I’ve been home from the hospital since last Thursday, but I’m been awake only a fraction of that time Both the palliative care nurses and nurse friends impressed on me the importance of pain management, so being the good little do-be that I am I’ve taken my med every four hours, followed immediately by an anti-emetic. That has allowed me to stay awake about an hour after my dose when I drift off until my alarm goes off for the next dose. Yes, my NP friend told me I must set my alarm, or I will have break-through pain, and I wish I could tell you that wasn’t true, but when I woke up in torrents of pain, I thought she must know more than I do.

My daughter had just called to see how I’d slept, and I had a new event occur. No words came out. Just someone half singing and half crying. Like a drunken lullaby. It took me a bit to realize those noises were coming from me. I don’t think I’ve ever not been able to talk. Ask anyone! I can gab circles around the most loquacious human. But my mouth was full of tears. I saw that my NP friend was trying to get through at the same time and managed to convey to my daughter that I should get her call. I answered and garbled out that I was full of pain. I need not have told her, though, because I had texted her upon awakening every dreadful pain descriptor I could think of, and that listing had prompted her to call me promptly. I’d said things like the worst ever in four different languages. She asked when I’d taken the meds. Well, at bedtime. Then I was so thankful the ring-around-my- rosy-waist pain had lightened up enough to sleep, so I slept. Oh no, no, no! When one’s entire goal in life is pain management, one must set an alarm to wake yourself up to take your next dose. I have now learned that loud and clear. I must wake myself up to sleep again. I know that does not make sense, but I tell you my NP friend knew what she was talking about. For the next 24 plus hours, I set my alarm on my phone, plus I enlisted Alexa’s help, and rose zombie-like and took my pain med, followed by the anti-emetic, every four hours. A problem occurred, though, when I slept through both alarms. I was super groggy and couldn’t for the life of me remember when I was supposed to take my meds. At long last, I figured out that it was because I had put myself on a schedule I have never ever used as a practicing nurse, so here I am 25 years retired on a nutso schedule and somehow expecting to hop up alert every four hours—well, that was not going to work. But I felt super brilliant putting myself on a “normal” schedule of 9-1-5-9-1-5. I’m doing much better than when I was trying to remember 3-7-11-3 something.

So I lost a day or two pain managing, so I can’t really tell you how the days went, but now it is Tuesday, and I’ve just missed my 5pm meds, so I am just going to wait until 9, so I can stay awake long enough to finish this in some fashion of coherence.

I must tell you that I love humor. My four older siblings used to tell me that the humor gene in our family passed them up, and I got all their doses. I think they were telling the truth because without me even trying, humor tumbles out of my mouth. And I’ve always thought humor was good medicine and that God gave it to us for a reason. And in my situation right now, I can either sob away and garble ain’t-it-awful melodies, or sing praise to the highest heavens for finally getting a diagnosis, for finally knowing what’s wrong with me. I’m truly thankful.

Oops, I’ve just realized it’s only Monday. I think I’ll just go to bed and try life again tomorrow!