THE FIREWORKS INSIDE

July 4th.

A day of independence.
Except for some.

For those with chronic pain or illness, independence day is a day of dreams. We all know what it means historically for our great nation but in the back of our minds we wish it meant we were free of the shackles of pain.

The heat has been unbearable and now thunderstorms are rolling through the valley. It's great to have a break from extreme heat but the humidity is hovering around 48% and I'm feeling it. I figured I'd better write while I can because my hands are in agony and the rest of my body will soon follow.

I used to love watching the fireworks but for some reason the noise is bothering me. 

Great. 

Is there anything that doesn't bother me anymore?

I'm at the mercy of my body and tonight it's turning on me big time. I'm rubbing my hands because they hurt so bad right now. When the humidity rises my attitude falls into the toilet. Not only does my attitude fall but I'm watching a Lyrica commercial. I don't care how many times I see that stupid commercial my reaction is still the same. I want to throw something at the TV. I want them to show someone curled up in the fetal position crying because of the pain. Having a woman lightly grimace when she rubs her shoulder makes it seem that the pain is a pesky little fly that can be flicked off her shoulder.

Yeah, right.

Tell that to me in a few hours when I'm wide awake because the pain medication isn't working. I'd get in the bathtub but it's been over 110 degrees so hot bath sounds icky. Finding my zen place isn't working either. I'm going to find some sort of acceptance that I can do nothing about it right now. I've taken my pain medication but during the writing of this post I've gone from a dull ache to downright voodoo-oh-my-god pain. 

So it's back to the three little words that can describe me.

Ow.

Ow. 

Ow.

Did anyone get the license plate of the truck that hit me?