I might be dying...again

Can I just complain about something for a minute or two? Wait, of course I can - it's my blog!

So, one morning early last spring I was standing at the bottom of the stairs urging Ian to hurry up and come down so we could get in the car and head off to work/daycare when suddenly I started getting this very uncomfortable feeling up and down my left arm and into my hand. It was like someone was squeezing my arm very tightly and wouldn't let go. I literally tried to shake it off but couldn't get rid of it no matter what I did. But, off we went with our day and by mid-morning at work - not only was this weird feeling still there but it was getting increasingly uncomfortable.

I started getting nervous. Left arm pain, radiating down the arm, into the hand, some tingling, felt very cold...what does that mean? What does that mean? At that point I did what any modern, rational person would do: I jumped on Google and start trying to self diagnose. Now, at this point I must say that I did go into a bit of a panic because the only thing I knew about left arm pain is that it can be associated with having a heart attack. Which, normally I would have laughed off given my age and overall state of health - except that I do happen to have just a slight - or okay, more than slight - family history of fatal heart issues at a young age. After spending some time researching symptoms and having coworkers suggest that maybe I should call a doctor - I called Jeff to report that it was entirely possible I could be dying right there on the phone. I don't think this made him feel super comfortable, especially given that at the time, he happened to be on his way to the airport for a business trip. I recall him saying, "Well, do you think I shouldn't go?" But I told him to go ahead - that if I was really dying it would just have to wait until he got back.

That afternoon while still juggling work, Google searches and contemplating whether or not I should call my doctor - I finally decided to take action. I marched into my friend Zach's office and asked if we could call his Dad, who happens to be a doctor in town. I described my symptoms over the phone at which point he said, "I don't think you're having a heart attack Melinda, but it does sound like you might be having a nerve issue." Wonderful! I clearly wasn't dying, which was obviously great news. So I just slept on something wrong and had a pinched nerve. That made sense. Problem solved. Or not.

Sixish weeks later that stupid annoyance was still there...except it had gotten even worse. What started in the arm and hand was now clearly originating from points in my upper back area - under the left shoulder blade, just to be specific here. It was from there that I had an almost constant shooting pain down my arm, also with the numbness and tingling. The only relief seemed to be when I would lay down in bed at night. As soon as morning hit, it would return and oh boy, within mere minutes of sitting down at my desk at work, there was some serious discomfort going on. (Not to spoil the whole point of this story or anything...but much like I'm feeling right this very second!) Early evenings at home would usually involve me laying on the couch moaning and groaning with an ice pack affixed to my back. One day I said, "Gosh, I'm really tired of this - maybe I should give that doctor a call!"

Of course by that point I already knew what the problem was. Which is one of the reasons why I really didn't want to go to the doctor. I was pretty sure that I had a pinched nerve that was resulting from a herniated disc in my spine. According to several credible online sources, the first step in treatment is a round of physical therapy - which apparently usually does the trick in relieving the pain. If not, then other steps may need to occur with surgery as a last resort option. HOWEVER, it clearly stated in several places that your doctor may want to do an MRI as part of the initial diagnosis. Yeah, you know, those machines that are a claustrophobic's worst nightmare? Oh, and have I ever mentioned that I am slightly claustrophobic? I was hyperventilating at the mere thought of being shoved into one of those death traps just so they could tell me I had a herniated disc - which, HELLO - I already knew!!! (And um, so why do people still need to go to medical school when we have Google?) Still, it had become painfully (pun intended) clear that I needed to take some steps toward relief of this little issue. So, I made an appointment.

A couple of weeks later I walked into my doctor's office, still in pain with my newly printed t-shirt that read, "MRIs Are Against My Religion". I wanted to send her a subtle message. Well, I guess it worked because after we talked she said, "It sounds like we should get you in some physical therapy." Shocker!!!! But instead of pondering whether or not I should have been a doctor, I was just relieved that there was no mention of those three little letters.

Anyhooskie, several physical therapy appointments, many prescribed exercises and one job resignation later - my pain had magically disappeared and by the end of June, I was feeling like myself again. What a huge relief. Until...December. Actually, I happen to know that it was around December 11 because our new niece Ellie was born that day and I specifically recall that for some reason I had been feeling particularly tense for a few days that week (sympathetic baby angst??). And, because I hold all my tension in my upper back/neck area, I remember it felt like a rock. Then approximately one week later on a Saturday, it returned. At first it was just one slight shooting pain down the arm. Then another. Then another.

