Been a while since I posted. The last 8 weeks have been a roller coaster.
May was a blur. I finally stopped and just listened to my body in an effort to shut down the pain cycles. The result was that my medication use skyrocketed. Seriously - prior to the breakthrough pain episode in April, I was on a fairly standard pain management regimen for CIPN: anti-seizure meds & off label use of an anti-depressent to shut down the tingling and deal with faint numbness. Plus a painkiller for the bone ache before bed. My family doc responded by doubling the meds and increasing the use of painkillers to its maximum dosage.
It helped. And it didn't. May was a blur because I spent it medicating the pain away, and I hardly remember anything. Daily routines involved gulping meds upon waking, and taking painkillers. Watching the clock until it was OK to take more painkillers, to manage the dull bone ache that had my body in its grip. And then going to bed, slipping into a deep sleep with troubled dreams - only to wake in disoriented pain and gulp down more painkillers. Wash, rinse, repeat: wake up, gulp meds & painkillers; watch the clock; go to bed.
I am not alone in this. One in five - 20 percent - of Canadians suffer from chronic pain. The impact?
"Three quarters of the people waiting for care at Canadian pain clinics say it interferes with their normal work life. More than half suffer from severe levels of depression. And almost 35 per cent report that they've considered suicide." (http://www.cbc.ca/news/health/chronic-pain-poorly-understood-costing-canada-billions-1.2681223)
On the one hand, I was lucky to have a doctor who believed me. She listened as I described the pain and its impact on my life. And then she acted. I am grateful for her willingness to provide support and relief. (If she hadn't, I quite easily would have slipped into a severe depression - chronic pain just wears a soul down.)
But the only options my doc offered were bleak: Long term use of painkillers, and other medications. Long term disability for the near future, and likely until I "retired." No cure in sight.
Life in the "After" of cancer treatment sometimes feels overwhelmingly difficult.
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