Why I hate Oxycodone

Some people have told me that if I really wanted to sleep at night that I’d simply stay up all day.  As if it’s my choice or something that I’m not sleeping at night.  (And can you imagine not sleeping for 30 hours or more, while recovering from and trying to heal a broken ankle, because that is what those people were suggesting!!!)  I am going through withdrawals from Oxycodone; I took my last pill just one week ago.

I had surgery on the morning of July 26^th.  After surgery I was on morphine for about 48 hours.  Then I was switched to oxycodone, 3 – 5 mg pills every 2 hours.   By the time I left the hospital, 4 days later, I was taking 3 pills every 3 hours.  From there, over the course of the following 3 weeks, here’s what happened: once I felt I could handle the pain better I started taking less Oxycodone.  I went from 2 pills every 3 hours, to 2 pills every 4 hours.  Having made it to the 4 hour mark I was then able to start spacing them out more quickly.  Each day I added a half hour until I had pushed the doses out to the 6 hour mark.  At that time I started cutting out pills, once a day I’d take 1 instead of 2, until I made it down to just 1 pill every 6 hours.  Finally I started skipping doses, and pretty soon I wasn’t taking it at all anymore.

My dad thinks that I weaned myself off of the oxycodone too fast, which is why I’m currently suffering from some pretty extreme insomnia. 

But here’s the deal: I am super glad to be off those pills!  Although it was good to have them for pain relief, they made me super groggy.  I felt like a zombie, trying to peer through the fog of my existence.  I couldn’t hold a normal conversation, or stay awake when I wanted to.  All I was capable of was sitting on the couch watching TV, and that gets old fast.  Once I realized that I wanted to stop taking them, I did it as quickly as I could.  And I’m really happy to have my brain back… I just wish I could sleep at night.

Coming Full Circle

The last time I was here, in Michigan, I had a miscarriage on the plane ride over.  Well, actually, the miscarriage happened in one of the bathrooms at the Minneapolis St. Paul airport, but never mind about that.  It was my second miscarriage, and it really tore me apart.  I’ve never experienced depression like that before.  Even though once we arrived at the lake house we were in such a beautiful place, all I could do was lie on the bed and cry.  About 3 days into our visit, I emailed my shrink because I knew I couldn’t climb out of the hole I was in on my own.

So, this time – I’m here with my daughter.  Even now, I can hear her crying to breastfeed, her first nursling session of the day.  My husband is in the bedroom with her, trying to rub enough of the fog from his eyes to bring her to me.  I’m stuck on this couch in the living room, can’t go get her myself, because I have a broken leg.  It seems like every time I come here, there’s something wrong with me.  The last time I was here I was just so terrified I’d never become a mother.  This time, I’m injured because I’m a mother.  And I’m happy that it was me instead of her, of course.

Having a broken ankle is a lot harder than I thought it would be.  There’s a balance between needing to ask for help and not being a nuisance that I’m having a hard time finding.  I need, for instance, to bathe more frequently (otherwise I smell like a monkey!) but I feel bad asking Nick to do it – it just takes so much time and effort it seems like too much trouble, but then I’m so uncomfortable if it doesn’t happen.  I can make it to the bathroom by myself most of the time now, but it is a lot easier if I have help.  And I am not capable of getting any food for myself, or changing locations without assistance.  I have always had a hard time asking for help.  I’ve always wanted to be the tough one, the person that could take care of herself – if I was having a hard time, I didn’t want anyone to know about it.

Gratitude is a funny thing.  I’m happy that, from my command center on the couch, I can still see the lake.  I’m so grateful to have my daughter that it makes experiencing 2 miscarriages acceptable somehow.  I’m thrilled to have a broken leg instead of my girl getting hurt.  And I know all of this to be true, from a distance.  However, being in the middle of it is not easy. 

