse. You'll lose all credibility with your friends and family. You'll be the boy who cried wolf if you have any aches or pains. If your eyes are bloodshot or you're tired, they'll think you're using again. You probably are.
There will be few resources for you when you finally decide to kick the habit. They're all different and they're all expensive. Suboxone will be an expensive crutch for you and a second withdrawal later on, if you can ever get off of it at all. I have only met one person who has successfully stopped Suboxone. Rehabs are expensive and if you don't stay on top of meetings and if you stay around the same town and people, you're likely to relapse. It will be like a black hole you can't escape and sometimes you'll consider surrendering to the disease. Addiction is a disease.
If that sounds like a life you'd like to live, dabble with opiates. I can't stop you. I do know that fibromyalgia is a tricky disorder that affects each individually differently. My pain is not the same as yours, and if yours is worse, I'm so sorry for you. I know there are a host of other disorders, diseases, and obviously surgeries, which warrant pain medication, albeit short term.
Personally, in the case of fibromyalgia, I'd rather deal with the aches and pains, allow myself to rest when I need to, take some Advil, promote a healthier lifestyle with less processed foods and overuse my beloved heating pad. I'm not interested in opening Pandora's box to see what opiates have in store for me and I hope you don't either.
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
Lacrima Mortis
The day I've dreaded all my life finally came. The day I had to say goodbye to my Papaw. I have a fairly small family, so other than my niece's passing this summer, I've never been directly affected by death. I'm very afraid of death and the unknown. I read the bible to see what to expect and try to have faith, but the thought of death still scares me. I know that in Heaven, loved ones will appear differently to us than they do here on Earth. I know that it will be a beautiful thing and I'll feel no fear or pain then, but the thought of any change always scares me.
I think I knew in my heart that today would be the day my Paps passed. I knew I wanted to be there but I was paralyzed with fear. Could I handle seeing life leave his body? Would I stand stoically or would I crumble into pieces and fall on the ground? I sat on the couch for hours pondering this and wondering if I had the mental and emotional strength to even need to be there. I finally turned on autopilot in my brain and pushed myself to just get in the car. I hate living with regrets.
At that point, I still wasn't 100% sure today would be the day. I knew the doctors had suggested it and that my mom was going up there to talk to them, but a part of me was still trying to evade the truth. Unfortunately, as an adult and dealing with such critical situations as this, hiding in your room won't make it go away.
I wasn't in much of a rush to get there, since I didn't know what was happening, which was probably for the best in retrospect. My mind couldn't entertain the fact that this was really it. I assumed we'd just visit him and talk about it, then go home. Traffic was heavy so we took Kingston Pike to Fort Sanders, instead of the interstate that stresses me out, especially at rush hour. When I finally got in touch with my mom, it was happening! I was urgently trying to send a message for them to wait, but we were stuck at a red light under an overpass that was blocking my phone's signal. Rich sped up and dropped me off in front of the hospital and went to park the car. I ran as fast as I could to the elevator and prayed that I had made it in time. I felt like I looked like someone in a movie racing through the airport to stop the person they love from getting on a plane, but I imagine the people I was running past knew whatever I was running toward wouldn't be a fairytale ending.
I arrived to my family standing outside his ICU room. I wondered if I was too late and nearly fell to my knees, but I had made it just in time, literally without a minute to spare. I found myself peeking under the blinds at what they were doing to my Papaw, like a child seeing what the adults are doing. After the doctors and nurses finished, we were able to go in and spend his final moments with him. When someone is taken off life support, an innocent, hopeful part of you is thinking maybe they'll pop up and start breathing on their own. People write books about it all the time! You pray like you've never, ever prayed before for a miracle.
The next five minutes were life-changing. He spent his whole life, years and years, building a business, loving a family, making friends, earning respect, beating the odds and within five minutes, that force to be reckoned with was gone from this Earth. We were talking to my Paps trying to comfort him, and each other somewhat, and play him a song. We told him how much we loved him and thanked him for everything he'd done. We told him how good of a dad and grandfather he was. He was medicated so I truly don't think he was in any pain. He looked more peaceful in those minutes than he has in the past three weeks of misery he's been through. We looked at the monitor and watched as his heart rate and blood pressure slowed, holding our breaths hoping for that miracle.
