Is it Depression or Just Abject Frustration?

Yesterday was a profoundly bad day for me.

Actually, bad day would be an understatement.

I'm guessing that the realization that I had to stop taking Codeine Contin was a tough one to swallow for me (although it will make swallowing my pain med cocktail that much easier, since the mitt-full of pills will be reduced by one more honking big tablet).

The jet massage tub did little to help with the throbbing hip pain.

The crying only made my desperation worse.

John's assurances that he wasn't going to dump me -- we took vows of 'for better or for worse, in sickness and in health,' remember? -- just made me all the sadder because he didn't sign on for a life with an invalid wife who would have to rely on him for everything.

Oh, I was low to be sure.

The bath did, however, render me into a complete need-to-sleep state.

So I crawled under the covers and slept for I don't know how long.

And woke to overwhelming nausea.

And blues so blue that even singing the corny blues couldn't cheer me (if you play it backwards his wife comes back and the dog doesn't die ..).

Something bigger is obviously going on and I don't have the answers. I'm sure, though, that the medical community has a pill for what ails me!

At least I'm not itching any more; once the rash developed I stopped taking the Codeine Contin so the last one I had was on Saturday morning.  The rash is still evident but that will disappear entirely with time, as long as I don't ingest anything else that my body can't handle.

And since I'm not taking the Codeine, my bowels are making their way back to normal, except my gut is responding to the sudden removal of Codeine with 'withdrawal' symptoms: diarrhea and nausea.  But feed me the wrong thing and the nausea easily will pass over to the vomiting side of the check list.

Gravol and ginger ale are my friends right now.

As I got out of bed to (quickly) make my way to the bathroom, I discovered that I can't quickly make my way to the bathroom:  my hips won't let me!

I did make it, but I was in excruciating pain by the time I got there and I was mad as hell!

And the tears started again.

Not because of the pain, you realize.

Rather because I was oh so frustrated with the situation and what it all really means.

I stood at the bathroom sink, leaning on the counter with one hand while using the other to brush my teeth, tears streaming down my face as I tried to swallow the reality that I am disabled.

John came upstairs looking for breakfast and he saw that I was hobbling my way back to bed with the ice packs.

"'I'm afraid you're on your own for breakfast this morning," I cried.

"Are you not feeling any better this morning?" he asked gently.

  "What are you doing tomorrow?" I asked him. "I need to go into Ottawa for physio and I think you should come with me."

"Oh? Are you not up to it?" he queried.

"Well, I might be physically up to it by then," I replied. "But emotionally, no.  And I think you should be there when she gives me the instructions on how to use that stupid walker."

"So you figure we're there now do you?" he asked.

"We're there now alright," I said.  "I can't walk from the bed to the bathroom without great difficulty and I can no longer fool myself.  I'm at risk of serious injury if I don't do something about it because obviously, this is not going to get better."

And the tears flowed, like a river.

He tried to console me; he says whatever changes we have to make around here, we will make.

But the changes we have to make will be quite substantial.

Because our house is small.

And to make a clear path for a walker in a smal home requires removal of many pieces of furniture that most people take for granted.

Try it.

Envision how many items might have to be relocated in your home to allow someone using a walker to safely move about the place with ease.

It might not be too onerous for someone to make these changes for a day or two if someone who uses a walker were to visit them.

But we have to make the changes for the rest of our lives.

I'm not just visiting.  I'm here to stay.

And it's easy for someone else to say, "It won't be that bad, it's just a walker, " when they're talking about someone other than themselves needing that walker.  Would they feel that way if it was they who needed the walker, I wonder?

The nausea and diarrhea I'm experiencing today are quite likely a result of having stopped the Codeine Contin so abruptly.  But I'll have to ride the wave on that one.

As to the Cesemet, yesterday was a difficult day.  My body might have been looking for its hit all day yesterday.  It was the first day that I was only taking .5mg -- and I was taking it with my bedtime meds so I didn't take any Cesamet yesterday morning.  I'll take the last capsule Wednesday night.  But I expect that my body would prefer to have some every twelve hours.  Too bad, so sad; have to ride the wave on this too.  My doctor approved this schedule of dose reduction and I'm getting off the damned stuff.

Fewer than 3% of users experience the 'eating disorder' that I did with Cesamet.  I wonder how many also experience the dizziness, dry mouth, memory problems, mental/mood changes, and whatever other effects this stuff had on me.  Clearly, Cesamet caused numerous changes in me and hopefully things will settle down once the poison is completely out of my system.

So now I'm off to research, on-line, various models of walkers.

If I'm going to have to have one, I want a cadillac.

I always get the best.

Because I'm worth it.

Everyone knows that!

In the meantime, am I depressed or am I just frustrated beyond measure?

I wonder, how does someone differentiate one from the other, reallly?