My mother woke me several times throughout the course of tonight to tell me that I had fallen asleep in the chair, she at first didn’t want to wake me after hearing the groans coming from the bedroom a majority of the night but when she heard the groaning pains continue then subside after a course of over an hour she was worried. She asked me if I was O.K., as any concerned Mother would. I frankly, didn’t know what to tell her other than I was in a lot of pain and to just leave me be. She assured me that she was here if I needed her and continued on her way.
She stayed awake most of the night worrying and contemplating whether to take me to the emergency room but she knew I would refuse. All the wires, noise, and discussions from staff members would cause them to stick me in an MRI machine causing my shunt to be un-programmed which would mean a long three-hour drive to Orlando to get it re-programmed and it wasn’t something I was willing to risk over me having a night of debilitating pain. I see my doctor later in the day today, so all I have to do is get through tonight, go have my morning session with my therapist, and all will be forgiven, so-to-speak.
To help distract myself from the pain I watched my nightly new episode of Everwood, listened to classical music, and typed away on an older laptop an old friend gave me. Since most of the personal belongings were taken from me it’s been difficult re-building what has been lost. Just being free of the judgment, hatred, self-loathing, and self-worth. Starting from scratch with a new beginning, a somewhat of a new life, was enough for me.
All truck drivers know once you’ve had the taste, the worth of being out on the road, you’ll never forget it. Some even still crave the road each, and every day, I know I do. I miss the open road, having my own bed, my own fridge, and good nightly conversation or just simply the nightly television show or movie. Sigh, that was the life for me. Stinky, smelly, truck stops, with horny, polite, ungrateful, rude, inconsiderate, generous, poor, and wealthy drivers. Truck drivers fell into a different type of class, their own class of greatness, one that moves the country one truckload at a time. However, my trucking days were a means to an end when a doctor, one day, walked up to me, with a frown on his face, a clipboard in hand, and says “I’m sorry Amy. Your trucking days are over.” I hit the floor, my heart sank. A career, that I had built a good, solid reputation out of nothing. My entire family was proud of what I was doing and who I had become. They still couldn’t believe it every time I brought the truck home that I drove such a large piece of equipment, it even made my brother and sisters jealous at one time.
Now, I’m seeing doctor after doctor for conditions that will eventually overcome me and the doctors that took my medical card are trying not to give up on the idea of me continually being able to work. My doctors, however, I harpooning down, continuously reminding me of my limitations thinking there are no consequences for there actions, or at least for one’s feelings.
I’m in constant pain. Whether the pain is in my head, abdomen, or leg, I’m in constant pain. Between the pins and needles to the throbbing, stabbing, pinching, barbaric tortures my body puts itself through, I wake up and go to sleep, in pain. When I walk into the doctor’s office asking for a simple pain medicine or an anti-inflammatory to help ease the symptoms, they ask a million questions or rebut on digging out their prescription pads. However, if the pain is bad enough to put me in the emergency department they are more than happy to give me pain meds then, even if I don’t ask for it.
When new pain arrives and I simply ask for them to discover what the problem is without pain meds it’s almost, the hard-to-believe expression on their face. After imaging and tests, the doctors insist on meds for the pain because it apparently appears on the tests that I’m in pain. All I’ve ever asked is for them to fix me. To return me, to my original state to which I was so that I may once return to the open road where I feel, I belong but no. There is no going back, there is only going forward with the treatments and surgeries to remove what is bad, and replace with mechanical parts. In the end, aren't we all just replaceable with mechanical parts?