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Off the patch



of fentanyl; hope i dont have to use that again. It works as well actually better than most, but man was i drugged. today im dizzy; like head between my knees dizzy. i think sleeping so long [24hours!!!] might have lowered my blood pressure too much so with the strong meds for that it was too low. i dunno. really i dont. how rare to sleep so much and how lovely. oh i wrote sth, trying to understand how to get back in suck it up mode:When I was in labor, sixteen years ago this August 25, I had an interesting thing happen to me. It was twenty-six hours of agony; torture indeed. There were no chirping birds or lovey-dovey feelings; well not until the end result was in my arms (what a cutie). Although I was in agony, I refused to cry out loud from pain for over twenty hours. I felt it was counterproductive.The walls were thin in the labor ward; either that, or the other women really had great lung capacity for screaming. I mean to listen to it made me so enraged; why couldn't they bite on a stick? I was busy concentrating on breathing and not crying out loud. I wasn't very interested in being understanding. I was sixteen, scared as I can be, and ready to kill my future husband. Yes, I would have married the sod when I found out I was pregnant if my mother would have signed off on it. Instead, I waited until I was eighteen, which I very much regret.Anyways, my husband was great; bringing me ice, smuggling in Life Savers (any idea how awful it is to not be given anything from the nurses for so long?) But after twenty hours, he kind of lost it. "Why don't you just scream? Why are you so silent? Why don't you squeeze my hand until it hurts me? Why must you ALWAYS be so quiet?" I had been through a lot of physical pain from a diseased kidney in the time we were together, so I guess he had an inkling of how I dealt with pain.But his questioning of why I didn't scream out loud while in labor made me question myself: Why didn't I just let loose? Wouldn't it feel better? And so I did. He was happy. I was not. I lost control then, from the pain, no longer having any power over it, as I did when I was silent.Today, I do the same thing. I am silent for so long; but then someone comes along and unlocks my voice. Then there's an outpouring of anger, sadness and pain unlike anything they've ever seen. I think. And to what purpose does it serve? When someone asks, 'How are you today?' why do I not just lie now, as I once did so often? What purpose does it really serve to be vocally miserable?And I find myself wishing to be so silent again. Ignore it and it might go away. Right? I'm tired of hearing myself complain about pain. Of course, it isn't always so bad either. Normal pain is pretty tolerable, and I'm so used to it. It's the persistence of said pain that really breaks a person into half of who they once were. And I find there is no pill, no patch, available to alleviate it all. Bummer that.But to stop writing about it? I don't think I can. Writing for me is mostly sad anyway; the happy parts of my life (family, love and friendships) are never adequately portrayed in writing. Perhaps I should work on that. Yeah. Lessons of the past do tend to visit me. I wonder if they're as counterproductive as crying out in pain? Well, I am my own worst hobby.


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