Injuries
As the weeks slowly passed, my worst fear started to come to life. Each day I noticed something that was a little harder to do; hurt a little bit more.
Images flashed through my head as I’d try to fall asleep- I’d remember my days of being confined to the corner seat on the couch, the nights of not going out with friends because it hurt to stand, and the worst, the mornings where I couldn’t get my shoes on for a run.
I was terrified that life was about to fly into reverse. Everything I’d worked for, fought through, and overcame was about to disintegrate into a distant memory.
And then one day I realized it’d been a few days since things had gotten worse. I tried not to let myself get hopeful, but then a few more days passed.
Slowly those days turned into weeks, months, and now almost a year. The pain that came back has stuck around, but after those first couple weeks the progression stopped. And stayed stopped.
So here I am almost a year later; there’s some pain, but I’m eternally grateful things never got as bad as they were in the beginning. It still bothers me every day, but not in a way that’s interfering with my life this time. It’s just something that’s a part of me, like being left handed or allergic to peanuts.
It’s made things like running, biking and lifting weights harder, but not impossible this time around. Thank goodness is not a big enough expression.
And if you’re wondering why I’ve voluntarily put myself through this, it’s because babies don’t like Class D pain meds. 
LookBack
The beauty of blogging is you can put forth whatever it is you want to portray.
I try to be honest and put a lot of it out there, but there are some things I don’t.
Like this:
In September I stopped taking my pain medication.
Well, I didn’t just stop- I started the long process of stopping.
What I was taking is known for it’s terrific withdrawal effects- and they weren’t joking. {And by terrific I mean horrific.}
I went to the doctor and asked how to get off it- his explanation seemed reasonable. Cut back to every other day for 7-10 days, then stop taking it. Simple enough.
So in September I did. I skipped my first pill.
Several days later and I was in my own personal hell.
There were daggers in my head and I was an emotional wreck- I was unnecessarily angry & agitated, I was crying at the drop of a hat, and the pain in my head was compounding it all.
It took me awhile to figure out what was going on. When I did, I knew I needed a new plan. Honestly, I was relieved to find out I was in withdrawal- at least it explained what the hell was going on with me. I have new sympathy for drug addicts who just can’t kick the habit. It’s literally a living hell.
So I did hours & hours of research, slowed by the blinding pain in my head, and devised a new plan. I was frustrated to realize I should’ve started weaning off of it months ago- and it should take a year to get off. Well that wasn’t going to work for me, so I compromised. I came up with a plan to slowly decrease my dose every few days. By decreasing quickly, I still went through some withdrawal, but nothing like I had experienced in the first weeks, and nothing I couldn’t handle.
At first I was just excited to be ridding myself of the awful drug. I didn’t want to be on anything that would cause withdrawal at the level of a recreational drug abuser.
I was anxious to see what would happen with the pain..would it return? Would it be gone? Would I be sentencing myself to a life on the couch again?
The first week or so of my new plan was refreshing- sure, I felt like crap, but my pain wasn’t any worse than usual.
Then complete terror struck. xx days into it, I knew the answer. My pain was back. I’d noticed it coming, but I was in denial. I made excuses. I pushed it out of my mind.
Then I was sitting working at my computer and I realized how hard it was to type. I panicked. A quiet panic though. I kept typing, and I kept hoping…
