Call it "projection," call it "denial," call it a fever of 102, just get me some frozen strawberries sprinkled with cancer-causing fake sugar and cover it to the precisely right level with nonfat milk. And get me a soup spoon. You know the one I like -- from two patterns ago.
It makes me feel better. Cold things. Even the thought of cold things.
When I was in the hearsepital this last time? I swear it felt like the alternate universe of hospitals (in my experience). Caring doctors, responsive and smart nurses, all who redefined the expression "going the extra mile." Critical thinkers, too, from the aforementioned smarty-panted medicos to the food service employees who could reconfigure an overcrowded bedside tray in the blink of an eye, all while making sure you were who you were supposed to be. (As if I knew...)
Anyway, there was one nurse who listened carefully to my terse declarations about CRPS, repeated so often and almost always ignored, and who asked if ice or something cool made any difference to the pain in my legs.
I guess the answer was pretty easy to discern... "Ohhh! Ahhhhh!" I managed.
There were days, before I was diagnosed with avascular necrosis, then lupus, then CRPS, then osteomyelitis... that Fred would pack me in ice. It was the only thing that worked. Ice packs from head-to-toe. "Ohhh! Ahhhhh!" I used to exult.
Anyway, we weren't stupid about it. He'd let me drift off to sleep and then dare to take the cooling comfort away, pack by pack, kind of like playing a dangerous form of Pick Up Stix.
With the CRPS diagnosis came precious few certainties, but the one everyone seemed to know was "never, never use ice or cooling devices."
"We're serious. Never. Ever."
We heard it from the CRPS Impressively Diplomated. We heard it from the online sufferers, who had heard it from everyone. We heard it from every physical therapist. We heard it from the snake oil salesmen.
And not one could tell us the reasoning behind the prohibition.
So, anyway, this wunnerful nurse was wunnerfully made, and said, "Look, it helps, right? And it looks to me like nothing much else is helping. I mean, I gave you a boatload of morphine and you asked me, five minutes later, when I was going to give you the morphine! So while I research this 'no ice' thing, why don't I bring in a couple of ice packs?" Ohhh... Sorry, I'll stop it with the OHs and AHHs, already.
Anyway, I left before she got back to me, so I am back under the thumb of that stupid fear. But... now that my stomach is leaking blood like a sieve, and my fevers are sucky, I've discovered the brief and icy peace of frozen fruit sprinkled with carcinogens and topped off with milk.
And then... there are Ruthie's photos. I have stolen one, but I hope YOU understand that this photo was taken by Ms. Ruthie Rader, belongs to Ms. Ruthie Rader, and was purloined from her wondrous blog Ruthie in the Sky, which documents her journey. And what a journey it is.
When I lack the energy, will, and character to drag my sorry self to the freezer, I can still manage to ogle beautiful pictures of... cold. Ohhhh....
|Photo stolen from Ruthie Rader's blog: Ruthie in the Sky|