Pain Management

LaVieEnRose

So life was slower, for a little while. 

Evan was officially end-stage, and we had advertisements out all over the city and Brian was constantly checking his email and we were just...waiting. I had a small show, my first one since The Incident, and it went okay, and I had a few good doctor's appointment where my lungs and my immune system were looking better than expected, so that was something to keep us afloat, at least. Kinnetik was opening up their Hong Kong office so you'd think Brian would be busy with that, but instead he handed it all over to Isabel and started officially working from home two days a week. Part of it was Evan, obviously, since he wasn't working anymore and was either at home or at the dialysis clinic all the time, but part of it I think was just this feeling of calm that had settled over all of us dulling Brian's ambitious streak, despite the kidney failure, despite that ticking clock. We're pretty good at illness around here, and having nothing to do but sit and wait and be together was comfortable in a way I've given up trying to make people understand.

But today was one of the days Brian was supposed to drag himself to the office, so he was up getting ready while Evan dressed for dialysis and they talked to each other about whether I went to the store yesterday and did I get oat mlk and other such things I had a very difficult time following because I felt like I was being crushed.

That's the best way I can describe it. Brian and Evan have asked me, and that's what I can come up with, that I'm being crushed under a truck or a boulder or something.

It doesn't happen very often, but some days I just wake up and it hurts so much that I just...lose all sense of perspective and reason. Because logically of course I know it won't last forever, and that's the kind of mindfulness my therapist always has me work on, and I'm not saying it doesn't help a little, but...I'm just saying there's a point you hit where the fact that it can't last forever stops mattering because the possibility that it might last even one more second is just impossible to accept. There's no amount of time that it's okay.

I was lying as still as I could, Martha curled up by my stomach, but Brian waved and put a hand on me so I knew I was supposed to get up. There's some triage he has to do before he can get to work, even on good days, to see what meds I need and to try to get me to eat something. I sat up slowly, holding my breath as the room spun and my vision spotted out. I could see Brian in front of me, signing something to Evan, but I couldn't make out what it was. He turned to me and said, You okay? casually, but his expression changed as he looked at me, face softening, eyebrows coming together a little. Oh, you're not okay.

I took a deep breath in through my nose and let it out slowly. I swear I wanted to talk, but I just...can't, when it's like this. Signing hurts too much, and I don't trust myself not to just start crying or screaming if I open my mouth. And I just plain don't know what to say. It's like my brain won't start up. But Brian knows I can't talk when it's bad. He just nodded. I saw him talk to Evan about me, but I couldn't really process it. All the signs ran together and I was distracted trying to swallow down the waves of panic that kept swelling up. I wanted to rip my way out of my skin. I wanted to break all my bones. I wanted to do something, anything, to feel different in any goddamn way from what I was feeling.

Evan came over and kissed my cheek, really softly. I have to go, he told me. Brian was already taking off his suit jacket, so I knew he was staying with me. I didn't really feel guilty. We're past that. But of course Evan couldn't miss dialysis. I was supposed to go with him, and I absolutely did feel guilty about that. I shuddered and tried to talk, but Evan was gone by the time it felt possible.

I looked up at Brian, who dropped to a crouch in front of me.

Hey, slugger, he fingerspelled. He felt my forehead and said, Good, then carefully moved me forwards a little so he could put his ear against his back and listen to me breathe. He sat back up and nodded at me, then gave Martha's collar a tug. I'm going to take her out and start a bath, okay? I know you need meds. I'll be right back.

I swear I meant to say something, but a wave of pain went through me and I closed my eyes and shuddered, and when I opened them he was gone. I pulled my legs up on the bed, letting my breath flutter in the back of my throat and trying to convince myself that was as good as screaming, and pushed my face into my knees. After a few minutes I felt Brian's weight on the bed next to me, and I uncurled a little bit and pressed my face under his arm, biting down on his shirt.

Breathe, he signed on my chest, and I did. He rubbed circles on my back and kissed the top of my head, and when I pulled away a little to look at him he was watching me. It always gets better, he said. The mantra I was working on with my therapist. Breathe....out. It always gets better. He handed me some pills, more than usual, so I knew he was drugging me up. I don't take opiods because they scare me with Evan's history and I'm allergic to every one I've tried anyway, but I get high doses of gabapentin when the pain's bad which is enough to make me kind of stoned and out-of-it, which sounded fine for today.

Bath should be ready now, Brian said, and the thought of moving made me kind of panicked and it must have shown in my face because he said, We'll go really slow. Want me to carry you?

Making decisions was so far outside my realm of ability right then, and after a pause Brian just nodded and gradually arranged me around his neck and slipped his arm under my knees. The jostling when he lifted me made me sick to my stomach, but he held me really close to him and let me hide my face in his neck. 

It always gets better. It always gets better.

The hot water was shocking and overwhelming and I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek. Brian undressed and slipped into the bath behind me, his arms loosely around me, and kissed the back of my neck. I was shaking really hard and black spots kept dancing in my field of vision. The bath will help, I forced myself to think. The water will loosen your muscles up and it'll help. You'll be okay. You're not in any danger and that's what matters. That's what's important. Your boyfriend is in fucking kidney failure. You can deal with some benign pain.

Brian took my bad hand and started slowly uncurling my clenched fingers, and I must have made some noise because he stopped after a finger or two. Okay, he said, shifting around in the bath so I could see him. We'll try that again later.

