It was a subtle regression, from broken but hopeful to just broken.
I was doing all of the things I believe a good patient is supposed to -- following up with my doctors, diligently going to physical therapy, communicating with my doctors. I trusted my doctors to be actively concerned for my well-being, to understand the limitations being imposed on me by the pain in my hip and legs and to actively seek solutions to restore quality of life.
Months of doctor's visits. X Rays and MRI's, injections and physical therapy. I'm still in pain.
The hip doctor sent me to the spine doctor who sent me back to the hip doctor who still insists he can't help me.
Constant pain will wear you down. I suppose I was naive to believe that I could maintain a positive demeanor despite my circumstances. Maybe I just didn't try hard enough. Maybe I wasn't accepting enough. Maybe acceptance wasn't the answer.
I hadn't factored in the impact of my extreme loneliness on my ability to both cope with my pain and be patient within the process of finding solutions. Solitude can be gratifying. It can bring great personal growth. It can clear your mind and soul, bring you back to your center.
Solitude can also be incredibly painful. He has been gone for such a long time.
What do I miss the most? Touch. I crave the sensation of his hand pressed into the small of my back, placed on my shoulder or stroking my hair. I miss the passing hug, feeling his arm slide around my waist as I walk past, turning into his shoulder and resting my head there. As my pain increased my solitude became crippling. My life has compressed to nearly intolerable levels. I can get to and from work. Driving isn't as excrucitating as it was before the lumbar injections; I ask people to come to my office for meetings and only deal with stairs and long walks when I can't avoid them, chin up and get through it when I can't. Evenings are mostly OK. I can get dinner on the table and not do much until its time to do barn chores. I hurt after that, but I can go to bed and wake up with only a slight limp.
Weekends are what really get to me. I always had so many things to look forward to - a ride, time with my kids, parents, friends, husband. Shopping, going out, working on projects.
Not any more.
I carefully choose my activities. If I need to do housework I pick the biggest priority. It can't be on the same day I go to the grocery store. If I do too much in one day I pay for it for hours.
I never expected this to happen to me. I suppose no one does, really.
I refuse to accept that this is my life.
Thank God I've got good insurance.