Wednesday, October 7, 2009

I took 2 oxycodone pills. I took my prilosec. I took one of the alternate pain relivers: Cystex. I'm drinking some of the anti-constipation stuff Mark uses; I took it the other day and it seemed to work.

Michael called; says he's not going anywhere and is wanting to help. It scares me when I can't be around him. I know I should trust him more but it's SO HARD and I'm scared I might lose him and I don't want that.

Now I'm crying. I feel helpless. I feel victimized by my health providers...even if they didn't do anything wrong. I feel like I've gone to the hospital and to my doctor and I just shouldn't be in this much pain. There should be something that someone can do to relieve my suffering.

The one thing that does feel good to me is that there are a lot of people who care about me who are very much in my corner. Mark. Michael. Mollie. [AKA M&M&M or The Three Ems] My family has been very supportive. Facebook friends have all sent their love and worry. It's all been very heartwarming. And has probably helped more than anything else in this terrible situation so I thank all of those people. I really, really do.

My tears are drying. The oxycodone is helping me relax, which is good. Having cried a little helps too. Remembering I have people that love me and care about my recovery helps.

And I do believe that Michael has changed and won't cheat on me again. I do. Mark thinks so too. I mean, Michael is trying to move out of his house to an apartment in or near Ann Arbor to be closer to me. He's told his friends and family what he's done and closed down most of his online profiles. He's often made sure I knew exactly where he was, and he's been very open about what he did since I learned the truth - giving me details I wanted, that I think others might have shirked from. He's proving himself to me. And we probably still need to see a tharapyst or something at some future date, but I really think there's a very good chance to make it work with Michael, and that he's worthy of this time and effort. He's very special. He's someone I want to know better than anyone. He's someone who makes me laugh and plays with me on a level that I've never gotten to with anyone else. He's thoughtful and caring and funny. I love his voice and his honesty (when he's given it); I love his caring for others (even when they don't deserve it). I love so many things about him. He sometimes talks about us having a house someday where Mark & Mollie can live too and that's like my perfect dream. Having my man by my side and my best friends close to me as can be.

Mark & I don't get along at odd moments. We have days where you'd think we hate each other (like, seriously loathe each other!). But more often than not, we're there for each other. And after all we've been through together, the very fact that we don't hate each other is probably a huge accomplishment. The times that we don't get along are often caused by sleep deprivation or terrible amounts of stress. I'm not saying that we don't ever have disagreements when everything is rosey, but the really bad ones usually involve 1 or both of those outside forces. And when Mark is upset with me, it's usually something that's been festering for awhile, or he's yelling at me about one thing when he's really much more upset with me about something else. Those moments are terrible. And I can see how others who have maybe been in our position have parted ways over such times, but when I think back over the years...and look at my present, I see times when Mark has really taken care of me when I couldn't take care of myself - he's brought me back from the brink countless times over the years. The really important times, he's come through for me, and I like to think that I've been there for him too. I got a job once to help support him; sold my car to pay our bills; I learned how to work on his body to help his pain; I've made runs to the store for countless items (though he's probably gone far more often for me) - I threw him the coolest surprise party ever (which nearly killed me and which I've never recovered from financially) and I've done all of this gladly. His dicomfort, his suffering is terrible for me because I love him. His pain is my pain. I want him to be happy and when he is happy it's a joy to me. His laughter and his moments of giddyness make me smile. Sometimes he makes decisions based on emotion and in those times I've often been able to council him with logic, and I think that in those times I might have been the only person in the world he would have listened to...and I'm honored to have known him well enough to have those moments. I'm honored to have been able to be so many things to him over the years. I'm grateful for what he's done for me...but more grateful that he's allowed me to be something important to him as well.

The pain killer is really kicking in. I took a break to piss and because I've been drinking now (not alcohol) I pissed more than I have, and while it still hurt, I think it hurt slightly less. I don't know if it really does hurt less or I'm just so moved by my friends that I'm not feeling as much pain. Or maybe it's the pain killer, or the new pill I took. Whatever the reason - I'm grateful for that too.

Then there is Mollie. Mollie is like a sister to me. I have very good friends who I think of as very good friends. I maybe even think of them as family. Cousins. Something like that. But Mollie is my sister and always will be. So many of my friendships are something random; I meet someone somewhere and we become friends. With Mollie, I feel like I chose to be her friend. The way we met, and the way we interacted with each other at first was certainly friendly, but we weren't close and there really wasn't any reason for us to be. Except that I liked her a lot. I wanted to be her friend. I wanted to treat her better than I felt she was being treated by those that were already her friends. I connected with her on some level and wanted to make that connection permanent. It was a concious decision. My other friendships are rarely like that. They either happen or they don't. But with Mollie, it was like I chose her. I don't know if that makes my friendship with Mollie any better or worse than my frienships with other people, but I feel like, that if I hadn't made that decision we wouldn't be the friends that we are today. I think she would have passed out of my life just as easily as she arrived - and I knew from the moment I met her that I didn't want that to happen. Mollie is like nobody else I know. She's child like. She's almost innocent, yet very 'old'; very wise; very experienced. She's been through so much hardship yet still cares about others, which isn't easy. She has't become hard though she's been treated very roughly. She's capable of deep emotion, be it joy, sadness, depression, love, passion - she reaches highs and lows that others can barely imagine; most of it with a grace and humanity, usually lost to those with such capabilities.

I was going to write more about Mollie, but got a call from Michael. He called the hospital and apparently they told him that the reason they never told me I was getting a catheter and didn't mention it as a possible cause for my symptoms is because they didn't give me one! That's amazing news! If it's true that's fantastic news, because it means the doctors that helped me weren't part of some conspiracy and they didn't fuck up my insides. I'd really like to believe this. Plus...it's so cool that Michael cared enough to call the hospital and that he found this big piece of the puzzle. That makes me feel so lucky to have him and grateful for his actions. The hospital also said that I did have a UTI and that I probably wasn't given enough antibiotics to cure it. I hope that's true too. I'd much rather have something I can cure than something I have to wait to heal. This also means I don't have to live in fear of drinking stuff, because even though it will hurt, it might help flush out the infection. And I have less to worry about from the cystex because it's less likely that the inside of my dick is all tore up and that it will hurt me. It's possible that this information is a lie, but it seems more likely that my doctor just got it wrong; I mean....he wasn't there for the surgery. But it does make me wonder what they did to handle my urination during the surgery? I've been told so many different versions of this story now that it's hard to believe any of them that I wasn't concious to see.

I need to take a break from the computer. I've been writing this entry for more than an hour.

Thanks Michael. Thanks Mark. Thanks Mollie. I love you all!

   posted by Bald Jason at 05:16 PM
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