I tried to say something, apologize for being such a drama queen, tell him that he didn't have to look so worried, that we both knew this was categorically nothing and it wasn't dangerous and I was fine, but when I spoke the words didn't feel right in my mouth and my breath caught in my throat I could tell from the look on his face that I wasn't doing it right. He brushed the hair off my forehead and said, Just rest, so I closed my eyes and tried to remember all the techniques I'd been working on with my therapist for days like this. A couple months ago I'd had a bad pain day for one of our appointments, and until then we'd been focusing on something completely different, I don't even remember what, but five minutes into that session she said, Okay, we need to look at our priorities here, and since then we'd mostly been doing pain management. Which meant mindfulness, being aware of what's going on, tuning into your body.

Which is not exactly what your first instinct is when your body feels like an open wound.

I will talk about feeling sick as much as anyone wants but I do not want to talk about pain. You can joke about being sick. You can describe it. You can sleep. You can still be a fucking person.

Pain like this....you lose touch with yourself.

Worse, you lose touch with everyone else. And not being able to connect to Brian, when he's right in front of you doing everything he can, everything you could ever dream of...

It always gets better. It always gets better.

The meds started to kick in, and between that and the pain and the hot water I was feeling pretty woozy by the time Brian helped me out of the bath. He helped me towel off and supported me under my elbows on the way back to bed. I figured he'd go get his laptop and get some work done, but instead he lay down next to me, flattening his palm over my back. Martha hopped up on the bed--she'd been standing guard by the bath tub--and curled up around my legs.

I watched Brian and thought about all the things I wanted to say but I couldn't get myself to move. 

Just rest, he said again, and I closed my eyes and everything went blissfully dark.

**

When I woke up, the meds were working; the pain was still awful, but it felt a little less dire and I was kind of embarrassed I'd made such a big deal out of it. I sat up slowly, trying to stretch myself out. All my muscles felt like they were going to snap like rubber bands, and my head was throbbing.

Brian padded in from the living room. Any better? he said.

"Yeah." I took a few deep breaths against a wave of nausea. "What time is it?"

A little after ten. You should sleep some more.

"Have to pee."

Need help?

"I can do it, I think," and I did, veeeeery slowly, and then limped myself back to bed. Brian pulled the covers back for me and I crawled in.

I should get Evan's wheelchair out, Brian said. We got just a cheap chair for him to use for trips to the grocery store and stuff like that, since he gets so tired nowadays.

I flopped down on the pillows. "I'm not going anywhere."

All right.

"Godddd." I took a long breath in and let it leak out of me. 

Hanging in there?

"I keep starting to scream and then stopping myself."

Brian nodded and sat down next to me on the bed. Would PT help?

"I don't know." I sighed. "Yeah, probably."

Brian got the yoga mat out of the closet and I transferred slowly to the floor, and then I lay down on my back and he helped me stretch out for a while. We didn't talk much, since his hands were busy and I was starting to get kind of overwhelmed again. It hurt like a bitch, getting moved around like that. I think Martha's going to kill me, Brian said at one point, and sure enough she was sitting next to me on the floor watching him very, very closely. She's a little protective.

When it was over I was feeling kind of sweaty and breathless and I still hurt like hell, but it was a different sort of pain now, and it felt better, productive. Brian asked me if I wanted to get up but I wasn't ready to move yet, so I just closed my eyes and lay there for a while. Eventually I peeked an eye open and tried to find my voice. "Is Evan okay?"

He's fine, texted me about an hour ago.

I swallowed. "Okay."

Think it's time for more drugs, babe.

"You always think it's time for more drugs," I said, and he laughed. I scratched Martha's head and hauled myself off the floor, wincing.

Brian hovered a little. Got it?

“Yeah. Unsteady.”

It's the meds.

“I know.” I tucked myself back into bed and tried to find a position that didn't feel like knives were going through me. “Yeah.” I swallowed. “Drugs please.”

Coming right up.

**

I woke up feeling lighter.

Martha was curled up at the foot of the bed, and Brian was next to me, reading one of my mystery novels. I rolled over and stretched. “The butler did it.”

Hilarious, he said, setting the book aside. How are you feeling?

“Okay. Sore.” But he looked gorgeous and peaceful and I wanted him. I scooted myself over until my lips were on his collarbone, and he pretended to resist for a minute before he nudged my mouth up to meet his.

I could get you off like this, he said.

“No you couldn't.”

No hands. Just like this. He tangled his legs up with mine and rubbed up against me and oh, okay, turns out he could.

He convinced me to eat something after that, and I tailed him into the kitchen and curled up at the bar with the sheet around me while he heated up some pasta I'd made the night before. Evan will be home soon, he said.

How's he doing?

He's fine. I told him you're doing better.

I nodded. It still hurt to move, but it was bearable. Back to normal, almost. I feel bad that you stayed home from work.

You feel bad about everything.

True, but I want to talk about this particular thing.

You needed a hand.

“I hate needing things when I'm not in any, like, danger,” I said. “It just feels so...self-indulgent, to sit around and expect people to take care of me when I'm categorically fine. Taking care of me wasn't like...medically necessary. I would have still been fine eventually if you'd just ignored me and gone to work.”

I was not put on this earth just to keep you alive, Brian said. That's not the gold standard here. I'm not a fucking...ventilator.

I rested my chin on my hand. “Okay. Why were you put here?”

Some bratty kid wasn't getting enough attention, I guess. He put a plate down in front of me.

I took a bite. “I'm sorry you were worried.”

He shrugged, his eyes warm. It always gets better.