Early morning, with Felexine. I haven't really slept well at all, the pain has been too intense. I don't think anything has changed with disease progression since last week, I think it has to be behavioural. I'm pretty constipated from the T3s, and that is at least part of it. I need to call my nurse practitioner about work paperwork regardless, so I'll ask then.
I'm going into work this morning to hand in my short term disability paperwork. And to tell the final people who don't know what's going on, and telling them I'll be away for at least six months. I was dreading this all last week, but after Friday it doesn't seem nearly as bad. The benefit of perspective, I guess. Everyone's going to be supportive, but it's still going to be an exhausting morning.
Good news! I have something for the abdominal pain now.
Good news! It works really well!
Bad news! I have about the same tolerance for T3s as I do for everything else, so that's fun.
From the comments
James Petrosky: This would be fine if they were for home, but less so for driving and work (especially because the position I'm physically in for driving is really bad for pain.)
James Petrosky: It's great to feel at home in my body for the first time in a year, but the cost is a little bit more of the normal I'm coming to miss more and more every day.
James Petrosky: I've wanted to make posts about "the thing they don't tell you about cancer is" with a thousand little adjustments (buying a new large bottle of extra strength Tylenol every trip to the grocery store, when normally one a year was a lot) but the reality is that you really cling to everything that still feels normal, knowing that many of them have a time limit (the big one for me is work, I think I probably have 2-4 weeks before I go on leave, and I'm not ready to recon with that yet). Today I learned that my reaction to T3s means that I have to give up forklift driving and height work or be risk fairly severe pain. That is a lot of normal lost, and a lot of either lying about why or filling people in on the situation.
What they don't tell you is that normal is the currency you pay along the road to treatment.
And every time you make a payment, the part of your brain you can take a mental break from it in shrinks. Until all that's left is existential terror and exhaustion, from the disease and from the side effects.
That's pretty fucking bleak, I'm not feeling that trash tonight. I have felt that trash, I drove 6 hours alone in pain knowing every second of the trip that the reward I was looking forward to was breaking my parents' hearts with this fucking news. Nothing will ever feel like that.
I'm alright tonight. A little bit high on T3s. Watching math videos and playing with my stupid electronic toy instruments. If I was healthy right now, I'd be doing exactly the same (except it would be cannibis)