That miracle didn't come for us, but something I saw touched my heart in a way that will change the way I look at life forever. As he was passing and we were talking to him, a tear welled up in his eye. "He's crying!" my mom and I said to each other and pointed out to the rest. That froze me in my place. Was it a reflex? Was Paps still in there? I have to admit, I haven't felt much of a presence when I've visited him lately, but I thought that could've been the Propofol. I thought he was already gone, days, maybe weeks ago. I thought all that was left was his body, his temple for life that he had left behind.
When I got home I did some searching online about that single tear that kept haunting my thoughts. That tear has a name. It's called Lacrima Mortis, meaning "tear of death." Some people believe that at the moment of death, the body relaxes and releases what is stored in it and the single tear is just a part of that, but it's more common in patients who are expecting death, as opposed to sudden deaths, like car accidents, etc. which leads me to believe there's more to it. There are also reports of it happening up to 10 hours before.
Others believe that the tear of death is shed as the person passing sees the face of God or sees their waiting loved ones. Maybe he could see his father, friends and Paisley and they were welcoming him. Maybe he heard our words of love and comfort to him and felt our warmth and it brought a tear to his little brown eye. Maybe he saw our tears and it was one last feeling of sadness, having to leave us alone to fend for ourselves. Maybe there was something he so badly wanted to say to us but was unable to communicate and that was the only signal he could give us.
It could be any of these things but I'd like to believe it was him saying goodbye to us and that he was seeing something so overwhelmingly beautiful that it brought tears to his eyes. Something we can't even imagine yet, because we're only humans and only know Earth, so far, with all of its pain and craziness. I hope he was overcome with peace and that he feels so much joy. He's met our Lord now. As hard as it is to let him go, I know he's been in so much pain here for so long that it must've been a huge relief to him, even though I know he didn't want to leave us, or his office, just yet.
After he passed, I felt compelled to get a tissue and wipe that tear from his eye. I knew it would be the last time I would be able to feel like I was of comfort to him. I know he's wiped many tears from my eyes. I made him some promises before I left that I plan on keeping. Like I told you Paps, I'll do the best I can.. ;) I don't know what I'm going to do with that sugar-free ice cream in the freezer I bought a few weekends ago to make you milkshakes when you got home. I was going to sneak almond milk in them and see if you noticed. I'd give anything to be able to see you, talk to you and share one more milkshake. It breaks my heart to know that any children of my own I may have someday won't get to meet you. Luckily, Dylan and I will have plenty of stories to share.
"I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." -- 2 Timothy 4:7
Lacrimosa -- Latin for "Weeping"
I think I knew in my heart that today would be the day my Paps passed. I knew I wanted to be there but I was paralyzed with fear. Could I handle seeing life leave his body? Would I stand stoically or would I crumble into pieces and fall on the ground? I sat on the couch for hours pondering this and wondering if I had the mental and emotional strength to even need to be there. I finally turned on autopilot in my brain and pushed myself to just get in the car. I hate living with regrets.
At that point, I still wasn't 100% sure today would be the day. I knew the doctors had suggested it and that my mom was going up there to talk to them, but a part of me was still trying to evade the truth. Unfortunately, as an adult and dealing with such critical situations as this, hiding in your room won't make it go away.
I wasn't in much of a rush to get there, since I didn't know what was happening, which was probably for the best in retrospect. My mind couldn't entertain the fact that this was really it. I assumed we'd just visit him and talk about it, then go home. Traffic was heavy so we took Kingston Pike to Fort Sanders, instead of the interstate that stresses me out, especially at rush hour. When I finally got in touch with my mom, it was happening! I was urgently trying to send a message for them to wait, but we were stuck at a red light under an overpass that was blocking my phone's signal. Rich sped up and dropped me off in front of the hospital and went to park the car. I ran as fast as I could to the elevator and prayed that I had made it in time. I felt like I looked like someone in a movie racing through the airport to stop the person they love from getting on a plane, but I imagine the people I was running past knew whatever I was running toward wouldn't be a fairytale ending.
