Relief

Miss Surly Pants

Finally.  I saw my plastic surgeon last Thursday. Now the woman does beautiful work (as my breast surgeon remarked, as she sent me my plastic surgeon's way, "She makes such beautiful breasts.").  My plastic surgeon certainly does make beautiful breasts, but she doesn't seem to understand pain management.  Rather than trying to downplay my pain, as I tend to do, in this appointment I made it very clear how much pain I was in and how emotionally devastating this pain was to me.

Her response?  "Did you have this type of pain before?"
My response: "No, I can directly relate this pain to the surgery to remove my breasts and then to put new ones in."

I talked about how my muscles were very, very tight at night, waking me up, requiring me to do stretches and massage in order to lessen the pain, so that I could go back to sleep.

After a lengthy discussion, she tells me that she just doesn't know how to help me.  I tell her to give me Flexeril (a muscle relaxer), and that perhaps I need to see a pain management specialist, if this doesn't work.  She adds Motrin to her prescription, telling me to take 800 mg three times a day, along with the Flexeril at night.

That worked. I am able to sleep, only waking up maybe once a night in lesser pain, which I can quickly stretch out and then go back to sleep.  The only drawback is that the Flexeril leaves me tired throughout the next day, but this seems to have lessened as I must be adjusting to the medication.  I am very, very grateful to be in less pain.

And at the same time, I am pissed.  Soon after our appointment, I received an email saying that my medical record had just been updated (George Washington University has electronic records which can be viewed by the patient).  Clicking through to the system, I find the plastic surgeon's medical notes from our visit. The note read something like this, "I am still not convinced that the source of the pain is muscular."

What the fuck? She's not convinced the source of my pain in muscular?  The fact that I have to constantly stretch and massage my muscles for relief is not convincing enough?  Arrogant, arrogant doctor.  The good news is that she will send me on to a pain management specialist after this, so that I do not have to convince this current doctor of the source of my pain.

This constant pain has obviously left me a little surly and is affecting my entire attitude.  I am pissed that I got Stage IV breast cancer right out the door, that I am forced to look at my very possible early and unpleasant death, that in my vanity, I decided to have breast implants, which are creating a discomfort I did not need added to all the other garbage going on with my health.

Okay. I'll stop bitching.  I need a vacation. I need one goddamn good thing to happen to me. Yeah. I know. Being alive a year and a half after experiencing the first symptoms of metastatic breast cancer is a positive thing. Still, what a wonderment it would be to have one nice thing happen to me.  No more deaths of my loved ones.  No more diagnoses of horrible diseases. No more painful and/or debilitating side effects. Throw a gal a bone.  Something. Anything.  I'm not picky.

And somehow, set me free of this pissed off, exhausted place I'm in while you're at it. Being Miss Surly Pants is only making it worse.