Monday, April 13, 2009

Anaesthesia

I have a friend, a very very good friend, who
discovered
that if he took Solpadeine at the end of a night of excessive
drinking, he
could all but eliminate the next day's hangover. He drank alot to
ease
his loneliness, and he took alot of Solpadeine. One day, the lady in his
local chemist held him in her gaze with wise eyes as he paid for his second
or
third purchase that week and asked him gently

Is your pain very
bad?

So it's over. And I am arthritic with pain.

The Bim has gone. Moved out three weeks ago. He's local, it's amicable, we are learner novices at navigating the excruciating mine-field that is caring for a child who would rather have her parents together, thankyou very much; the wound is raw; my being howls.

Out of necessity, and just-for-the-time-being, I have put together a hotch-potch of remedies for the pain.

I wish we could be a THREE family, not a TWO family! shouts Anna-mouse loudly from her car seat, in a voice loaded with resentment, a couple of days ago.

I try to explain via the rear-view mirror that I wish we could be a Three Family too, and that I tried, I really tried not to let this happen, and that this wasn't what I wanted either, but that just because Daddy doesn't live with us anymore doesn't mean we're not a family, or that we love her any less... And my voice trails.

I'll get better at this, I think. I've got to get better at this.

This is why I need painkillers.

They come in all shapes and guises, my anaesthetics: these days you will find me browing the supermarket aisles wafting Chanel no. 5. A scent, a really good, expensive scent has always lifted my spirits. I cannot seem to get the person looking back at me in the mirror to look how I want her to look - so at least she can smell good. Also, in these financially precipitous times (the Bim can barely support himself, let alone me and Anna-m), there's nothing like smelling expensive to remind myself to aim high.

And of course I have discovered that there is no point in saving things for that luxurious time when they may be needed/appreciated. They might never be. I might never be, so I figure I need to appreciate myself.

Harder said than done: another of my frequently-used painkillers is, in fact, the painkiller. You name it, I've taken it in the last few weeks if it's round and small and available over the counter. My body has been beset by pain. I suppose it's not surprising that my inner angst is manifesting physically, especially when I've got so very good at appearing as though nothing in the world is the matter when that particular facade is needed.

My pain gets worse at night. It increases in direct proportion to hours awake, which is many, because unfortunately I have been unable to sleep. I keep thinking that if I stay up just one more hour, my head might suddenly be able to crack it, I might have a 'Eureka' moment, I'll understand what the hell happened over the last four years, put my head on the pillow and sleep like a baby.

This has not yet happened. No. This is where Benylin - blessed sleeping draft! - comes in. That, and the very act of staying up so late that I can't actually think at all, about anything. I find myself bumping into things like a drunkard and know that I can finally allow myself to sink, stone-like, into a cold place alone.

What else? Well, there's the mindnumbing buzz of trashy TV; other people's gossip (always good for a quick hit, especially if their lives are worse than mine) and on a kinder note, nothing beats the fantastic rallying of friends, the extraordinarily generous comments left here in cyberspace, or the odd phrase uttered by Esme, late at night on the phone.

Well, something in the cocktail's working. I've got the nausea down to a couple of times a day; I haven't popped a pill for a day or two, and Anna-mouse left school today with a smile. Of course, my state of being is umbilically-linked to hers. When she feels better, I will. Though I do know the reverse is just as true, just as important.

Sometimes, just occasionally, I glimpse something way off through the trees - a lighter, airier place - and life's circling enthralls me.




7 comments:

nuttycow said...

Livvy - you've been very brave. Well done.

It will get easier. Promise.

Chin up. Look after you and look after Anna-m too.

Crackberry Momma said...

I am thinking of you and hope it is getting easier

family affairs said...

That is all sounding promising....light is good...in any direction. All I saw was grey for so long - and it's sounds like it's moving in the right direction but don't rush it - it takes an age....just look after yourself and your daughter too .Lx

Bush Mummy said...

I am the child of divorce - she will be fine. You must worry about YOU first and foremost.

BM x

Phidelm said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Stay at home dad said...

I think the pain she expresses is yours Livvy. But she will soon realise that she is just as cared for as she was before.

Take care of yourself.

Sahdx

Anonymous said...

Hope things are getting slightly better for you. Missing reading your posts.