Soon, it was clear. It's baaaaack! With a vengeance, I might add. This time bedtime doesn't even offer a hint of relief. In fact, if I even threaten to flip on my stomach, Whoa Nellie! I should also mention that dealing with constant pain and weakness in the upper left side of my body is also quite fun with a 37 lb. three-year-old who needs to be picked up for various reasons every now and then. So these days I walk around most of the time half hunched over, usually shaking my left arm and hand around in an attempt to get even a second of relief. Does this look slightly strange? Absolutely. But the good news is that this time it only took me about a month before I decided to call the doctor. My appointment is this Friday. Time to dig out the t-shirt again.

Until I write again.

Blogging: a new way to communicate with your spouse

So, this morning I learned that the Cyclo...whatever drug that I took twice over the past weekend was not the generic Sudafed. It was a muscle relaxer. Which explains a lot. How did I find this out? Because Jeff decided to read the blog this morning. I was finishing up my packing for Thanksgiving a short while ago and he came in and we had something like the following conversation:

Jeff: So, I just caught up on your blog (with a semi-serious look on his face).

Me: Oh yeah? (Thinking: Oh geez, I must have said something wrong - I knew this whole online thing was a bad idea!)

Jeff: Yeah. So about the Sudafed thing...did you happen to look up the drug that you were taking to make sure it was Sudafed?

Me: No.

Jeff: Well, I did and it was a muscle relaxer - probably the one that they gave you for your back issues earlier this year.

Me: Oh, well how was I supposed to know? You were right there when I was trying to figure out which bottle was the Sudafed. I asked you if you knew...

Jeff: Yes, I vaguely remember, but I think I was preoccupied with making you dinner at the time.

Me: Oh.

Jeff: Well, I can help you figure out the where the actual Sudafed is. Where are the bottles?

Me: Downstairs. Oh...wait...actually, now that I think of it...

At which point I go into the bottom drawer in our bathroom and immediately pull out one bottle of - yep, "Sudogest", generic form of Sudafed. It said so right there on the bottle. Right then I recalled that I had specifically put it in that drawer right next to the emergency supply of real Sudafed so I would know where exactly where it was when I needed it. I guess that didn't work out so well. So, my sincere apologies for anything negative or misleading I may have said in my earlier post. I take it all back.

Now I can go eat my turkey with a clear conscience.

Until I write again.

I've been away

I've been gone on a little trip over the past few days. In fact, I'm still there but thought I'd check in anyway. This place isn't super fun. In fact, I bet you all have been there before, too. It's a little place I like to call Sickville.

Pre-child, I used to get sick with a cold typically once, maybe twice a year. Nowadays, it just constantly rotates through the house. How it typically works is that Ian picks up something from school, sports class, the grocery store, some museum or some park. Really, anywhere outside of our front door seems to be fair game for him. Then after a week or so he passes it along to Jeff. And then a few days later, I get it. Or, sometimes it's the other way around and I get it first and then Jeff. You know, just to mix things up a bit. And then once we are finally all better, it starts all over again. Of course it's important to note here that the "all better" part of this cycle lasts approximately 1.57 days, if we are lucky.

The thing I find most interesting about this whole thing is that Ian seems to be the person least affected by being sick. I, of course, have to knock on wood here but we have been extremely lucky with him in the whole illness area. His nose can be running like a cheetah (they run fast, don't they?), with coughing and the whole nine yards and he never seems to lose any energy. Just once, I'd like to see him knocked out on the couch for a day. Really, I would - but no such luck. Now, on the flip side, I also consider us very lucky in that this also means we have yet to spend one night up with him being sick. (Insert another very large knock on wood here.)

Now, Jeff and I, on the other hand, appear to get completely wiped out at the first sign of a sniffle. And that's what happened to me last week. I recall it like it was last week. Ian and Jeff had both been congested, but so far it had missed me. Until I arrived home after having dinner with my friend Brianne on Wednesday evening. Just about the second I walked in the door, I went from feeling fine one second to having a slight tickle in the back of my throat. You know the one I'm talking about. It's the feeling you can't quite explain, but you know exactly what it means. An hour later, my throat was consumed with a chalky/dusty feeling. (This is the best way I can describe how mine feels.) The throat thing just lingered for a day or so. And then the aches set in. That's when I knew I was in real trouble.

