...or not.
Not that enough is not enough, because it clearly is. More that whilst enough is very much enough, there is no actual way to reflect that, because the problem continues.
The problem lies in three main areas:
1) Huge amounts of what my doctor splendidly describes as "Neuropathic Pain".
2) Immobility - being virtually chained to this bed.
3) Physical damage to my legs and daily bandage changes.
Take these three things away, and I would be a very happy chap indeed. At least for a while. I'm not naive enough to believe that I would go for long without finding something to complain about. After all, I am both human and British. Enough said.
I can deliver on that one, because enough said, really is enough. I can stop, therefore honouring the statement. I recognise that, at this point, I stand a very real chance of disappearing in a puff of illogic, so - against advice - I will continue, hopefully briefly.
The more astute amongst you, and by that, I, of course, mean /you/ (whoever you are), will realise that all this wordy flannel exists to cover over what is, in actuality, quite a raw emotion. The picture gives a pretty good portrayal of my underlying mood. I have, quite simply had ENOUGH of this whole carry on. I am completely sick of lying in the same place each and every day, and no amount of consoling myself that it isn't hospital seems to help. I am frustrated at the sheer amount of time this thing is taking to heal, I can barely remember a time before May 20th when the fist twinges took place - it seems like a lifetime ago.
Most of all, right at the very top of my moan list, is that I am completely fatigued and worn down by the almost constant pain. It's there as I drift off to sleep and it is the thing which wakes me up. It follows me around all day and nags me constantly. When I am upright it starts by gnawing at me and escalates to ripping through me in minutes. Sometimes, I know not why, it creeps away unnoticed and I feel a gradual sense of euphoria spread over me. Then I move something and back it comes, bounding in like some kind of eager, yet hated, puppy. As I converse, it chimes in, ever louder, clouding my thoughts and preventing me from thinking clearly.
It's easy to hate pain.
Everywhere I go, everything I do is dictated to and governed by it. It is my parent and my persecutor, my inspiration and my exasperation, my companion and my cellmate. I have absolutely had ENOUGH of it, yet that is not enough for it to cease. Nor will it cease. It will merely retreat into the shadows as time passes, and show itself less often, leaving only a dull throb behind to remind me not to walk too far, or lift too much, or live too freely.
I realise that I have indulged myself today in this Blog entry. I didn't intend to embarrass you, and I'm sorry if I did. I did, however, want to leave a mark to show where I've arrived at. Things are, by no means, at their worst. My condition is improving slightly and the fluid discharge is definitely less. The pain is less likely to lessen in the short term, I know that. It's just that the sheer length of time that pain has run at such a high level takes its toll. It has exhausted me mentally and physically and I don't really have much of a stomach for more of the same.
So what happens when one has truly had enough?
I'll let you know.
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