So. . . I have to be completely honest right now. I ran out of Cymbalta today and I'm feeling just a little . . . what the hell do you call it? Uhhhh. . . . manic . . . No, bi-polar, I think. Whatever. Maybe I'm dyslexic or I've just lost my mind. Anyway, I feel like crap. But don't worry, my dealer, I mean doctor, has got some waiting for me at his office, and if I can ever get five minutes without someone wanting something, I can go pick them up. (provided that happens between the hours of 9am and 5 pm.)
But in the mean time, I have to amuse myself with tossing peanut butter cookies at the dogs while I am stuck eating a salad with not enough Ranch dressing on it. It's not as bad as it seems because the dogs are really funny. Pete and Angel know how to catch things in mid-air. Because I teach all my dogs how to do cool stuff like that - thank you very much. But I've got these two puppies that have yet to become educated in such silliness. I've been busy lately, okay ? So in between bites of rabbit food, I'm trying to teach them a thing or two about becoming "cool dogs". I've got a big tin of peanut butter cookies that have already caused me a great deal of. . . internal grief and because I am no longer pleased with these cookies, they must go. Anyway, Phoenix, my brown pup - the one withOUT brain damage- is at least trying. However, Midnight, the sweet black pup - with obvious issues - just looks at me expectantly, then seems puzzled when he is hit with a flying cookie which slides down his nose and onto the floor. After a few moment of cautious inspection, he eats it. (If he can get to it before my 20 pound miniature pincher does.) As much as it pains me, I'm afraid that Midnight might never become a cool dog - not enough oxygen to the brain at birth, I'm afraid. It's very sad, but at least it brings me a few late night chuckles. ( And he has a heart as big as the world, so I can forgive him anything.)
Okay, here's a thought that has occurred to me recently. One of the contributing reasons for moving my blog to this site, was to obtain more freedom to blog. Well, actually, I didn't want my mother, or my mother in law, or every single member of my husband's family to be privy to every random thought that I had. That doesn't mean that I'm not still a sweet, wholesome, sensitive girl from Kansas. But there are some people, who might be shocked to learn that I throw stale peanut-butter cookies at a retarded dog's nose late at night, just for a good laugh. I'm not proud of myself, I'm just saying that it's funny. Anyhow, I've finally got some space to blog without the judgement of in-laws and family members, and I have done nothing with my freedom. So I ask myself, why this is ? (when I talk to myself, I don't worry about using proper grammar.) The answer, of course, completely escapes me. Which is why I have changed the title and look of my blog. (Do you like it?) I love wolves, and I feel happy when I pull this page up. Therefore, I've decided that my New Year's resolution will be to claim my blog. I am going to write what I want , when I want, the way that I want. Of course, I'll still use spell check - I don't want to make a complete ass of myself. In fact, I am feeling so rebellious, that I am starting today, instead of waiting until New Year's! I know, it's a daring move. . . I'm going from The Yellow Brick Road, to Howling at the Moon, in one giant leap. Gosh, I hope y'all can keep up.
Okay, Here's an example. of real life. My husband, the big ol' bear, just wandered out of his sleeping den to go pee. (that's right, I'm talking about bears urinating.) I'm really pissed off at him, and I don't know what to do. Here is the situation. My husband is a hypochondriac. I'm fairly certain that he spends every moment mentally examining himself for any possible pain or symptom that might exist. Since the day I met him, he's been whinging about his back. This is NOT a result of all his hard work on a daily basis, although, he does work hard. This pain is the result of years of wild living, and hard drinking that he did as a teen and a young adult before he met me. Depending on his mood, it's either the result of falling off a horse, or it could be from the time that he wrecked his motorcycle, or possibly from a soft ball pitching injury - all of which probably occurred during a drunken stupor - hence the lack of clarity regarding the issue. In any case, he has been to many, many doctors to have it fixed. They either tell him that they can't find anything wrong, or they want to do surgery to find the problem. Neither answer is a solution to his problem.
Let me tell you what the problem is. The problem is that my husband refuses to discuss, or deal with, issues that upset him, or cause him stress. The result of stuffing all that anxiety down inside, comes out in the form of back pain. One of the reasons that I fell in love with him was because he is such a calm, gentle soul. However, I have discovered that the flip side to that is that he is painfully non-confrontational. Which is a problem when you are raising children. Children require rules, and boundaries, and sometimes, discipline. He would rather tell them "yes" out of fear, than "no" out of love. I am absolutely certain that yes, his pain is real. However, since medical doctors have been no help to him, for 30 years, he chose to medicate the problem with alcohol, which has resulted in him becoming an alcoholic. After much heartache, and almost 12 months in jail, he gave up alcohol. That was almost 7 years ago.
Since he quit drinking, he's been doing what seems to be the right thing, which is go back to the doctor. Unfortunately, since surgery isn't really an option, and years of physical therapy hasn't helped, all they can really do is give him pain pills when it gets bad. Being married to a person who is on pain pills, for long periods, is alot like being single. There is a warm body in my bed most of the time, it just doesn't do much. Even when he's awake - he's a zombie. And when the doctor finally decides that he can't continue prescribing pain meds any longer, it's too late - everyone has to endure the withdrawls.
So, I've been feeling very frustrated and cranky lately. He always seems to have some level of back pain - usually, it's manageable with over the counter pain meds, but even that is having an effect on his stomach. It's becoming more and more obvious to me, that his most of his major back pain flare ups occur when life gets stressful for him.
I've talked to his doctor and had him cut off, but he just goes to another doctor. I could bitch and scream at him, but that's not going to relieve any one's stress. Being sweet and understanding doesn't fix addiction. I'm not a psychiatrist, I can't get him to talk about things that he has been avoiding for the past 47 years. And since it really is painful for him, Roy has a hard time believing that his pain can be anything OTHER than physical - what a surprise ! I don't know how to deal with this. It's frustrating, but I'm not the kind of person who gives up. People in my life are NOT disposable. I just need to figure out the appropriate tact to take. I'm thinking maybe something sneaky and underhanded might do the trick. I just hate to resort to that. I have to think about it some more. Am I the only person who believes that stress, anxiety, and other negative emotions can result in real physical pain and illness?
Okay, I'm done howling for tonight. I need to get some sleep. But I'll be back later.
Love to all,
Wednesday, December 26, 2007