Today was supposed to be about something different, but then I read Spence's post about assisting Bill up from the floor over at the incredible Siren Voices and mine became something else.
There's a reason I won't take the Oramoprh that sits in my fridge. My friends and my doctors all think its because I'm stubborn, proud even, but that's just what I let them believe. To me it hails both reminder and warning, there every time I open the fridge door should I raise my head enough to see it.
A reminder that terrifies me, the kind of fear that sometimes wakes you in the night, and chills the pit of your stomach. A warning call. Of how things were. How they could be again. Under extreme enough circumstances. Should I lose control.
It was the weekend before I met Big. A few weeks later my family situation would reach such crisis point I would somehow find the strength to break all contact with them. Diagnosed only months before I was yet to develop the management and coping skills I have today.
I can't remember now what event caused the dislocation. The one that floored me that is. Much of that time is blurry. For that I'm grateful.
My hips and pelvis were so painful I couldn't weight bear at all. Stark words on a screen leave it sanitised, anaesthetised. It was anything but. Pain so searing, so acute I could not eat, sleep, talk or even cry. I could not get out of bed. Literally. Couldn't even crawl.
In such circumstances eventually a decision has to be made. To pee the bed or not. So to speak. I came up with what seemed like an ingenious plan under the circumstances. No fluid means no need to pee. Or so I thought. So I stopped drinking. All together. It's probably no wonder I can't remember too well. It seemed the most logical thing to do at the time.
I saw my GP first thing that Monday morning. He doubled the pain medication I then took, and wrote another prescription. For Oramorph. Spoke strong words to me about taking it. Of dehydration, danger, and never ending up that way again for want of strong enough pain relief to move.
I never have. It's always been there.