My first night home was like living in a horror movie. I couldn't get out of bed, I couldn't get out of chairs. I couldn't get comfortable. I will never again scoff at the television commercials for people who suffer from opioid constipation. I owe my husband a serious boon for everything he had to do to take care of me overnight, especially when my screaming woke him up at 2 this morning. He's been really good to me today also, even in between all the hard work he put in building another stretch of raised garden beds on the north side of the lawn. I am taking nothing for granted, and he deserves a public thanks for keeping a good attitude through all of this.
Somewhere around 4 am Saturday, the ER staff gave me three prednisone pills. That was the last time I received anything I recognized for inflammation the entire time I was hospitalized. I can't express how shocking I find this. It seemed pretty obvious to me that massive inflammation was the big thing keeping me from feeling better, in the face of powerful narcotic painkillers and muscle relaxants. When I came home last night, I started back up on my twice daily prescription NSAIDs. By tonight, an hour or so after the third pill, I started thinking that I was feeling less pain when I was stationary. Movement still sucks, but I am finding it much easier to sit in a chair. Perhaps it wasn't wise that I sat in a rocking chair watching a very exciting basketball game, trying to celebrate without waving my arms and pumping my fists when CU knocked off 9th-ranked Arizona, but my little jolts of pain were short-lived. I have made a point of pushing myself up every hour, no matter how stiff I am, and walking around the house. I've even added a trip up and down the stairs to most promenades. I see very real progress.
After the unrepeatably terrible experiences I had overnight, I think I have found the correct method to get out of my overly tall bed. I roll onto my stomach, gently lower one leg down to the floor at a time, and then do a push-up until my legs can take over and hold me up. My rising time has shortened from 20-45 minutes, down to about 5. I'm feeling so confident that I emailed the woman who was working to get home health care approved through my insurance (there was one failure for a clinic being out of network), and suggested I may be able to go just to outpatient physical therapy. I don't know whether clinics around here have any sort of hydrotherapy, where I could be in a pool to gain strength without having to hold up my entire body weight against gravity, but I did ask about it. Who knows, maybe it exists but needs a specific prescription to get it. At least this way I've planted the idea.
I wonder whether it is the drugs making me feel so hopeful and confident. Am I foolish for having this much optimism? Is it just because I got to be surrounded by my family that I feel stronger and braver? I'm so tired of hurting. I am going to put all my effort into going forward, and trying to avoid setbacks. But I'm not so stupid that I won't take it one day at a time. Anything could happen tomorrow.
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