The highlight of this particular Sickville trip was perhaps at about 4 a.m. on Saturday morning when I was so stuffed up and desperate for relief that I actually found myself in our downstairs hall bathroom (so as not to disturb the sleepers upstairs) with my face shoved in the sink with very hot water in an attempt to let the steam do its magic on my nasal passages. I believe there was a washcloth involved as well but I'm not totally sure because it was early and my eyes were shut. But it didn't work either. By Saturday evening, I knew it was time to get serious and start medicating. Yep, it was time for some Sudafed.

Now, in case you are wondering why I didn't whip out the ole' box of Sudafed days ago, it's because being an Oregonian now, I am Sudafed challenged. You see, I can't just simply walk into a drug store, go up to the counter and sign a little log and walk away with my little red and white box of the good stuff. No sirree. I have to get a prescription for it. This is a state law that took effect shortly before we moved here due to the extremely high number of meth users in Oregon. Well, all I have to say is what's good for law enforcement is bad for the Burpos. For a while we got by with our existing supply that we had with us from Virginia. But after a while, supplies ran low and I knew it was time to engage in some major conservation efforts. So finally, earlier this year when I was at the doctor one day, I remembered to ask for a prescription. Unfortunately, my troubles did not end there.

I have very clear memories of the day I went to pick it up at our local Fred Meyer. I was so excited to have our medicine cabinet back in order. Until the pharmacy guy passed it over to me. First of all, it was not in a box. It was in a bottle. And the pills were not red, they were white. Then the conversation went something like this:

Me: Excuse me, but this was supposed to be for Sudafed.

Pharmacy Guy: Yeah, it is. This is the generic.

Me: Oh, I see. Well, can I just get the regular box of Sudafed?

Pharmacy Guy: Well, this is what we give out now, is there a problem with that?

Me: Well, sort of but I guess I'll give it a try if it's the same thing.

So back to Saturday afternoon, I decide it's time to medicate. And in order to conserve very limited supplies of what we have left of the REAL Sudafed, I opted instead to whip out my bottle of prescription "Sudafed". First of all, I didn't whip it out at all. In reality, it was a very slow process. Because first it took me about ten minutes to recall which of the four bottles of prescription meds I had gotten for one thing or another in the past year was actually the "Sudafed". Let's see....is it this one? Or this one? Hmmm.... Finally, by process of elimination, I decided it was most likely this bottle of Cyclobenzaphrin with a big "May Cause Drowsiness" label on it. (The drowsiness thing seemed weird, but it was the only bottle of small, white pills I had.) Now, I could go off at this point and talk about how ridiculous and frankly, dangerous it is to have pill bottles labeled with long, incomprehensible names that don't at all resemble the real name of the drug you are looking for - and that they don't at least bother to include the name of the original drug that you might recognize instead of the long name generic. I mean, how the heck was I supposed to remember if this was the "Sudafed" or not? But that's for another post.

Well, I won't go into all the gory details here, but let's just say they weren't kidding about that whole drowsiness thing. Two hours later my face was practically in my bowl of lovely chicken and rice soup that Jeff had made for dinner (from scratch by the way, not the Campbells kind). Dammit. Is "Sudafed" supposed to make you drowsy? I didn't think so. And to top it off, I was still stuffed up! So at that point I had no choice but to go into our emergency supply of the real thing. Determined not to let it cut short our Saturday evening, I struggled through the rest of dinner AND a movie. However, don't ask me what is was about because I'm not sure I recall. What I do recall is hightailing it upstairs for bed faster than you can say Roadrunner when that thing was over (while finally feeling like I could breathe again, by the way).

But just because this so-called generic "Sudafed" didn't work for me the first time and made me horribly drowsy, that certainly did not stop me from trying it one more time. So, last night I decided to take another pill, this time right before bed. The good news: I slept very well. The bad news: I also spent the entire day today in a complete fog (that whole combined head cold and drug-induced drowsiness factor) and managed to pass out in bed for nearly two hours this afternoon after Ian went to sleep (thank goodness). Even as I write now, I'm only about half conscious - so please excuse any typos. (Hmmm...maybe I need this excuse every day.)

But hey, it doesn't take me three times to learn my lesson. Needless to say, I won't be partaking in any more Cyclobenzaphrin, thank you very much. So the next time we visit any of you out there reading this and announce that we need to take a little side trip to the drugstore just to pick up a few "necessities" for the trip home - you know what we are talking about. Oh, and we will also be accepting out-of-state donations over the holidays.

Until I write again.