Sure...why not...

It seems that I am destined to live in pain.

Yesterday at church, we had several people from China in our service.  Most of them have been imprisoned for their faith  Some for a few months; others for years.  One has been very instrumental in helping other prisoners get released in China; he also works for religious freedom for the Chinese people.  He spoke and his testimony was just awe-inspiring.  A couple ministers from the underground church also spoke and it was really fascinating to hear their stories.  We too often take for granted the freedom that we have.  We live in a country where we can believe and worship as we choose, whenever we choose.

Several of the young girls were dancing during our music service, and one of the Chinese women spoke about how she wished that her daughter could have that kind of freedom.  Their children do not know what it is like to worship freely and to sing and talk openly about Jesus.  For crying out loud, half the time children born in China are born "illegally" because they have to have an ordinance of sorts just to be able to get pregnant.  You know, that whole "only one kid" thing.  It's sad to think about living under those circumstances.  Fearing forced abortions.  Fearing imprisonment for believing in Jesus.

What I found so fascinating was this idea of suffering for Christ.  While most of the people that spoke were fearful of prison, once they got there, they realized that Christ had called them to suffer for his name.  And suffer they did.

We think we suffer here.

We don't.

Not really.

Not in comparison with what they suffer.

The man who preached spoke about "sufferology", as he called it, and talked about how we can walk into the local pharmacies and find limitless amounts of medication to make us "pain-free".  I sat there listening, feeling guilty for contemplating taking the Vicodin in my purse (because my back was hurting really bad yesterday morning).  I felt like I should tough it out.  If these people can go to prison, somewhat joyfully, because they know they are suffering for Christ, surely a little back pain isn't going to hurt me.  So I sat there thinking "OK.  How can I use my physical suffering for Christ?"  I never did come to any conclusion, and felt a pang of guilt as I finally did swallow the Vicodin around lunchtime.

Little did I know my "suffering" was about to get worse.

First of all, let me just ask you this:

How many people can lean over to wash their hands and manage to hurt their back?

No one?

Just me?

Because that's how it happened.  We were stopped at a rest area, on our way home from dropping Katherine off at camp.  I leaned over to wash my hands and felt that familiar pull; that "something" in my back just give way.  Pain coursed through my lower back and swept down my legs.  If I thought I had been hurting at church that morning, THAT was nothing compared to how I felt when I attempted to stand up straight after washing my hands.

In comes the guilt, full force.

Because I know where I will end up.

In the E.R.

Because when the pain gets this bad, the only thing I want is just a couple hours of relief.  I don't even care if they send me home with medicine or not.  I just want that couple of hours without the intense pain.  I'm not looking for drugs.  I just want to be able to sit/stand/lay without excruciating pain, even if it is just for a short time.

On top of that, I was still pondering the sermon that morning about suffering for Christ.  Should I be using the pain in my neck and back to somehow be a witness for Christ, instead of trying to make it stop?  What does that even look like?

Beyond that, I look at Kris and think "Here we go again.  He's got to put up with his invalid wife and her pain yet again."  And he does it so graciously.  He just goes with the flow.  He told me that if I needed to go to the E.R. we would go to the E.R.  I contemplated just going home, taking the Vicodin I did have (and a muscle relaxer) and laying down.  But the longer we drove, the worse the pain got.  It would become stabbing, then radiate down into my legs.  I cried half of the way to the hospital, out of pain mostly, but also frustration for having this body that seems to be decaying at a rapid rate.

At one point, as Kris was wheeling me along the hospital corridor, I said to him "This is just getting you ready for what life will be like in ten years, when I am confined to a wheelchair."  He just nodded, smiling slightly and said "I know."  At least, I imagine he was smiling slightly.  That's what I'm telling myself.  I couldn't see his face.  For all I know, he was grimacing at the thought of having to take such extreme care of me.  I told him that our wedding vows...the in sickness and in health part...it was a compromise.  He gets the in sickness part (because it seems there is always something wrong with me) and I get the in health part (because I don't like sick people).  Yes...you can deduce from that statement that I do not like myself when I am sick either.  It isn't just other people, though I do well with the kids.  Unless they are coughing.  Then, well, that's another story.

We know I have two herniated discs in my neck.  We know I have Osteoarthritis/Degenerative Disc Disease/call-it-whatever-you-want.  We know I have several bulging discs up and down my spine.  And do you know what we know now?

It is very likely that the bulging disc in my lower back herniated.  The release papers from the hospital show "Sciatica".  Somewhere in the paperwork it said that it is often caused by the shifting of a disc.  That is the explanation apparently for the fact that the pain was radiating down my legs.

Funny story...

So, they take me back to the triage area, and one of the nurses says "I have to ask you a question.  This is a question we always ask everyone."  Now, before I continue, please note that this is my third trip to this E.R. for myself and they have NEVER asked me this question before.  She proceeds to say "Have you had any thoughts of suicide?"  I thought, "Not lately" but said "No."  She asked if I had any mental illness.  I said "Besides depression, no."  Abbey, who was in the room with me, said very animatedly "You have depression?!?"  I smiled and said "Sometimes."  She said "So that's why you take that medicine!"

