November 12, 2010

Today the pain clinic took place. It was a distinctly deflating experience.

I imagined white coated medical technicians, and of course, the mandatory doctor, giving me sermon-like discourses about the importance of learning to live with pain and not trying to get rid of it. I expected to be introduced to the mysteries of “managing” without medication. I was braced to be told about classes, approaches, required behaviour changes and, through some kind of ritual, to be initiated into membership with those who “live with pain”!

There was only one other person waiting when I arrived (on time) and when I left less than an hour later, still only one other. The receptionist was the only one wearing a white coat. I met two doctors – the resident in training and, after him, a lovely woman originally from London, England.

The eight page questionnaire that I turned in to the receptionist – filled out – never appeared again. The young man took an incomplete history and referred largely to the computer record of my recent hospital stay and previous clinical visits going back ten years.

The doctor in charge did not balk at my statements that most medications make me sick, or that I find them hard to swallow. However I was also told that although I will be given return appointments to try acupuncture and a TENS machine, nothing “alternative” will be covered by OHIP (Ontario’s health insurance) or ODSP (Ontario’s benefit for those labelled disabled). All she was really willing to offer is – another pill.

I left with the prescription, filled it at the hospital pharmacy and then my personal assistant either left the bag at the cash register or dropped it. I arrived at home with no medication and no recollection of its name. I only know that its other use is as an anti-depressant and that I have been given a paediatric dosage. It is to be taken before bed as it will make me sleepy. So it goes! My pain makes me like a sad and restless baby.

For this I waited more than ten months!

There is a song from the ‘50’s – Peggy Lee? – that goes: “If that’s all there is, if that’s all there is, if that’s all there is my friend then let’s keep dancing, let’s break out the booze and have a ball, if that’s all there is.” I don’t really know why this should be such a let down for me, but somehow when I compare what the best official medicine in Toronto has to offer with all my masseuse Jen and my friends have been coming up with for the past six weeks to support me in this crucial life shift, I’m a little stunned.

This morning my friend, Gloria, was recommending a pain relieving ointment made from the combined oils of Emu and marijuana. I have no idea where to get either, but clearly I have friends who do. It sure has got to beat drugging myself into insensitivity.

In any case in my reality the pain clinic of Nov. 12 was the watershed after which I would have all the information and experience necessary to make some concrete choices and plans about my Cycle 3 life. The clinic has come and gone. Disappointing as the outcome is my life awaits my direction.