You know those little black box warnings certain drugs get in America when their side effects are so bad that the next step would be pulling them from the market? Well, I had a reaction to Cipro that falls under the black box warning. I’ve now got neuropathy, which basically feels like the nerves in my body are exploding…sometimes one at a time, sometimes like a big fireworks grand finale. Sometimes the itching and the pain is not too bad, but at others, I just want to die.
The typical serious reaction to meds is quickly followed by me either going to the ER or the doctor ASAP. I called my doctor and was all set to go yesterday afternoon. Well, when I told my mom, she decided to have me call the office back and explain that she needed me more than I needed the appointment. (Thanks, Mom.) Now, I have to wait until tomorrow, if I can’t find someone to take me tomorrow. If I can’t, then I have to continue waiting.
Apparently, my pain is not as bad as hers. Keep in mind, I still have ankle problem (which is so much worse now than it was even 12 hours ago), which I’m not allowed to get the X-Ray of until I find someone to take me to the doctor. I’ve also got the sinus infection, which is getting worse, especially now that I have nothing in my system fighting it. (My immune system doesn’t work.) So I alternate between feeling like I’m bad enough that I will die soon and feeling good enough that I just wish I would.
It all just makes me wonder why am I so insignificant. I spend most of my time taking care of my mom. My dad doesn’t want to do this or that, so I end up doing it. He doesn’t get how bad I feel, and then because she’s going through something traumatic, she thinks that she feels worst. (Of course, even when she’s not in a traumatic pain, she tells me her pain is worse than mine.)
Doctors always think I’m a malingerer because I don’t come in right away for problems and if I do, I’m walking around and doing all kinds of crap. If I didn’t keep moving, my family would die. My dad is not going to take care of my mom. My mom, even if she hadn’t just broken her ankle, wouldn’t take care of herself. I am responsible for them. I’m also responsible for myself no matter what. If I had broken my ankle where it needed immediate surgery, I would still be expected to take care of them because there would be something wrong with them that would be “so much worse”. It’s like my father is complaining of exhaustion. He sleeps for about 8-9 hours every night, more now than he did before my mom got hurt. He doesn’t have to cook. He doesn’t have to do meds or do her shot when she needs her shot for the blood thinner. Anytime he feels bad, I get to do more. Well, he’s taking advantage of this. He doesn’t realize that I haven’t had a good whatever time of day’s worth of sleep in almost 2 weeks. He doesn’t realize that I can barely breathe. He doesn’t realize that my pain is so intense that I get sick to my stomach at best and nearly faint and fall over at worst. These things don’t matter because I’m not as important as him.
I just want to have some real rest, be able to breathe, and not hurt all the freakin’ time. Is that too much to ask?