 

Today has been a tough day

I just really miss being able to stand up!  You know, going to the bathroom while balancing on one foot and a walker is really not very much fun.  And I miss standing and holding my daughter, rocking her.  Being able to sleep on my side.  Being able to go upstairs and cook, well, anything!!
The longer I sit here (at my desk instead of with my foot elevated on the couch) the more it hurts.  Blood is rushing down my leg, making my toes and ankle swell.  But I long to do something normal, if only for a few minutes.
In about a week we're flying to Michigan.  I'm terrified of the journey.  Actually, I was terrified before I broke my leg.  Having never flown with my own baby, I'm worried she's going to cry the whole time, that we're going to be 'that family' that annoys the heck out of everyone else on the airplane.  And now, I've got this leg to deal with.  It's so bad that I don't know if I'll be able to take care of her that much - my poor husband has to somehow keep both of us happy, and that's not an easy task in our own home, much less an airplane.
Well, I would write more, and definitely edit more, but this hurts.
I guess I'll keep trying to think positive... but I just feel like something has been stolen from me.  I read on mybrokenleg.com that feeling depressed is normal after a break like this...
Meh.

How breaking my ankle is going to make me a better blogger

Well, I guess it's all right there in the title.  On July 25th I broke my ankle.  I fell down the stairs while carrying my baby.  My mama bear instincts just took over, thank goodness.  It was the strangest thing - it happened so quickly and so slowly all together right there on the stairs.  I felt my body turning as I cradled my little girl to protect her.  When we landed I was much relieved to find that she was just fine.  Sadly, I'm not.  I won't be able to bear weight on my right ankle for quite some time.  

It could have been so much worse, that fall down the stairs.  Instead of breaking my ankle, I could have snapped my spine - just as easily and just as fast; and that would have been a permanent change. 

Instead of watching tv all day or sitting around feeling sorry for myself (although I must confess to having done some of both), from now on out I'm going to do my best to take this as an opportunity to do something new, interesting, and fun.  Whatever happens, it'll definitely be different than what I had planned.  (Cleaning my house, canning tomatoes, gardening...!)

I guess what I'm trying to say is that here's a new commitment from me to whoever happens to be reading this--- I'll try to share at least a few of the things that I learn and experience over the next year.

Wish me luck!!

Wow. Words can't describe---

Well I'm a mom now.
What a miracle!!

I had absolutely no idea how wonderful it is to be a mom.  And if you've been reading my posts, you know that I wanted to become a mom, almost desperately.  However - I really just had no idea.

Please be Gentle

A friend on my fb support group posted this.  It really resonated with me, so I thought I'd share.

Please Be Gentle
By Jill B. Englar

Please be gentle with me for I am grieving.
The sea I swim in is a lonely one
and the shore seems miles away.
Waves of despair numb my soul
as I struggle through each day.
My heart is heavy with sorrow.
I want to shout and scream
and repeatedly ask 'why?'
At times, my grief overwhelms me
and I weep bitterly,
so great is my loss.
Please don’t turn away
or tell me to move on with my life.
I must embrace my pain
before I can begin to heal.
Companion me through tears
and sit with me in loving silence.
Honor where I am in my journey,
not where you think I should be.
Listen patiently to my story,
I may need to tell it over and over again.
It’s how I begin to grasp the enormity of my loss.
Nurture me through the weeks and months ahead.
Forgive me when I seem distant and inconsolable.
A small flame still burns within my heart,
and shared memories may trigger
both laughter and tears.
I need your support and understanding.
There is no right or wrong way to grieve.
I must find my own path.
Please, will you walk beside me?

Update

Dealing with the aftermath of this miscarriage (on July 27) has been totally different than the one I had in October.  The last time this happened to me, I was back out in the public just 3 days later - and I was doing my regular day-to-day thing a week later.

This time, not so much.
I think it has a lot to do with how things happened - finding out that there wasn't a heartbeat, and getting on a plane the next day anyways, only to lose the baby during a layover at the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport. (Horrific!  See poem below.)

Today is one of my good days.  I've been able to have lunch out with Nick, and go to the grocery store, for the first time since being in Michigan, and I was ok!  Yesterday was probably the worst day I've had.  I spent the entire day in bed, and a lot of my waking hours in tears.  Sometimes when I'm crying, I'm thinking about our baby that didn't make it, but a lot of the time I'm just feeling sad/depressed/hopeless/out of control.  One of the hardest things that I'm experiencing is this feeling of being strapped into a hormonal roller coaster of intense emotions.  I can't seem to stop it or compartmentalize like usual.  I am being forced to confront it all, ready or not.

I made a list of my symptoms today to see them all written out in front of me.  If things don't start looking up pretty soon then, according to the research I've done online, I will be officially 'clinically depressed.'  Hopefully, today is the start of a turn-around.  I'm trying to not overdo it though, still trying to take it easy - one thing at a time.