I arrived to my family standing outside his ICU room. I wondered if I was too late and nearly fell to my knees, but I had made it just in time, literally without a minute to spare. I found myself peeking under the blinds at what they were doing to my Papaw, like a child seeing what the adults are doing. After the doctors and nurses finished, we were able to go in and spend his final moments with him. When someone is taken off life support, an innocent, hopeful part of you is thinking maybe they'll pop up and start breathing on their own. People write books about it all the time! You pray like you've never, ever prayed before for a miracle.
The next five minutes were life-changing. He spent his whole life, years and years, building a business, loving a family, making friends, earning respect, beating the odds and within five minutes, that force to be reckoned with was gone from this Earth. We were talking to my Paps trying to comfort him, and each other somewhat, and play him a song. We told him how much we loved him and thanked him for everything he'd done. We told him how good of a dad and grandfather he was. He was medicated so I truly don't think he was in any pain. He looked more peaceful in those minutes than he has in the past three weeks of misery he's been through. We looked at the monitor and watched as his heart rate and blood pressure slowed, holding our breaths hoping for that miracle.
That miracle didn't come for us, but something I saw touched my heart in a way that will change the way I look at life forever. As he was passing and we were talking to him, a tear welled up in his eye. "He's crying!" my mom and I said to each other and pointed out to the rest. That froze me in my place. Was it a reflex? Was Paps still in there? I have to admit, I haven't felt much of a presence when I've visited him lately, but I thought that could've been the Propofol. I thought he was already gone, days, maybe weeks ago. I thought all that was left was his body, his temple for life that he had left behind.
When I got home I did some searching online about that single tear that kept haunting my thoughts. That tear has a name. It's called Lacrima Mortis, meaning "tear of death." Some people believe that at the moment of death, the body relaxes and releases what is stored in it and the single tear is just a part of that, but it's more common in patients who are expecting death, as opposed to sudden deaths, like car accidents, etc. which leads me to believe there's more to it. There are also reports of it happening up to 10 hours before.
Others believe that the tear of death is shed as the person passing sees the face of God or sees their waiting loved ones. Maybe he could see his father, friends and Paisley and they were welcoming him. Maybe he heard our words of love and comfort to him and felt our warmth and it brought a tear to his little brown eye. Maybe he saw our tears and it was one last feeling of sadness, having to leave us alone to fend for ourselves. Maybe there was something he so badly wanted to say to us but was unable to communicate and that was the only signal he could give us.
It could be any of these things but I'd like to believe it was him saying goodbye to us and that he was seeing something so overwhelmingly beautiful that it brought tears to his eyes. Something we can't even imagine yet, because we're only humans and only know Earth, so far, with all of its pain and craziness. I hope he was overcome with peace and that he feels so much joy. He's met our Lord now. As hard as it is to let him go, I know he's been in so much pain here for so long that it must've been a huge relief to him, even though I know he didn't want to leave us, or his office, just yet.
After he passed, I felt compelled to get a tissue and wipe that tear from his eye. I knew it would be the last time I would be able to feel like I was of comfort to him. I know he's wiped many tears from my eyes. I made him some promises before I left that I plan on keeping. Like I told you Paps, I'll do the best I can.. ;) I don't know what I'm going to do with that sugar-free ice cream in the freezer I bought a few weekends ago to make you milkshakes when you got home. I was going to sneak almond milk in them and see if you noticed. I'd give anything to be able to see you, talk to you and share one more milkshake. It breaks my heart to know that any children of my own I may have someday won't get to meet you. Luckily, Dylan and I will have plenty of stories to share.
"I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." -- 2 Timothy 4:7
Lacrimosa -- Latin for "Weeping"
Monday, October 27, 2014
I Love You, Paps
As I get settled in my living room after spending much of the day at the hospital with my Paps, I'm uncomfortably aware that these are his last few days and hours on Earth. The free spirit in me wants to roll his bed out of the hospital and take him by all of the places he used to love, but the realist in me knows that he isn't going anywhere.
