The Beviad–musings, mutterings and myths

Or at least, that’s what they seem to be. First of all, Tylenol Arthritis medication, which I’m taking in its place, doesn’t work. I’m constantly in pain. Secondly, I find it hard to sleep at night, even with a prescribed sleeping pill: I can’t get comfortable and all my body seems to be aching, even parts not related directly to my dastardly knee. Finally, my bad leg twitches. Last night, I couldn’t go for more than the count of 4 without it twitching something awful, requiring a moving of my leg to another position. John finally had to get up and sleep in the back bedroom. I finally must have fallen asleep around 2 or 3, and slept until 9, when the phone rang (I’m usually up by 6). These are all apparently symptoms of withdrawal, especially the twitching of course.

I will be seeing the doctor on Tuesday, so I can mention this to him, but I don’t know what he can do about it. According to the internet, I should have weaned myself away from the pills rather than just stopping. Wish someone had told me that. Of course, I knew that, somewhere in my vast useless store of knowledge, but it didn’t occur to me to do so. That’s how stupified this situation is making me. ARRRG.

I guess I will get over it, but in the meantime, I am constantly in discomfort and find it hard to concentrate on anything I read or anyone I’m talking to. Movies and videos help, since they do distract me somewhat. So does good television, except during the ads, which again let me become aware of the pain. This whole thing is changing my personality; I can no longer sparkle or charm, as I sometimes did in the past, but seem to be droning on in my life, teeth clenched. Luckily I take anti-depressants, or I’d be at the bottom of the barrel right about now.

Meanwhile, nerve-wracking news continues to pour in: my Montreal sister in law has a melanoma, which although it is being treated, is worrisome; my other sister in law in Vancouver, also still suffering after a botched knee job two years ago, is now having to face another surgery on her other knee, plus problems with her disabled but charming son. My daughter is still throwing up in the early stages of her pregnancy. And my house is a mess (to get to the really mundane) since I just can’t clean it, or even bring myself to pick things up–it all just seems so trivial in contrast to the rest that’s happening.

On the cheerful side (and there is one),I had a nice Italian lunch with a friend yesterday and she gave John and me four brightly colored spatulas for the kitchen as a 39th wedding anniversary present. And my daughter and her husband had a nice night out with steak dinner for their June 6 anniversary of 9 years of marriage, so obviously her nausea is slowly dispersing. And of course, my grand-daughter Devon is as charming and sweet as ever, as we saw  when she slept over the other night with us. She is a constant joy.

So maybe this is what one can expect of being a ’senior citizen’: chronic pain from one thing or the other; friends around you dying or getting sick or getting a scare about their health; your own mortality suddenly much more noticeable. And, in a kind of balance to all that worrisome stuff, the enjoyment of grandkids, of childen’s lives moving on and up as they should, the pleasure of company with friends and family. The end game of life is approaching, and I guess this is a wake-up call to me to find a way to deal with it now, while things are only mildly troublesome.

In any case, I get a mild kick out of knowing that I’m addicted to something called ‘hillbilly heroin’.