Posts Tagged ‘pain’

Let me clarify that this is not my son, I’m sorry if it was assumed. This video is an acquaintance online. Bless him & family.


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FOR YOU LOVE PEACE .......... MAMITA SUFFER PA...

Whoever says the pain of childbirth ends when the child emerges is so wrong.  A mother carries the pain and more to her grave. My son is free of the drugs now but the pain it numbed is as raw and present as the day I pushed him into the world, both the baby and myself screaming in pain. Hence the blog’s title.

Reaction to a comment left months ago, yes I very much do have a life aside from this blog and the description of it’s contents.  If one hasn’t noticed, I prefer to remain unnamed and keep the “other part of me” elswhere.

Sitting here early morning, a door between myself and my sleeping son. A brief interlude of early morning beauty and the twisting pain of a back spasm that woke me.

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One week after a visit with a new family doctor for myself she dumped me as a patient after writing me a pain script and a pharmacy phoning her. Because my meds have been stolen so much by son I am now red flagged with the two local pharmacies. Two weeks ago I got my monthly meds filled and my Oxy script went missing though we hid them. Yes I know it’s partly my fault for enabling him. I just didn’t want him suffering or dying in the street like he was.

My once a day morphine was untouched only because it has been on me everywhere I go, in my pockets and even in my bra when I sleep. The pain in my spine from the tumor is bad enough to cause me to consider walking in front of the train. Without pain meds it is a reality. It’s gone crazy with son here and he needs to find somewhere else to live. I feel like a failure but he needs to do his part which he will not. Maybe now that I cannot get subscribed Oxy he will leave. He doesn’t know I am taking morphine thank God. I tell him daily to phone a doctor to get his own meds if he is really in pain but he does nothing but stay in his room now coming out only to relieve himself and give me dirty looks. He is “sick” now and dangerous. I’ve stayed upmost nights afraid to sleep. I have 3 calls waiting to be returned from low income mental health resources for him and myself.

I’m trying, I really am God.

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The addict in my home struggles daily with me for control, ironicly neither of us has it to win over. Bringing my grown child back into the home was the only way I knew at that moment to save his life. I had faith that “God” and doctors would help with the rest. I don’t believe in God much these days. The situation at home now has taken a twisted turn of events leaving myself to blame.

How to gage the fact a drug addict is in real pain from a diseased liver and other physical ailments is as easy as counting every star in the sky. When a person goes for treatment in any hospital or doctor office he now has a stigma attached to him because of the “Hepatitis” and not one doctor will treat that person for real pain. The result of trying to get well “the right way” is a recovering addict will go back to the street to treat himself and the merry go round continues it’s sick ride. If nothing I just said makes sense it’s okay, it’s how days here are now as the struggle continues.

I wrote to Intervention, the show, and included a video that wasn’t pretty. My day to fill my pain scrips is upcoming in a couple days for my newly diagnosed cancer and I bet I won’t see one tablet.

 

 

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I got to see my son for the first time in a very long time. We spent much needed time together. I had never seen his arms before now as back we last meant it was winter and he always had long sleeves. When I drove up he was smiling, standing in the lot adjacent to the rooming house he rents in. He had no fresh needle marks that I could see, his doctor has him drug tested so just maybe this is for real I hope. He had scars though, his arms, his neck and legs. I call them battle scars.   We held his hands like when he was little, quickly scanning over his body as mother’s do to be sure all looked okay.

Prior to this moment we have been conversing only on the phone this last year, it’s been much to long being apart. We hugged each other the hug of mother and child reunited.” My son is alive” I heard myself think silently, and I am so grateful. Before today I had always lived in fear of him not hurting me, but just afraid of the deep depression and anger he has carried around since being a toddler, teenager and then adult.

His illness has landed him in jail, in hospitals, crisis shelters and homeless. He has been assaulted, drugged and robbed and tried to commit suicide on 4 occasions.  It’s cost him every single job, his relatives and friends have left him. There is just his brother and myself. If only as a child his father would have allowed him to stay on his medication, if only he had agreed to take it as a teenager…

As a teenager it became much worse and he was thrown out of school. He was always in physical confrontations, his voice booming in anger was a constant at home and when he became bigger than me occasionally he would physically attack me in the heat of the moment, once or twice resulting in my falling over. Life with son growing up was horrible and unpredictable and destructive no matter who came to help or by placing him in a facility for help. Here I stood holding my son already seeing the 100% difference in his manner, thinking and moods all from one antidepressant medication and I am so happy for him. He is back to the land of the living, now we can get to finally know each other. Everyday I call him and remind him to take his medication, so far he has stayed on it and has no plans on stopping. We actually talk now and laugh. There is no yelling!

We spent that special day catching up with each other, sharing life experiences while apart, laughing together and hugging some more.  We went and got something to eat and the end of the day I didn’t want to leave and drive the hour or so away again. I’d have given anything to bring him back with me but his life is where he is, it’s not much but his room is his and I respect that. I brought him things for his room, food and cooking utensils to help make him more self sufficient. He was grateful and enjoyed showing me his small space.

Oh if I could just grab him, throw him in my car and bring him home. In so many ways he is still a boy who has missed much by being alseep for years in pain and drugs. In many ways he is an old man who has been through much too much for a 25 year old man. I pray daily he can keep the life he has given back to himself by finally taking his antidepressant.

My son smiled, laughed, talked and people no longer stare at him for his hateful outbursts. Now they are drawn to him because he says “hello” to them and “how are you man?, nice day isn’t it?”  His new energy is profound.

This is my son, and he is alive today!

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