For most of yesterday, I sat at my computer wondering why I hurt so bad. I figured that if I was going to have a bad day this week, it would have been Monday (my first day back to work in three weeks).
Nope. Because nothing health-related can ever make sense in my world, the flare had to visit me Tuesday. By the time the clouds had gathered, I was an 8 out of 10 on the pain scale. I saw it coming, but there was stuff to do.
By the time work was over, my body was involuntarily L-shaped. I had been so focused on work that I couldn’t unbend myself or get out of my chair at quitting time. I was sad, achy, stiff, cold, and anxiously jumping to worst-case scenarios in no time.
What if this time it gets so bad I have to stop working for good? What will happen to us?
Then I remembered the cannabis gummies sitting on my nightstand, and I took one-fourth of one.
I recently read that chronic pain patients don’t take pain meds correctly. Instead of staying on top of their pain and keeping it muffled and bearable, they wait until their pain is so obnoxious they can’t function to seek relief.
There are likely a few reasons for this, ranging from “I am tougher than this pain, I’ll keep pushing” to “I don’t have enough medicine to handle my pain, I’ve got to ration this shit in case things get worse” to “I’m really tired of my government, my doctor, and my pharmacist treating me like a junkie.”
As the cannabis made me comfy, I decided I’m going try not to label people that need relief from pain as anything other than people that need relief from pain.