There’s a song in Les Miserables – “One Day More” – where the revolutionaries sing about how their hopes for freedom could be recognized the next day. And of course the next day, pretty much all of them die. Three days from now, I’ll be having a pair of really scary injections and I’m feeling the panic set in.
I resolved myself a couple of months ago that it was time to do something a bit more drastic in terms of treatments, but then when I had the consultation with this expert pelvic pain doctor (who says he’s given over 2500 of these injections, like it’s supposed to make me feel better somehow) and after all of his testing, my pain’s been worse. I’m not a happy person. But now, it seems there’s nowhere to go but ahead with the injections, so Wednesday at 2:00pm Pacific time, I’ll have 2 needles stuck into my… well… yeah, there. Where the baby came out three and a half years ago and stretched my nerves to kingdom come.
So while there are moments of daydreaming that perhaps I could spend a pain-free day at the park with my daughter soon, or that I might actually feel up to reorganizing our garage or possibly taking a trip without an insane amount of painkillers in-tow, most of the time I’m scared to death. Obviously after all this time, I’ve studied all of the ins and outs of all the treatment options and intellectually, I know it’s the right thing to try next. But on a primal level, there’s just something about someone pricking me there that I’m really not wanting to happen. And the thought of the anesthetic and/or steroid combination contained within causing some sort of side-effects. I’m one of those people who always gets the side-effects.
So as I count down the hours, it’s going to be a rough few days. Luckily, we’ve had time to plan accordingly, so if I’m completely out of commission from pain, my daughter will have care. My mom is coming to town tomorrow to help us out around the house and assist in taking care of everybody. My sister has helped by coming with me to doctors. My physical therapist has prepared me for what I should expect. I have another babysitter lined up, and food deliveries coming tomorrow. I’m trying not to think of the expense of it all, because I’m thinking of the future – if, in three days, I really could have more freedom to enjoy life, then the risk will be worth it. I expect I’ll need more than one set of injections, as does the doctor, but it’s a first step on this particular path.