Anyway, my medication is in their system.  It's not secret that I take Wellbutrin XL 300mg.  And they have never asked me that before.  The nurse asks again, "But you haven't had any thoughts of suicide?" Again, I tell her no.

I go back to the waiting room and while Kris leaves to take the kids to his mom's, they take me back for x-rays.  USUALLY when I go to Missouri Baptist they get me hooked up to an I.V. right away and administer Dilaudid, which in my mind is a miracle drug.  They were extremely busy last night though, so I waited for at least 2 hours before I ever got back into a room.  After the x-rays are done (which were excruciating), I am taken back to "Room 8".

I'll tell you this right now.  You do NOT want to go to Room 8.  It's like a Stephen King novel.

The nurse came in and told me to put the gown on, saying that she would return when I was dressed and give me medicine.  I'm thinking "Finally!"  She leaves the room, but she doesn't shut the door all the way.  I remember thinking "That's weird. She left the door cracked.  What if someone walks in?"  I'm still alone at this point, because Kris hasn't returned yet.  I change as best I can, and this really sweet nurse comes in and helps me get the gown tied and fastened, then tucks me into the hard bed with it's painfully thin mattress, and covers me with a warm blanket.  She asks if I want the light out.  I'm thinking "It's just after 8pm.  Do people normally want the light out?"

Then I realize that there is no T.V.  Why is there no T.V.?  There is ALWAYS a T.V.  How was I going to watch America's Got Talent to occupy my mind while I waited for a doctor?

I start looking around the room.  The walls are completely bare.  There is this weird camera thing in the corner, that I don't really give much thought to.  I thought that because they were so busy, I got the worst room, just by chance.  Kris arrived with my favorite peach tea (I love that tea--and that man!) and I explained to him that they didn't give me the usual concoction for the pain.  They put an I.V. in, but instead of giving me Dilaudid with the Toridol and Robaxin, they just gave me the Toridol and Robaxin.  The internet told me that Toridol is used for moderate to severe pain.  But I can tell you this.  There is not an immediate effect with Toridol.  At least, not for me.  So, I'm still laying there in agony.  No position is comfortable.  The pain in my legs is almost unbearable.

Shortly after Kris got back, the nurse came in with Dilaudid.  Missouri Baptist redeemed themselves in that moment.  Prior to that, I was so frustrated and in so much pain.  I just knew that they thought I was just some drug addict seeking a quick high.  I have a fairly high pain tolerance.  I might complain a lot, as any drama queen would do.  But in general, living in constant pain, you get used to it.  It's annoying.  It's frustrating.  It hurts.  But it has to get really bad for me to break down and go to the E.R.  Since I had just been in there two months ago, when the discs in my neck herniated, I figured they were intentionally not giving me Dilaudid, because they thought I was just looking for drugs.  I am glad I was wrong.  Or, at the very least, even if I was right, they gave me the medicine anyway.

This took my pain from a 9 to about a 7.  Which is odd, because usually one dose of Dilaudid and I am feeling about 80% better.  That was not the case last night though.  The doctor came in and asked me how I was feeling.  I told her that I felt slightly better but the pain was still at a 7.  She said "So not good enough to go home yet?"  I told her that I could go home, but that I was still in a lot of pain.  She assured me that they would give me another "shot" of Dilaudid before they sent me home.  She explained what I already knew.  Nothing they did was going to relieve the pain completely. I told her I understood and I appreciated the second dose of Dilaudid.  When the nurse came in to give me that, she brought with her 2 Percocet.  By the time I left the hospital, my pain was down between a 5 and 6.  Definitely better than when I first got there.  My legs were still hurting, along with my back (and they still are today).  But ultimately, I got the short relief I was looking for and can function.  Sort of.  I got a work note, saying I can't do anything for 2 days.  I gave it to Kris and told him I was "off duty".  I have my EMG/NCV tomorrow with the pain management doctor, so I plan to tell them about this newest "development" then.

After reviewing my x-rays, the doctor told me that she believes the disc in my lower back, the one right between the lumbar and thoracic spine (not sure which number...L something) has ruptured.  She said that the x-rays show that there is some height loss where the disc should be.  While this can't be confirmed without another MRI, she believes the disc ruptured, and that this is what was causing the pain in my lower back and legs.

Kris posted this on Facebook last night:

"So apparently Jamie now has a herniated disc in her lower back to match the ones in her neck.  Does she get extra points for symmetry?"

My mother-in-law follows up with this:

"Kris how could you use a math term to explain Jamie's condition.  You know she hates math!!!"

I think that perhaps the most amusing part was when Kris got back to the room.  One of his first comments was "Why don't you have a door knob?"  I inspected the door again.  Before I just thought "That is a weird handle."  It was this metal, almost triangular shape.  As soon as Kris said that though, I put it all together.  The questions about my mental state.  The video camera.  The blank walls.  The lack of a televison.  The door locks from the inside and there is no escape.

Oh my goodness I am in the CRAZY room!

The room they reserve for convicts or psychiatric patients!

Purely coincidence, based on how busy they were?

Hmm...you know how I feel about coincidences...