I HATE my body. A Rant.

I hate my body. Right now I am getting to the point where I just want to end it all because my body will never keep up with my mind. I’m sitting in my bedroom alone while my husband steam cleans the carpets. It was my job to help with the kids and getting toys out of the way.

So first thing this morning when he went to get the steam rental and breakfast, dumb Lorna decides to vacuum. Then when the vacuum plugged, I got down on the floor, using vacuum as cane, and opened it up. I spent many minutes hunched over the vacuum cleaning out the c.log. (This by the way was baby bottle nipple and tissue. How our vacuum sucked up a baby bottle nipple is beyond me. I’m suspecting foul nipple play from the children. You know one of them thought it would be fun to see if they could suck it up with the hose.)

Foul nipples aside, I finished clearing the clog and went back to standing and vacuuming my bedroom. If there is one room in the house I like to be at least partially put together it is my bedroom. For Mark it is his kitchen. I say “his” kitchen because if it were mine we’d have to give it a name suitable to my MS type of cooking like “The Fire Pit” or “The Lost Potatoes.”

So I was vacuuming. Then I got a stitch n my side. I figured it was 1. Exercise with the vacuum when I am still recovering from running the wine booth for MS MOMS at the renaissance faire last weekend, or 2. It’s because I have an empty stomach and sometimes that can give pain.I stopped cleaning and do what Good Lorna does. She lay face down on the bed and took deep breaths waiting for the side pain to go away. It worsened. Soon I could no longer roll over, nor lift up to my knees. Mark was not home yet and the kids were beginning to act up.Panic began to set in. How could I care for the children when I was now in so much pain upon moving, I couldn’t sit up? Aidan came toddling in just as I heard what IO thought was the front door and Mark.

“Mommy’s hurt. Go get Daddy.” He responded instantly running off to get this father. He came back with no Mark.“Daddy not here.”
“Check the garage.”
“Otay!” Off he ran. At this point I was wondering why this pain was not subsiding and why when I tried to roll or sit up the pain spread from my side into my back and belly. Aidan came back in. “Daddy not here.” I took a deep sigh which I hoped would release the tension and therefore the pain. It hurt to breathe. Now I’m panting and getting close to tears. “I take care of you.”Aidan says next to me. I cry and nod.

He pounces on my back. I scream. I cursed and in my best impression of a werewolf in severe pain I tried NOT to bite my son, and then cried some more. It was decision time. Do I call 911 and go to the hospital? It could be something serious. I not only have secondary progressive multiple sclerosis but I am also recovering from taking an immune suppressant (methotrexate) that did so well I kept catching bug after bug after bug. Maybe I have another kidney infection that has gone bad. Maybe I truly hurt something inside.

But then, what if I call, sit in the ER for 8 hours to be told I am sore from coughing or vacuuming. I hated being treated like a hypochondriac or being sent home with “it’s your MS.” I would wait.And wait.When Mark came home with donuts and a steam cleaner, I was lying face down on the bed crying and hyperventilating from pain and panic. Mark was very gentle in asking what was wrong and there was so much pain that radiated when I tried to move we could not pinpoint the cause. Was it nerves? Muscles? Something deeper inside?

I told Mark to give me my morphine. In my mind this is what they do at the ER when you are in excruciating pain and cannot pinpoint it. They get you out of pain and then talk.Mark finally relented after about 15 mins when it was obvious the pain was not leaving and in fact worsening. 15 minutes after that I rolled to my side and was free of pain. So did good Lorna respect that her body was worn out and there was little cleaning she could do to help her husband?Nope. I got up. As I was going about the house I started coughing. A deep barking cough that kept surprising me when it happened. But the coughing fits got worse and worse. I would blow my nose repeatedly trying to breathe through the nose and not the mouth which would aggravate the throat/chest. My nose was running so I could not breathe through it. (Smooth moves all that sobbing. It gives you a headache, puffy eyes, and you can’t breathe through your nose for hours!)

So now I am covered in a cold clammy sweat from coughing so long and hard as I crawled around on the kids’ floor picking up toys. They were helping of course, which meant every toy needed to be inspected and tested to ensure its kid approval before it was put away. Finally, I could no longer hold on. I was not in pain, I was dizzy. I was coughing up my lung or trying to. I wondered if the morphine making the pain stop triggered some sort of bronchial spasm. Whatever it was causing the cough I couldn’t stop, I was sweating, and knew that I was being just plain dumb.

Besides not being able to scold the kids because it starts a 5 minute coughing spell, is very annoying and cramps my parenting style which is for them to slowly drive me crazy while my body gives out.In the end after my instance, Mark called his father to come help watch kids, while I rest and he cleans. I hate needing to rest. I hate being told to rest. I hate that for some reason (probably the hot mint tea w/ honey and codeine cough syrup) I had stopped coughing by the time Grandpa came over.

Here I am. My back is beginning to hurt again as I write this. I’m still exhausted from LAST weekend on my feet. I am watching myself shuffle, need a cane more, wear out by 1pm instead of 4pm. Now there is sharp shooting pain down my right arm. Call the doctor? Why so I can sit and wait to be told “It’s your MS, here is cough syrup and pain meds, go home.” I got my meds. I don’t need another doctor from UC Davis looking at me like I’m a freak when I come in and NOTHING shows up on the chem. or examination. I just need to finish ranting and go back to bed. Like a good disabled woman. I hate being good. Sometimes the MS/cold/flu/stress wins.

And some days they lose. Tomorrow is another day and another chance to kick auto-immune butt.