2 posts tagged “health”

I've decided to get a spinal cord stimulator implant. The stenosis is inoperable, I refuse to go on heavy duty opiates, and my TENS unit, as great as it is, has its problems.

I had to do a five day trial implant first. The electrodes are implanted under the skin, but the device is left outside, held in place with an attractive white velcro belt around my waist. (Just wait. Those things will be showing up on French runways during the next fashion week.) I had the world's largest bandage on my back, with a sterile dressing underneath. It itched like hell.

They gave me morphine before the surgery, which....awesome. They prescribed Dilaudid for post-operative pain. Also awesome. It actually takes the pain away and doesn't make you all loopy the way Demerol does. I'm not dissing Demerol. I'm a big fan. But I think it just knocks you out so you don't give a damn about how much pain you're in.

The trial went well. The electrodes were removed in the doctor's office on Friday. If I could have, I would have had the doctor put in the permanent implant the same day, but I have to wait until Dec. 17th. Now, after a couple days without it, and with my TENS unit on the fritz, I know for sure I want to have this done.

It's not a miracle worker. Like anything, it has its drawbacks. But I expect that it will reduce my pain enough that I can cut back on the Cymbalta I'm taking now, and will allow me to go back to work. It's my best option, and I'm very excited about it.

So I'll be bionic. I'm hoping I'll be able to run in slow motion. I'd also like the sound effects that go with it.

"Did you find my pasta.....? You know, that... thing I use to serve the pasta with. What's it called? Anyway, did you find it?"
"No, but I found this. It was behind the stove".
"Good lord, I've been looking for that knife for months."
My husband looked at me like I was crazy. "Looking for what?"
"The knife."
"The what?"
"The knife. Right there. Didn't you say you just found it behind the stove."
"Yes, but...."
"It's the steak knife I've been looking for." Again with the "crazy" look.
"Uh, honey"?

I looked in the sink. It was a steak fork. When I called it a knife, it didn't look like a knife to me. It looked like a fork. But "fork" had temporarily taken up residence somewhere else.

Cymbalta, the wonder drug that mostly keeps my back pain, and as a bonus my neck and shoulder pain, under control, the lovely drug that sometimes allows me to sleep more than five hours a night, has fried my brain. It's just like the egg in that commercial. It's not just that I can't find my keys anymore. No one can ever find their keys. If I take my rings off before I cook, within two minutes I have no idea where they are. I'll tell JP something, then ask him if I'd already told him. I can't remember nouns. I don't remember a  lot of what he's told me. (I refuse to think he's just messing with me when he swears up and down that he told me something a few days before.) We actually got into a fight over whether he had set up my computer for tabs. I don't remember him doing it. All I know is I can do tabs now.

I've wonder sometimes if it's worth it. What's a little pain, after all? It can't be so bad that I'm willing to give up my memory. But your body has a way of making you forget how awful pain can be. If it didn't, no one would have more than one kid.

I tested that theory out last spring when I decided to stop taking the Cymbalta. I spent three weeks weening myself off of it. Ibuprofen would be fine, I thought. That stuff works on anything. Within a couple months I knew I'd made a mistake. My brain was unfried, but I was miserable. So I went back on it.

This was probably when I accepted that my life was never going to be what it used to be. My back is irreparably damaged, it's come close to ruining my life, and I have to live differently now. I still don't know precisely what that entails. But there's always a chance that if you tell me something, the next time you bring it up, I won't know what the hell you're talking about.