The title above is a quote from my daughter, who was responding to an email I had sent to her last Tuesday.
If you’ve read the previous post you’ll know how bad I was the Sunday night. All the bad actors were waging war at the same time. (One week later I can sit here at the dining room table and try to post. My new goal is to post at least once a week, which is pretty awful.) That Sunday night the pain had reached one of the highest I have ever felt. Ever. That’s a lot of disasters, accidents and stupid mistakes over the last 60 years, all causing major negative consequences. Broken bones, stitches, bruising, gashes, you name it -I’ve had it.
This was worse. It was my own body that was the cause, and my mind was just along for the ride. I cannot fathom how a person can be fine one day, then wake up the next sicker than a dog. I’m searching for the reasons behind all of this, especially how much this nausea has increased in both frequency and intensity.
Anyways, the letter to my daughter was actually a list of the people in my life I care about the most. Friends I have made here in Canada, and some friends around the States. The list included their phone/text numbers, or an email address, so when I die someone will let them know.
These are the people I love and I know care about me very much. I’ve decided the person who should perform this task should be my daughter and not Mrs. Kyd. It would be terribly hard, near impossible for her to do.
I explained what had happened Sunday evening, when my pain was so bad I was ready to give it up. Of course I didn’t tell her I had it all planned in my head, my death that is, how to go about it. I also told her I hoped to be here for a lot longer but I can’t do it without help.
I hoped to be around, want to live longer, just not too certain I can make it.
The pain is more than I can bare lately, and I don’t know how many more episodes like last Sunday I can go through. Does that make me a weak person? I don’t believe that.
She replied within hours of my sending the list, in long heartfelt email.
It was in that email that she said the title of the post. Imagine if you’re in that much pain, and already on so much morphine, how bad that pain really is.
She was right. If my breakthrough pain drives me to thoughts of suicide, how bad is it?
That’s the message I’m going to tell my doctors. I’m not seeking more drugs or a high or something. I’m not expecting a cure either. I need help, and help now.
Pain is different for all of us, but very real for all of us also. I’ve had my share and don’t know how much longer I can hold out.