My Botox needles, ready to go, taken a couple of years ago.
One of the things I do to help manage my pain is get Botox injections every ten weeks. Just like for migraines, which I am also treated for with Botox, at the same time.
So this morning I had to drag my ass out of bed. I was not amused. 😁 I was really sore! I wanted to have a quick wash. In fact, I’d wanted a bath last night, but that just was not happening. I was too sore. I tried to move today, and my back spasmed, so I asked my son for a warm cloth to wash up with so at least I won’t be smelly, and I get the third degree! Why? Does it have to be warm? Why? Ugh! He’s 12, it’s not like he’s a baby.
After I convinced him of what I needed and managed to dress, I was able to hobble downstairs. Must have been so funny to see! Me hanging on to husband and kicking my feet out trying to loosen my knees up.
We got to the hospital and our appointment, and there is a nurse? Social services worker? I don’t know who she is, but ugh. She’s not kind. She calls you to your appointment, then disappears from sight. She doesn’t even sort of wait for you. Then she waves you to the treatment room. Hm. Onward.
The doctor comes in with two new doctors who are taking extensive extra training in Pain Management. We talk about how fascinating I am to have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, diagnosed late, even though he had been seeing me ten years. Hm. Hm. Botox injections are tricky things, only work occasionally, hm.
The aftermath of needles in the forehead
Hm. Lucky me. And I am very lucky.
Then we start sticking needles in my head. As you can see from the photo, he didn’t clean me up before sending me home.
After the front, we move to the back, and he injects some near my jaw, I think, but truly I just spaced out for a while.
I know we then did some near my neck and shoulder, being careful around my throat so I don’t stop breathing. I hear that can be bad. We continued to my lower back focusing on the lower spine area, and the top of the buttocks.
At this point I have to roll over. Never an easy task in a gown on a narrow slab of table. Now imagine you want to preserve some dignity.
Here is also where my doctor starts to show off. He says to PMDIW (Pain Management Doctors in Waiting) “she has an entrapped nerve and is very sensitive!” As he touches my pelvis, the right lower quadrant, and I scream. The PMDIW look horrified and blanche under their South Asian complexions. They look like they want to bolt. I don’t blame them. Doctor moves on. He terrorizes my pubic bone. My face contorts in a silent scream. Husband grabs my hand. The doctor injects me as I sob. I tell him to keep going. Husband asks if I want a break, but I don’t. It will just be longer, then. The doctor starts on my right inner thigh. He pushes a bit. I wince. He moves over. I scream. I quickly slam my hand over my mouth, conscious of where I am, but it hurts so damn much. I’m just sobbing now as he finishes the left leg, worn out from the pain, spacey, tired.
The doctors all leave. Husband helps me get dressed. That not a nurse or a social worker comes in and asks if I’m okay but is gone before I can answer. I can tell she didn’t care anyway. I’m known as the screamer. They tease me that I’m bad for business.
One of the PMDIW wants an appointment with me next week to talk about how sensitive I am in areas. It doesn’t seem normal not to be able to touch someone in an area, like my inner thigh or my abdomen. So maybe we can do something? I can hope!
So, I’m sitting here semi-bingeing on sweets, while my dear husband naps beside me. It’s bliss! 😍