I am running out of strength to survive each day, and hope for his strength to carry me through. I am am exhausted from fending off the physical sensations tearing through my body as a result of the damage to my pudendal nerve. I am tired of waking each day hoping to feel relief only to realize it is still there tormenting my body, mind and spirit. This is not living it is barley survival. I feel like I am beginning to sound like a broken record as I cry out that "I can't do this anymore!!!"
I am asked to change my meds to Cymbalta because it has had some success with both depression and nerve pain. I thought it was possibly helping, but today not so much. Then there is the trade off of possible relief for nausea, shaking, blurry vision, headaches, lack of focus, and insomnia. What else am I supposed to endure. If by meeting my needs God means mere survival, then I guess he is doing what he promised, but I need more. I am feeling pretty crappy on the new med, but agree to stick it out as I pack my bags to go back to San Francisco for a full week hoping that the side effects will calm down sooner than later. I think the most bothersome effect is knowing my emotions without really feeling them. At least this buys me time and keeps me out of the hospital for my own safety. Well, that and the fact that my therapist and psychiatrist know that I am as responsible as I am desperate, and I have 2 days of work left then I am off to treatment in San Francisco. I could never let my director or students down.
As I pack to go I feel a sense of both relief and fear. I am relieved that I am finally getting the long awaited treatment, but fearful that it won't be the cure I am hoping for. I am grateful to know that I am not crazy, and I don't believe for one minute that God didn't place me in the right place with the right person that has the same condition so that I didn't kill myself, but had hope for a cure. Although, I am still pissed off that this has even happened and derailed my recovery from the eating disorder. I am blessed as well with the financial ability to fly back and forth and pay out of pocket for the treatment. I am blessed with an amazing husband that truly understands what it means to love "in sickness and health" My sister has agreed to go with me this time since my husband seems to think being by myself isn't such a great idea, after all there is a big bridge out there.
I get on the plane, of course, feeling no symptoms, but a great deal of anxiety. I close my eyes and curl onto the side that hurts least silently praying that God will use the Doctors, nurses and physical therapists to be his healing hands.
As I pack to go I feel a sense of both relief and fear. I am relieved that I am finally getting the long awaited treatment, but fearful that it won't be the cure I am hoping for. I am grateful to know that I am not crazy, and I don't believe for one minute that God didn't place me in the right place with the right person that has the same condition so that I didn't kill myself, but had hope for a cure. Although, I am still pissed off that this has even happened and derailed my recovery from the eating disorder. I am blessed as well with the financial ability to fly back and forth and pay out of pocket for the treatment. I am blessed with an amazing husband that truly understands what it means to love "in sickness and health" My sister has agreed to go with me this time since my husband seems to think being by myself isn't such a great idea, after all there is a big bridge out there.
I get on the plane, of course, feeling no symptoms, but a great deal of anxiety. I close my eyes and curl onto the side that hurts least silently praying that God will use the Doctors, nurses and physical therapists to be his healing hands.
