When morphine elixir snakes through your feeding tube and into your stomach, splaying itself in a hot instant against the glorious neural network, and beginning its delicate harp solo, picking first this nerve, then that to soothe, you will know the special I'm experiencing.
This is the result of my first follow up appointment with one of the doctors who has organized and effectuated this rather amazing treatment plan. Dr. Brigance today was pleased with just about everything--except my leg which was rather more swollen--and my feet, far more swollen, than he'd like. I had the ultimate punishment of a leg ultrasound in the cold basement of the hospital to check for blood clots--slathered with whatever that horrific goo is, cold to the touch, with an instrument jammed into it, cold to the touch, in a room where I swear the air conditioner was set at 48 degrees....The tech was a sweetheart, truly nice, but like every tech she had to get the pictures and was determined at all costs to get them.
In order to effectuate sleep, Dr. B thought that an increase in elixir strength, from Lortab to Morphine, might be called for...wow, it's a difference. A magnitude of displacement, I think, but even at that, I'm writing this at 11;40pm because I'm trying to sleep with my leg elevated higher than my heart, my oxygen mask on, the light allowing me not to trip the 10 times I've had to suction my throat, or the 3 times I've had to pee....
I wonder if I'm such a creature of habit that I can bite back against sweet morphia as softly as she slugs me?
Today, too, following this appointment in Indy, Scott drove me back to Bloomington, and Charles turned around and drove him to the airport to return home to SF for a bit. After operation, Switzerland and recuperation, and 3 weeks away, he finally goes back home to plot his next visit out. Even as we attempt to arrange chemo/radiation there for me, the timeline seems--at least in Brigance's view--to be set to keeping me here for this. Well, so be it! Ultimately, I just want to be with him, but would prefer to be with him in good spirits, not puking, and not with a burned up, irradiated mouth. Perhaps it will have to be after, but I'm still working toward doing it there.
Charles put in yeoman's work, too--and in case you think I'm slacking, I've been cleaning the house and I made a huge pot of chili--two reasons perhaps my leg was a bit more swollen than it should have been (?), but fun for me nonetheless. I don't do static rehabilitation well. I'm not good at sitting still, and I'm not good at projecting out normalcy over a period of a year or more.
Mark Price? I want him back now. I miss the hell out of him, that sock jaw he had, the awesome way he could fall asleep and stay asleep, and that sarcastic tongue of his! Please come back!
Until he does, I will try to adjust to doing the needful with all this equipment, all these instructions, all these necessities, pinning my body down to a prone position on a hard mattress, cold room, too well lit, in Bloomington.
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