I first heard the song “Me” by the 1975 in November of 2013 when
I was 23 years old. I was driving down
highway 39 back home, passing the ACE Hardware, feeling super lonely as a
fairly recent college graduate who was single, stuck in basic training for
Probation/Parole, and things just weren’t all that I thought they were going to
be. The song is all about general
unhappiness and just disappointing those you love. I literally felt time stop in the moment I
heard that song and this is when my obsession with the band began. Now, I pick up “Me” again for very different
reasons.
I think what
I want to say is I am not okay. I mean I’m
really not okay. I am two different
versions of myself constantly throughout each day but neither of them is who I
want to be. Things appear better on the
outside; I am not physically barred by the walls of a hospital anymore, I can
cuddle with my son, I can enjoy time at home with friends can come see me. But physically I am an absolute wreck and it’s
killing my mental health.
Going into my
surgery in November, my surgeon promised me that he did not know if this
operation could take the pain away, but it could improve my eating. As much as I knew he didn’t guarantee me
that, every bit of me held out hope for it if I came through the surgery. What I didn’t expect, however, is that my
pain would be remarkably worse, and that is where we are.
I use chronic
pain medication. There is no doubt a
stigma surrounding it, but when I tell you I can’t operate without something
being able to block my pain, I can’t. It’s
a gamble trying to find the right opioid for you, just like with mental health
meds, and I may be small, but my body can handle a lot without altering my
state of mind (and for this, I am grateful that it doesn’t). As I’ve mentioned to some, my insurance has
denied me a new medication that works, and it’s going to cost me $1600
per month for this medication. Is
this affordable? No. Am I willing to go into debt over this? 100000%.
It becomes a quality of life issue. The problem recently has been that I got
prescribed the wrong one my body can’t absorb and the amount of pain I
experience has made me want to die every single day.
But how do
you explain this? Pain is something you
cannot see, you cannot measure. It’s a
very visicious cycle; for the 1 1/2 -2 hours my medicine works, I feel
invincible; I play with Jackson, I text my friends, I post my stories, simply
because I am not hurting. I feel
like I can do anything in the world. But
when the medicine stops; it stops. I’m
back to not being able to move, crying, and wanting to just die again. It’s just that bad.
My best
friend came over to visit and it was wonderful; but before she was there, and I
had cried all morning, and after she left, I cried some more. I try not to cry in front of my son, but this
is where I’m lost; how do I accept not being able to care for my own child
because of my own pain levels? I can’t
fathom dressing him for school, driving him to daycare, getting his meals ready
when my husband is out of town. I can’t
do it. What kind of mother does that
make me? Of course, Jackson, already the
empath, comes over to me and says “Mommy, why are you sad?” and I have to
explain about my tummy hurting, which he is more than familiar with. He tells me to “take your medicine so your
tummy feels better. Your medicine makes
you happy.” He gives me a hug. Then I feel guilty that a two and a half year
old child like him even has to understand all that he already does.
I constantly
have dreams where I wake up and I’m back in my younger body, in those days,
healthier, remembering the old friends/times, and it’s torture. I’d rather not have them.
In what has
been a positive development, I have started to be able to eat. I do consume small amounts, but I am so
thankful for that. It’s going to be a
long road, but this part is okay. I can’t
explain what it’s like to experience and enjoy food after being deprived of it
for so long. Removing my stomach greatly
improved my bladder condition; if you remember, I was unable to even season any
type of food with that, so everything was so bland. It’s incredible to eat something and really
taste it and enjoy it. I’ll eat
something as simple as a sandwich loaded with mayo and a sauce and I’m like “oh
my god – this is the best thing I ever had” and my husband will look at me
funny like, “no it’s not.” I’ve developed
a “Lindsay Scale”: is this really a good food?
Or am I just excited because I haven’t tasted anything in years?
So if I have
trouble answering the “how are you?” question or responding to “you look like
you’re doing great!”; this is why. I’m
not doing great, I’m not fine. I’m just
trying to survive in the adapted world I have to live in.
But thank you
for your prayers, your messages, and the surprises. Seriously; every one of them has made me feel
good. As I have had to express, the
majority of my life is now lived through my phone and communicating with others
that way as I can’t go anywhere at the present time. Every individual, current best friends, past
friends, who has reached out has made me smile.
Y’all are truly amazing, and with my ever present love language being
words of affirmation, just a small act or simple string of words goes a long
way.
So thank you for caring, thank you for reading, and thank you for being you. Maybe I’ll get Me off repeat one day. Until then…
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