I can't quite mentally grasp what's happening right now. You can say it out loud a thousand times but it doesn't make it any easier or any less surreal. Never seeing him again isn't something I'm prepared for right now, but I don't think I ever would be. I think some things happen in life that you never become "okay" with, you just have to deal with it as best you can because you're given no other option. Forever is a long time.
Every photograph or item from before this chaos feels like it's from a different world. A world my Paps was part of. Now it just feels like the world is a giant puzzle that's missing a piece. We're misunderstood people and you made me feel like it was okay and like I wasn't alone. You were like a life vest to me.
Although it's too soon to fully accept what's happening, it's not too soon for regrets. I wish I'd been there more. Life gets so busy and hectic; there's always an excuse. You always think you have tomorrow. I'd even write it on my to-do list: "Check on Paps." The last time I saw my Paps before he went in the hospital, he was at his office sleeping. I didn't have the heart to wake him up. If I'd known this would happen, I definitely would've.
I also wish he had been around more. He loves his family, but he was never a stay at home kind of fellow. He is a worker at heart. He liked to be busy. He wanted to be out and about. He thrived on pressure and tension that would make me buckle. I hope some of that strength rubbed off on me somewhere along the way.
It's missing the little things that feels so scary right now. Who will I take the rest of my homemade soup to when I decide to make a big pot? Who will share in my joy of the perfect summer tomato? We didn't get many this year. I think of the little quirks that were either funny or irritating and I pray to God to let me hear or see them again, if only one more time. Wake up and talk to me, just one more time! There are so many things I need and want to say!
I want him to know he's my hero and that he always will be. I want him to know I love him and that I know he loves us, even though he was at work too much. I want him to know that I know he loved my Nana, even though he made mistakes in his marriage, and that she loves him too.
I want him to know I'll always protect my family to the best of my ability and that he can be at peace. I want him to know I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make him proud, even though he was proud of me no matter what I did or how many times I failed. I will miss that unconditional love with no questions asked. I want him to know I appreciate all the things that he did for me, but that I still would've loved him if he couldn't have.
Looking at your loved one, helpless and suffering, never gets easier. Each time I think I might handle it differently. I don't stand there sobbing, I just freeze up. I think today, I held the hand of my hero one last time. The hands that were once so busy were still and cold. If I could go back and cherish every minute I had with you, I would. If I could give you the world's biggest hug, I would. If I could call you one last time for comfort over some random life event, I would.
Until it's over, I won't stop praying for a miracle and I hope all of my friends and family do the same. I've thought a lot about my Paps lately and who he was as a person. I want to hold onto the memories I have and the things he taught me, so I can continue to grow as a person because I know that's what he wants. So I want to share a few things I've learned, either by observation or him telling me so.
Things I've Learned From My Paps:
Be a person of few words and a lot of action.
Always love and protect your mother.
Don't be afraid to break a few rules.
Don't go down without a fight.
It's okay to have a messy desk.
You're not better than anyone, no matter what you have.
You often either have time or money, rarely both.
Don't be wasteful.
It's prounounced pa-sketti, not spaghetti.
Always protect children.
Be generous, even though people will speak badly of you anyway.
Never pull out a gun unless you plan on using it.
Make people afraid you'll put them in concrete boots if they cross you. :)
Love people unconditionally, even if you disagree with them.
Naps are good, so take them.. Especially when people are arguing and you don't want to be involved!
Post-Its are the best way to remember things.
Be someone who can keep a secret. A vault.
When I was a little girl, my Nana bought me a balloon and tied it on my wrist. When I got out of the car, it came untied and flew away. My Nana pointed out that I lost my balloon and I said, "It's okay. Papaw will get it for me." If you're too tired to keep fighting, it's ok, Paps. You can let go. If you can't bring the balloon back down to me this time, fly away with it. Give it to baby Paisley and hold her and love her and wait on the rest of us. I love you, Papaw.
