So, some of you (probably not many) may be wondering where I’ve been.
Let me say first, that I LOVE this blog. I love being able to say random shit. I love it when someone comments back and I know they got a little giggle out of something stupid I said.
Here’s the thing.
I have hurt throughout my entire body for almost as long as I can remember. I remember being 10 and complaining that my body hurt. I remember adults telling me that I was too young to be hurting.
Listen, bitches. I wouldn’t have said I was hurting, if I wasn’t.
I joined the army when I was 19. I remember being scared. Not of the Drill Sergeants, or of the new experience. I was totally stoked to be serving and honoring my country.
I was afraid that I would get in trouble because I was hurting so bad I couldn’t get out of bed. Or do push ups. Or whatever else was expected of me.
My pain became almost unbearable sometime last year. I kept going to the doctor, but nothing was done. I went over and over. I cried to my doctor. She wouldn’t listen for the longest time.
Finally she put me on Cymbalta. It helped. I felt great. I could move without wanting to cry. I could do the dishes and not have to lay on the couch the rest of the day and evening, not being able to do anything else.
Then about 3 months after I started it, it quit working.
So I went back to the doctor a few times. I cried. I pleaded. I begged.
So she upped my Cymbalta dose.
And I felt better. For about a month.
And then I went back to my doctor. I cried. I pleaded. I begged.
She put me on Lyrica.
After about a month of still having pain, and feeling like I was in a fog, not knowing if I was going to be able to continue taking Lyrica because I felt like I couldn’t function, the clouds parted.
I felt invincible. I could do the dishes. I could sweep and mop the floor. I could go to the park with my kids. I could go shopping.
Unfortunately, I had to wait to be able to receive the meds from the company who makes it. In the mean time, there were a few times my doctor’s office ran out of samples.
There have been so many days that I couldn’t force myself to roll out of bed until I had to pick my brats up from school. How many days were there that I couldn’t be bothered to brush my teeth or hair, let alone change out of my pajamas? Too many to count.
So there you have it. I haven’t been able to blog like I used to.
The med company has just started to send me the meds I need. I have great hopes that I will be able to continue to take Cymbalta and Lyrica and be able to function like a normal human being.
Lucky you. You might be able to get more of my witty, off the wall posts. Well, maybe not lucky you.
A couple months ago, we brought our older dog in to have his teeth cleaned. He just had yuckyish teeth. And a bit of a heart murmer. The vet wanted to get his teeth done just to make sure that his yuckyish teeth wouldn’t add to the heart murmur problem.
But I had a bad feeling. Very bad. I just knew.
Just a little bit after I dropped Gruff off I got a phone call. It was the vet. I didn’t want to answer it, but I knew I had to.
His lab work was off.
He is in kidney failure.
What does this mean?
It means he is dying.
And yes, he is old. I know that. He’s 12 or 13. Hard to say. He was a rescue dog.
But to actually know he is in the dying process is heart-wrenching. Oh God, how it hurts.
We had to change his food to a low protein formula, and fuck is it expensive.
That didn’t help.
So now we get to poke a big,fat needle into the scruff of his neck twice a week and give him an I.V.
It’s not that hard, technically. I just hate to have to hurt him.
And basically all we are doing is prolonging his life. Hopefully making sure his quality of life as good as possible, for as long as possible.
What’s worse is that we don’t even know how long he has. He may live for a couple more months, or he may “crash and burn” in a couple of days.
What I ask of my fellow bloggy friends is to please pray for my pup.