Backstreet's Back! Not really - it's just about my Back

The battle of my backs is becoming a war.

Since 2003 I have been having back problems. I remember days in college classes that I would be laying on the floor with my feet in a chair to alleviate pain while also passed nearly out on Vicodin. I went to the back pain center and had physical therapies. It didn't work. So like a lot of doctors are want to do, I was put on a prescription painkiller.

We moved to the DFW area and I sought help from a new doctor. An ER visit, a series of office visits and one x-Ray later, I was diagnosed with scoliosis and prescribed physical therapy. We moved again. Another doctor, another round of medication. Plus a heel insert to help straighten things out. Another move, another ER visit and I'm seeing the original doctor that diagnosed me. My back pain got progressively worse over time.

Ryan had enough and so had I. He got a recommendation for a chiropractor from one of his coworkers and I have been seeing him since mid February. He has not only adjusted my back but discovered that I do not have scoliosis. He also put me on a topical cream for pain which is helping a bit. He suggested  an MRI to see but it is expensive so it has to wait. In the mean time, I'm starting these injections. It's more involved but I'm getting some kind of price cut or something to eat up my insurance deductible so I can start reaping the benefits of a copay.

And today, even though it is the same day as the procedure, I have been unaware of my back. The pain level is way down and I cannot be happier. They asked where the pain was, we pinpointed it and they injected a dextrose concoction into those areas and then adjusted my back on a more intense level.

So, *cussword* you, back!

The dog is licking and I cannot stand the noise.

My back is stupid. 

Stream of thoughts and... Go.

I hate that I procrastinate. I have an idea but then I only go half-assed. I purchase things, make plans and then I don't follow through with them. For instance... I want to get fit. Everyone has this ideal for themselves  about what they want to look like or whatever. I got my bike. I need to ride more. I'm interested in yoga. I got a mat and a couple of starter DVDs and I would like to take classes. Have I followed through? Nope. I hate me for this. I know I would mentally and physically benefit from exercise. Something happens. I get sick. My body hurts. I'm busy with work. I gotta do this. I have to take care of that. I slice my thumb open. Questions questions... Is my body/mind creating these problems to terminate supposed plans? Is it depression that rules this? 

Back to my back... I've been going to a chiropractor to see about my back issues. An X-ray revealed that I do not have a case of scoliosis. Misdiagnosis! Great. Now why, if I'm not overly or stupidly too active, does my back go into random spasms? Is this the mind/body (dis)connect doing its tricks again? So I've been having adjustments which help a bit and I'm trying different therapies to see if we can knock this garbage out. I shouldn't be in this much pain for nothing. Looking at an MRI and some injections.

Whoo boy.

Spoons

There's something called the spoon theory. It gives people an idea how people suffering with lupus spend their time. The spoons represent choices to be made. You only have so many choices you can make - only so many spoons to spend. 

I have spoons. I don't know how many spoons I have. Shame. But once my spoons are gone, I start to shut down or I cry or I lash out. I want to throw my spoons and give up. Sometimes I want to gingerly lay my spoons down and silently walk away. A lot of days, those spoons need straightening, organizing, shining, reordering, and straightening again before I can spend them. 

Today, I am tired. Standing exhausts me. Getting out of bed is physically draining. Somehow, I manage to work through the day. Spoons. 

Truth

Oh Shit. Another one of THOSE people. I'm writing this to catalogue things, to sort shit out, to fix whatever the hell is wrong. Even within my own perspective, I know my life is a walk in the park. My husband is supportive and loving. My child is smart, entertaining, and very well-behaved. We have meals in our stomaches, a roof over our heads, and clothes on our backs. no room to complain. you see there is a stigma about this. there's a whole 'just get over it' attitude. i'd love to. i'd so fucking love to. here's the deal... no can do.

So the question is "Why?" Why the hell am I not happy? Why the hell do I always think of killing myself? Why the hell can't I feel as though I am worthwhile? Nope. Not going to sugar coat this. even I don't know.

Whine whine pity me poor me pay attention to me

who the fuck is going to care Why would anyone want to read any of this junk.

why isn't my medication working

why don't i go to therapy. because I can't afford it (time or money)

just get over it just get over it just get over it just get over it

i can't

calm down calm down calm down calm down

this is me calm you don't want to see me blow up

it's time people really saw or experienced what it's like in my head

i love it when my child comes and hugs me.

whispers hey mom... i love you.

why isn't it enough?

i'm nobody. nobody cares. i hardly care.

my back hurts why won't my back stop hurting

i wish i could sleep for days for weeks for months

i see the damned light at the end of this stupid twisted tunnel and it's where i want to be but there are these obstacles. 

i am afraid

i don't understand any of this crap.

run through the motions of daily life

i don't even want to participate in the good things

what set me off today? i woke up.

Welcome. Welcome to my brain. 

on bad days i want to stay curled up in there in the dark.

so this is the start of a stupid journey

i'm going to therapy myself.

Meow

I was working in the graduate studies office as a student aide at the local university I was studying at. It was a moist and muggy day and someone came into the office saying that a kitten wandered into the building.

I went investigating and decided then and there that I would take him home. Since I was still at work, I took him to a lady that was in another office. She was stocked with cat care items because she was the faculty advisor for the campus animals. 

I surprised my husband with our new addition. I had called his mom about the situation and she laughed. Ryan was okay with it all. 

He went through several names before we found one that suited him. We were really into the movie The Count of Monte Cristo, especially the supporting character, Jacopo ("Yah-kuh-poe"). We call him derrivatives of that name. Jacers, Jacy, Popo. When Ivy was younger, she called him Paco. 

This cat has a horrible habit of urinating in inconvenient places - like on the stove and on cookware. He even goes in bathtubs. He also waits at every door to make his escape. He was waking us up at all hours with weird yowling. 

When Ivy was born, we asked Ryan's parents to keep him for a while. I honestly didn't want him back because he was ruining things. We were living in apartments and really lost him a few times. 

Once we settled into our house this past summer, we reclaimed Jacopo. I think he and I finally bonded. Practically every time I sit down, he wants to be in my lap. Most times I oblige because he is warm. He still wants outside, but now he has a safe and contained outside (back yard) that he can explore.