This link takes you to the grim reality that I am trying to come to terms with about neuropathic pain. I have had such a bad time, trying at first to get some sort of diagnosis, and more recently having to deal with a doctor who had never heard of this condition, and who could not read my MRI scan (the same scan was rejected by the neurology department as being unclear.....) telling me that my pain was "psychosocial!"
I have such a horror of dementia. I have such a horror of growing old, and worrying that I will not be able to deal with the pain if I am not totally compos mentis. This is a dark dark posting but I need to place on record that when I can no longer cope, I am going to go to Switzerland and end my days with dignity. There is no way I am going to go screaming into that dark night - sorry Dylan Thomas.
Finding this online has just knocked the wind out of my sails. I just am having to think that I must, I MUST, live for the present and do as much as I can, thus keeping mind and brain ticking over all the time. And I must enjoy myself more. I have had such a static month this month, having seen noone, having had few real conversations. I haven;t been creative. I have read a lot, which is ok, but is my displacement activity of choice! Not a bad activity but I need to push myself out a lot more often. Mind you - it has been difficult in the ice, and if I were to fall and damage my left hand even more - how could I even get it treated? I can't stand needles in it, couldn;t abide to have it in a bandage or plaster cast, so I am neurotic about keeping myself safe.
I saw my parents yesterday. My mother is still the same, being fed through a tube in her stomach, not speaking not able to communicate, struggling to breathe because of the fluid in her system, but still here, still alive. My dad still tries to have a go at me for marrying Glyn in 1975....that is a lifetime ago. I cannot believe that he has no humility in him, that he is the one who needs the visits, and yet he still blames me for everything that has happened to him and my mother in Manchester. I don;t think so. I really don't think I was the one who told them to move in their 80s, the one who caused my mother to break her arms, or the one who gave him a bad back. He might have hurt his back hitting me of course....
I intend to get back to doing something worthwhile and creative over the next few days. I need to sort out what I can keep here and what I need to take across to Leeds when we go next week. We have such a busy weekend when we get there and I am looking forward to ALL of it.
It is so cold today. I took Martha for a walk and the wind was bitingly cold. The sea was grey today, the cold relentless. Not an enjoyable walk at all, but I think Martha didn;t mind at all! She ran and jumped and skittered around as usual, ate her dinner when we came in, and fell fast asleep at my feet where she is now.
I think I am going to take the article above and go and see my doctor and ask him for some information and help in interpreting what it might mean. Then I might not be so worried.