I'm Allergic to Percocet

Some people might call me strong. In reality, I'm a big fat cry baby - you just never see it. Case in point, this last Tuesday night I tripped in my dining room. I was watering my herbs sitting in the windows, and stepped on something, then tripped over it. What happened next? I fell back against the wall thinking I could brace myself and ended up accidentally slamming my arm (which at that point was not in its cast because I was getting ready for bed) on the corner on a wall, in the spot where I just had surgery.

I almost fell over the dining table getting off the wall, and my husband came running over to see what was wrong. In that two second time period from tripping to slamming, I had burst into tears and was screaming from the pain. I'm hysterical when I'm caught off guard like this, and I tend to babble and mumble inaudible things because I can't hear anything over the pain. So, he's trying to get me to tell him what happened, and I end up screaming at him that I tripped and slammed my arm on the wall.

Almost instantly, my arm began to balloon in an area the size of a pumice stone - I mean, it wasn't my whole arm. It was just the area that got slammed that was irritated. I didn't break skin, and I still have no external bruising (for some strange reason) but it is incredibly painful to the point where I lose feeling in my arm. I'm not supposed to ice my arm per doctor's orders, but we iced it for 30 minutes, and I took an OxyContin. Then, I proceeded to NOT FALL ASLEEP. (Big sigh)

The next morning, my husband left for work and left me with our German daughter, who missed most of the debacle the night before. She knew it happened, but I was ushered straight into the bedroom, so she had no idea how bad it was. When I ended up getting out of bed at around 10am, she asked me if I was okay. I thought I was so I took my morning medicines like normal, had a breakfast of leftovers from the night before, and then took a Hydrocodeine.

In less than two hours later, I was flying high as a kite, feeling sick to the depths of my stomach. I HATE that feeling. I tried calling my doctor to see if I needed to get it looked at early, to find out he's on vacation until Monday, and my next appointment with him is on Monday anyway. I remember my husband called to check in on me, and I was crying on the phone that I was high and that I didn't like it and that I needed to throw up - or something. I was running back and forth to the bathroom thinking my meager breakfast was coming up every time, and getting disappointed that my stomach would just end up gurgling for a minute straight. So, I ate 4 Tums and within 10 minutes was puking my guts out.

That's when I gave up and went to bed. I spent the next 4.5 hours trying to sleep, failing, and puking. I couldn't even keep water down. I just lay there, miserable, getting incredibly sore in my neck and hips, unable to move.

At 5 I had to give a piano lesson, and so I forced myself to get up. My German daughter had spent the afternoon out and about, and was back from her adventures, playing with the cat in the office. I jerkily got the house ready for my student, feeling absolutely disgusting. I couldn't just call off the lesson. I forced myself to remain upright and in control of my body. I made it through about 15 minutes of the lesson before I started to feel hot sweats and the tar pit stomach. By 30 minutes, I was barely holding it together.  At 45 minutes of rocking back and forth, trying not to puke or pass out from the sickness and heat, I went and got my German daughter and had her run flash cards with the student, saying that I was going to the bathroom.

I went into my bedroom and bathroom, and because of the air conditioning it was already really cool in there. Instantly I started to feel less like passing out and a little more like putting my head in the toilet. I ran my hands in ice cold water and splashed my face. I gripped the side of the sink and willed myself to make it through the last 10 minutes of the lesson. I don't know how I did it, but I made it through, and immediately after they left, I was in my bathroom with my head in the toilet.

When my husband came home, he blamed himself for giving me the medicine. Now see, I'm highly allergic to Percocet - and OxyContin is a type of Percocet. It's an opiate narcotic that causes me to uncontrollably vomit for hours or even days. It's dangerous to my body. My surgery in 2011 proved my inability to tolerate the drug. I spent a week unable to keep down anything liquid or solid and felt extremely badly for my husband who slept on the hardwood floor in front of the couch, trying to keep up with the many clothing changes, helping me off the bathroom floor, and trying to get food and water into me. I was severely dehydrated - it was the most horrible thing I've ever experienced in my life. So, one little pill can take me out. For DAYS on end.

Well, my doctor is aware of my intolerance to the drug, so he magically gave me the anti-nausea ear patch to wear while I was taking medicine. They last for like 4 days, and he gave me a prescription for 3 of them to get me through the first weeks post-surgery this time around. It helped. I was able to tolerate the drugs in my system, and function. It was a miracle.

Well, needless to say my husband felt guilty because he gave me one of my prescription OxyContin pills thinking that the jarring whack on the wall and the resulting pain and swelling made it necessary. I told him I took a hydro about 2 hours before the adverse reaction began that morning. Normally, I can tolerate a hydro without any nausea medicine IF I take it before bed and I sleep through it. But, that's not what happened. By the time I'd taken the hydro, the oxy had been taken over 12 hours before, so it was safe to take the hydro ... or so I had assumed.

