Past The Edge

I almost killed myself today. I have gotten past the edge of my endurance. I am in pain. I am sick from the extra meds I'm taking to try to bring the pain down. I am exhausted. I have lost the will to push through it.

It has been more than 2 months since the severe pain started. The ER visit with the pain at a 9 to 10 was on September 4. And I still have no answers. It has taken weeks to get each tests done, which is beyond frustrating because I know all each order needs is a STAT from the doctor and it gets done within 48 hours. And then it is taking days or longer to hear back on the results and what they may or may not mean.

I have no idea of knowing what my doctors' schedules are like or who else might have severe problems, but if I myself had a patient in my office with pain that severe, that would fade only to a 6 and then spike again, I would bending over backward to find the cause. I would never send them home without some method of pain management. I would never make them wait days or weeks to get tests done. All of my warning signs would be going off and I would make sure the reason was found ASAP.

But I'm not my doctors, and I'm still in limbo. I had the pelvic ultrasound this past Tuesday and even I could see that the uterus was deformed. The pain when the tech would press on it was extreme, to the point that only her quick move with the trash can kept me from vomiting on her shoes. The test results were posted by the end of the day and I called my OB/GYN's office so they would know it was there.

I missed the the next day because she just happened to call while I was in with my therapist. The message was short and unhelpful. I called back and left a message for her that emphasized the pain and asking for a call back. That was Wednesday at about 3:30 p.m. I never got a call back.

I hit "Fuck This" mode on Friday evening. Saturday I woke up feeling better, so I went ahead and made a trip to the grocery store. It turns out I was only sublimating the pain and it was still there. I almost passed out in the middle of the store and I barely made it home. I am still exhausted from it.

Today I just didn't have it in me to fight the exhaustion. I took a nap early, then ended up going in for another nap in the early evening. And that's when I went over the edge. I just lay there, too tired to move, to cry, to do anything. I had a hot poker through my lower abdomen that just throbbed and wouldn't stopped. All of the logic and even the voices that usually stop my suicidal thoughts weren't there. None of my stop signs were relevant. I hurt. And I couldn't stand it any more. And nothing else mattered.

I was thinking that the bed was the perfect place to slit my wrists. The blood would soak into the bedding and the memory foam pad and not make a huge mess. It wouldn't be as traumatic as finding a bathroom slathered with blood. I thought about how cathartic it would be to finally let the blood flow, that beautiful dark red color soaking into the white sheets. And it would fade. The pain would finally go away.

What stopped me? There was nothing I could think of in my bedroom that was sharp enough. I have some scissors, but those were old and dull. I no longer keep a knife by my bed like I did when I lived in LA and when nieces and nephews started visiting I put my knife collection in storage. I would have to go out to the laundry room or the garage to get a razor blade, and I was just too exhausted to go that far.

As I sat down to write this, I noticed my Grandpa's old pocket knife on my desk. I had completely forgotten it was there. I have cleaned it up and it is now razor sharp. I started sobbing as I picked it up and took it out to the garage.

Tomorrow my first step will be calling both of my doctors again. I will be sure they know how bad it really is. And I will let myself rest. And I will try to find some strength left in this poor camel whose back broke months ago.