Some days are harder than others.
Some days the smiles are rare and seldom genuine.
Those are the days where one is best left alone, preferably in a dark cave with a cozy blanket and maybe a glass of Pinot Gris and a bit of dark chocolate.
Unfortunately for me (and everyone else), I seldom have the luxury of playing the hermit on such days as today, when I am moody and grumpy and an hair’s breadth away from an emotional meltdown.
The reasons for the attitude are many. It’s not like there is just one thing bothering me beyond all reason. But the weightiest of all are frustration, hopelessness and despair. When the nerve pain is the worst it has been in a few weeks and this after the second round of neural therapy, it is difficult not to feel stuck. The first round of neural therapy held some promise, a lessening in the tingling in the feet, which raised hopes that the second round would at least continue the positive trend. But no.
That disappointment clasped hands with my feelings about an upcoming follow-up appointment at the pain clinic this week, and the two chose to travel down a dark path of despair. What will this appointment even accomplish? What options are available to me that I haven’t already tried? I fear that there are none. This appointment will be a waste of time, and my carefully constructed walls are crumbling.
I am so very tired of tingling, burning feet and legs and the constant stream of burning running down my buttocks to my toes. It would be a novelty to stand or walk without the permanent area of numbness in my left foot and left calf. And yet nothing helps.
Becoming Angela 