-"Baby D 2"
I can't quite mentally grasp what's happening right now. You can say it out loud a thousand times but it doesn't make it any easier or any less surreal. Never seeing him again isn't something I'm prepared for right now, but I don't think I ever would be. I think some things happen in life that you never become "okay" with, you just have to deal with it as best you can because you're given no other option. Forever is a long time.
Every photograph or item from before this chaos feels like it's from a different world. A world my Paps was part of. Now it just feels like the world is a giant puzzle that's missing a piece. We're misunderstood people and you made me feel like it was okay and like I wasn't alone. You were like a life vest to me.
Although it's too soon to fully accept what's happening, it's not too soon for regrets. I wish I'd been there more. Life gets so busy and hectic; there's always an excuse. You always think you have tomorrow. I'd even write it on my to-do list: "Check on Paps." The last time I saw my Paps before he went in the hospital, he was at his office sleeping. I didn't have the heart to wake him up. If I'd known this would happen, I definitely would've.
I also wish he had been around more. He loves his family, but he was never a stay at home kind of fellow. He is a worker at heart. He liked to be busy. He wanted to be out and about. He thrived on pressure and tension that would make me buckle. I hope some of that strength rubbed off on me somewhere along the way.
It's missing the little things that feels so scary right now. Who will I take the rest of my homemade soup to when I decide to make a big pot? Who will share in my joy of the perfect summer tomato? We didn't get many this year. I think of the little quirks that were either funny or irritating and I pray to God to let me hear or see them again, if only one more time. Wake up and talk to me, just one more time! There are so many things I need and want to say!
I want him to know he's my hero and that he always will be. I want him to know I love him and that I know he loves us, even though he was at work too much. I want him to know that I know he loved my Nana, even though he made mistakes in his marriage, and that she loves him too.
I want him to know I'll always protect my family to the best of my ability and that he can be at peace. I want him to know I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make him proud, even though he was proud of me no matter what I did or how many times I failed. I will miss that unconditional love with no questions asked. I want him to know I appreciate all the things that he did for me, but that I still would've loved him if he couldn't have.
Looking at your loved one, helpless and suffering, never gets easier. Each time I think I might handle it differently. I don't stand there sobbing, I just freeze up. I think today, I held the hand of my hero one last time. The hands that were once so busy were still and cold. If I could go back and cherish every minute I had with you, I would. If I could give you the world's biggest hug, I would. If I could call you one last time for comfort over some random life event, I would.
Until it's over, I won't stop praying for a miracle and I hope all of my friends and family do the same. I've thought a lot about my Paps lately and who he was as a person. I want to hold onto the memories I have and the things he taught me, so I can continue to grow as a person because I know that's what he wants. So I want to share a few things I've learned, either by observation or him telling me so.
Things I've Learned From My Paps:
Be a person of few words and a lot of action.
Always love and protect your mother.
Don't be afraid to break a few rules.
Don't go down without a fight.
It's okay to have a messy desk.
You're not better than anyone, no matter what you have.
You often either have time or money, rarely both.
Don't be wasteful.
It's prounounced pa-sketti, not spaghetti.
Always protect children.
Be generous, even though people will speak badly of you anyway.
Never pull out a gun unless you plan on using it.
Make people afraid you'll put them in concrete boots if they cross you. :)
Love people unconditionally, even if you disagree with them.
Naps are good, so take them.. Especially when people are arguing and you don't want to be involved!
Post-Its are the best way to remember things.
Be someone who can keep a secret. A vault.
When I was a little girl, my Nana bought me a balloon and tied it on my wrist. When I got out of the car, it came untied and flew away. My Nana pointed out that I lost my balloon and I said, "It's okay. Papaw will get it for me." If you're too tired to keep fighting, it's ok, Paps. You can let go. If you can't bring the balloon back down to me this time, fly away with it. Give it to baby Paisley and hold her and love her and wait on the rest of us. I love you, Papaw.
-"Baby D 2"
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