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Supernova Agony
Aug. 25th, 2011 05:39 pmI astound myself some days.
I woke up in violent, clawing, fiery pain and forced myself down the stairs for brunch.
I asked Adam to crack my back. My body then rebelled so viciously that I was thrown into a massive spastic cerebral palsy flare on top of a major fibromyalgia flare. The word pain was not descriptive enough. It was a religious experience. Later, I told Charlotte over the phone that I finally understood the joys of BDSM. That fine line between pain and pleasure. That euphoric agony that crashes down and sweeps you away so you become incoherent and trance-like, wondering if reality will ever return. I did not have a seizure, however. Not as far as I know. I stayed grounded. I became one with the pain. I did not move away from my body. I did not try to escape. I remained conscious and alert, and I rode that wave of physical crisis to an unseeable end. I cried out, I moaned, I groaned, I sobbed, I gasped, I breathed in and out and watched my left hand clench spastically against my torso. I retained every tiny bit of understanding. I was the pain and the pain was me. My brain refused to shield me from itself.
I used both canes to walk around my house. I used a cane to drag myself up the stairs. Adam helped me strech a little more. I took as many drugs as I thought could help.
My entire back is still spasming, the nerves still on fire, my breathing still shallow.
And yet, through it all, I laughed with myself. I made jokes. I was silly. I may have been drunk on endorphins and serotonin. My words were slurred. I stuttered. My teeth were chattering. My hands and feet were numb. My sciatic nerve exploded. Fire cascaded down my spine and erupted upwards, settling in a spot in the middle of my rib cage. Adam rubbed that spot carefully so I could take deeper breaths. He fed me salted fries and deep fried hot dogs with shredded mozzarella, and it was an amazing meal because I wanted it to be. I shook and trembled and could barely hold any object, even my cane.
I did not ask to go to a hospital. I did not go to bed. I sat on the couch, propped up by pillows and Pillow Pets. I called my disability attourney's office to document the experience, putting the phone on speaker to let Adam help fill the assistant in.
The drugs have settled me. I am able to cautiously hobble and limp around with some wobbling and shaking. My body has stopped struggling to retain its natural normal state of spasticity, hypertonia, and burning pain. I am currently reading various webcomics and marveling at the tenacity of the human condition.
As I posted on my Facebook: "Well, I lost most of my spoons in a severe spastic CP flare. Back muscles and various nerves have been screaming "Fuck you" at me because Adam cracked my back and helped me stretch, and my body hates me with the fiery passion of ten thousand suns. Today is a two-cane day. Yay!"
People continuously praise me for sticking it out, for getting up and moving on, for pushing forward anyway. I get it now. I realize why you all say that. Thank you. I love you.
I woke up in violent, clawing, fiery pain and forced myself down the stairs for brunch.
I asked Adam to crack my back. My body then rebelled so viciously that I was thrown into a massive spastic cerebral palsy flare on top of a major fibromyalgia flare. The word pain was not descriptive enough. It was a religious experience. Later, I told Charlotte over the phone that I finally understood the joys of BDSM. That fine line between pain and pleasure. That euphoric agony that crashes down and sweeps you away so you become incoherent and trance-like, wondering if reality will ever return. I did not have a seizure, however. Not as far as I know. I stayed grounded. I became one with the pain. I did not move away from my body. I did not try to escape. I remained conscious and alert, and I rode that wave of physical crisis to an unseeable end. I cried out, I moaned, I groaned, I sobbed, I gasped, I breathed in and out and watched my left hand clench spastically against my torso. I retained every tiny bit of understanding. I was the pain and the pain was me. My brain refused to shield me from itself.
I used both canes to walk around my house. I used a cane to drag myself up the stairs. Adam helped me strech a little more. I took as many drugs as I thought could help.
My entire back is still spasming, the nerves still on fire, my breathing still shallow.
And yet, through it all, I laughed with myself. I made jokes. I was silly. I may have been drunk on endorphins and serotonin. My words were slurred. I stuttered. My teeth were chattering. My hands and feet were numb. My sciatic nerve exploded. Fire cascaded down my spine and erupted upwards, settling in a spot in the middle of my rib cage. Adam rubbed that spot carefully so I could take deeper breaths. He fed me salted fries and deep fried hot dogs with shredded mozzarella, and it was an amazing meal because I wanted it to be. I shook and trembled and could barely hold any object, even my cane.
I did not ask to go to a hospital. I did not go to bed. I sat on the couch, propped up by pillows and Pillow Pets. I called my disability attourney's office to document the experience, putting the phone on speaker to let Adam help fill the assistant in.
The drugs have settled me. I am able to cautiously hobble and limp around with some wobbling and shaking. My body has stopped struggling to retain its natural normal state of spasticity, hypertonia, and burning pain. I am currently reading various webcomics and marveling at the tenacity of the human condition.
As I posted on my Facebook: "Well, I lost most of my spoons in a severe spastic CP flare. Back muscles and various nerves have been screaming "Fuck you" at me because Adam cracked my back and helped me stretch, and my body hates me with the fiery passion of ten thousand suns. Today is a two-cane day. Yay!"
People continuously praise me for sticking it out, for getting up and moving on, for pushing forward anyway. I get it now. I realize why you all say that. Thank you. I love you.
