I’m laughing while I think to myself, “I’m trying….I’m trying real effing hard”
If you know me you’ve heard the laugh before, coupled with a slow shake of the head.
The pain is what will do me in. Well that’s a lie, my inability to tolerate the pain will do me in.
3:00 and I’m forced to retreat upstairs to lay on the bed with an iPad and a TV remote. Alone. When the dogs figure out I’m staying up here they’ll join me.
Waiting for the meds to take it down a notch or two. An 8 down to a 6 on the scale.
Lucy uses the stairs I built to take her spot on the bed. Blu refuses to use stairs and so out of bed to pick him up.
I’m worried about my legs. I’m on them all day, then every other day all night also. Pacing as the nerves are on fire, legs twitching in revolt.
Last night I took an extra sleeping pill, finally falling asleep at 2:45, with Blu on one end of the couch, me the rest. He’s comfy, I’m cramped.
But I tried my damnedest today, shoveling the whole back from a day’s worth of snow. Grilling dinner, our one big meal of the day. Normal stuff.
I’m now shot, laying in bed waiting for the hydromorphone to kick in.
So the day really begs the argument “why the hell are you shoveling snow”.
Pride, ego, a sense that I’m not completely worthless. A man thing, from a 50 year overdose of testosterone. I can’t give up trying at least.
But I am worried about my legs. The neuropathy is progressing more quickly than I hoped.
Timing. Just when I’m on the verge of a break through mentally, or I hope, my body gives up.
As long as I’m laughing. And trying.