So there I was, miserable on the bed, pillows piled around me, Salonpas patches covering the side I was laying on, unable to function more than to stare at my Kindle screen while a show played. He checked on me, then went to tell our German daughter he brought home a pizza for their dinner (He didn't want to cook, I couldn't, and it was fast and simple.) I proceeded to spend the next 30 minutes with my head in the toilet after I had attempted to eat 3 crackers and drink a glass of water. Low and behold, I walk out of the bathroom and I'm mortified that he's standing right there listening to the whole thing. I made him go eat his pizza in the other room and leave me alone.

It was a nightmare. I wasn't able to feel somewhat settled in my stomach until 10pm, when I asked for a bowl of soup. This morning, after spending 21 hours in bed, I'm pleased to say I haven't had my head in the toilet since 7 last night. We don't know if my arm is okay, and we will have to wait until Monday to find anything out for certain. But, at least I got that damn OxyContin out of my system.

Accidents happen. More so once you're in a fragile state such as mine. But, good rule of thumb - ALWAYS REMEMBER TO TAKE MEDICINE WHEN WEARING THE PATCH. No patch = no medicine. Period.

Back At Work

One would think that after having to go on disability for 2 months and returning to work that maybe I am well enough to actually do the work. I mean, I've had my cast off since the middle of September, I've been in occupational therapy now for a month and a half and have barely used any medicine (because honestly, what medicine works? none of it) that it wouldn't be so bad to return to using a computer 9 hours a day.

Well. Let me educate you on what is really happening.

I told my case worker (who was practically TELLING me to work part-time for a few months) that I'm going back to my full schedule. Normally I work 4 9 hour days, and 1 4 hour day on Thursdays. This is to allow me the time to get to appointments that are always at inconvenient hours, and to get some bloody housework done. Amen right? I mean, for the most part, I love my company and I really enjoy my job so the fact that they offer compressed work weeks is awesome. It would be even more awesome if they would give in and let people work 4 10 hour days but they claim that's too much of a liability .... believe me, I've pestered them.

So here I am, in the middle of week two back at my job. I have lost some friends (who weren't really friends in the first place, they just used me for their own benefit) and my current team has changed a lot, but I have some really good co-workers who are helpful when I need them to be because let's face it: 2 months off of a job that involves routine and knowledge of tiny details for all sorts of one-off situations can leave one feeling overwhelmed with trying to remember everything. My brain hurts. On top of that, there's the stress to perform. I'm permanently disabled by this disease and it's degenerative. Wake up call to those stress givers! In addition to this, I have to deal with the pain of using my hand constantly for 9 hours straight when the pain is unmanageable. I mean, on Monday I did take one of my prescription tramadol (originally for my back) to help alleviate the sharp and festering pains that would not subside and were getting worse, but it can only do so much. So, at the end of the work day my hand and arm are completely shot and exhausted and I have little energy that I can devote to myself, my house, my pets, and most importantly my husband. Hell, I can't even feed myself.

On Sunday evening my in-laws S & J came over to play a game with us. We ate dinner while we played (because well, it was 6 and I had to be up at 3:30 in the morning) and I had to stop game play a few times so I could grunt and yell and do this thing where I halfway lay my head on the table and squeeze my eyes in order to bear through. This is after I spent most all of Friday evening, all of Saturday and most of that Sunday relaxing so as not to aggravate or overuse my arm. And guess what? To my disappointment, I STILL can do NOTHING AT ALL and it's just as bad as if I were sitting in my office keying my work.

So, to everyone who thinks that having Kienbock's is nothing special, you're wrong. It's extraordinary. My boss may not care that I'm different than everyone else, but my friends and family had damn well better understand that this disease is like a sucking chest wound in that you may start with something seemingly curable or manageable, but once you get into that hospital operating room, you realize it's like a tiny black hole in your personal universe, sucking everything in creating a precarious situation that begins collapsing in on itself.

If it were possible for anyone to understand chronic back pain, (I suffer from that as well on a moderate scale but that is beside the point) think of my disease as chronic back pain. If I were a weaker person, I could easily become addicted to prescription medication, I could easily succumb to wasting my life, I could easily turn into an alcoholic, etc. A good number of people with chronic back pain struggle with these kinds of issues because there is no way to manage it. I had a relative die from an addiction brought on by chronic back pain after he fell off of a roof working in his roofing business. I've seen it first hand with co-workers of my father who have those "panic" morphine buttons that they can just inject themselves any time they need while at work. I know their pain. I know their struggles to get through the day without needing to scream your lungs out and insist on chopping off body parts in order to take the pain away. If I were a stronger person than I am, I wouldn't fall into the trap of depression, but I have to be thankful for how strong I am as it is. I couldn't ever let myself be overcome by this disease in ways that broken people might.

So in reality, my return to work is more of a chore and a trial than a need for cash. I mean, I do need cash - I have bills too. But this is extremely difficult. I know there are other jobs out there where it would be more difficult, but this is who I am and what I do. I deserve as much attention for my difficulties where I am at in life.You may think that I should be grateful, and don't think that I am not. But picture yourself doing a job with one arm. What job is it? I don't have nearly as many options as you might think. I'm really stuck with what I've got and I have to pay my bills, I have to have medical insurance and I have to survive like everyone else. There are just days (like every day) where I want to give up and tell my husband that I'm done and there's nothing I can do because the pain is too much, the difficulty in using my hand is too much.