I just looked thru the slats of the blinds at the window in my "rest room" (as opposed to what it is supposed to be, a "guest room") to see if the little doe is resting herself, under the oaks. I strained to see her silhouette, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the brighter sunlight, the constant color of dried grasses on the ground and orange leaves on the trees. I don't see her.
I relate to her, my weakness is outwardly personified in her body. My elderly neighbor called yesterday and we visited about the little deer. My neighbor looks, with a ranch woman's eyes, at the legs of the doe and notices a large lump on one leg, a leg she "stands on but favors," according to Esther.
I easily imagine that the little, crippled doe embodies Esther's own feelings of increasing debilitation, for, at 83 and counting, the once-rowdy, vibrant cowgirl is but a dim memory of her former self.
I'd been doing well on the Lyrica, so well, I was surprised. Day before yesterday, I even walked across the road to the Ponderosa-filled, little canyon which has been seductively calling to me every day since I have lived here. I took the dogs and we saw the local flock of turkeys, who ground-flew away from us at first, nervous sight of our perceived predatory presence.
Yesterday morning, I felt "like a million bucks." Like my normal self, almost.
I've been taking about half the amount of pain killers since I take them only PRN, "as needed."
But this morning, it all crashed down and again, every cell in my body pained in such a way that I ended up back in bed in the guest/rest room and waited for the oxycodone to take the edge off the episode.
All morning, I've noticed I've been stopping breathing. In other words, my brain is not signally my body to breathe automatically and when I stop thinking about it...I stop breathing. I become aware that I've not taken up the inhalation, then purse my lips to draw in sweet breath of life.
It was a grand few days!
I knew this might happen. I remember the sweet release of morphine in MSContin for about a week, then it seemed to lose its effectiveness.
With spinal cord/central nervous system damage and issues, this is the sport we're involved in. The meds can mask the pain, which then allows us to do more, to give in to siren calls, and then, payback comes no matter the medications. Because the damage is always there, lurking lesions on the cord that never go away and can only be hidden for brief interludes.
When the meds kick in, I get up and move about a little. Most of the time, this helps but when it's really bad, like today, movement makes it worse.
Perhaps the little doe got hit by a car...suffered spinal cord damage herself. Rests when she must, stands up and walks a little when she is restless...she is in as good a place as she can be, surrounded by acorns. Perhaps I'll ask Pete to take her a bucket of water.
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