Re: is toothache worst pain ever (long, rambling, probably boring, at least a bit OT, etc etc)

On Dec 2, 10:47 am, Doug Baiter <doug-bai...@xxxxxxxx> wrote:
In '92 my doctor finally discovered the cause of repeated leg pains -
a trapped nerve in my lower back. He sent me to an out-patients clinic
at the local hospital and they gave me a scan - I remember the process
was quite new at the time and the operator took great delight in
showing the graphic of me on the table and 'slicing' from tip of nose
down to buttocks - and when the consultant looked at it he admitted me
on the spot. I wasn't to know it at the time, but I wouldn't leave
hospital for over 14 weeks.

I'd been getting 'spasms' in my left leg, sometimes occasional but
usually repeated, but always the same intensity. For no reason that I
could establish, no pattern to set it off, I'd suddenly experience a
complete inability to control my leg which would shake so hard I'd be
unable to stand. At the same time, I'd get a flash of pain so
momentary and so exquisitely vicious that I'd not know exactly where
it was - once or twice I fainted on the spot. My doctor was convinced
it was nothing more serious than muscle spasms and that it would clear
of its own accord, and simply kept signing me off from work and giving
me painkillers, which at least helped with the dull throbbing that
usually followed.

Of course eventually I developed an immunity to the pills he was
prescribing and he was gradually moving me up through a series of
higher and higher category of drug, until eventually he admitted
defeat and sent me for the scan. The consultant told me that what was
happening was that the cartilege in my lower back was simply
dissolving away, and that vertebrae were able to move independently of
each other to such an extent that occasionally they would actually
touch. The problem with my leg was that a nerve was getting trapped
between these vertebrae and was crushed when the vertebrae touched,
causing the white-hot flashes of pain. He explained that I was to
have, IIRC, a discectomy, where several of my vertebrae would be held
in a fixed position relative to each other with the aid of clamps
holding them onto two rods which would extend one up each side of my
back.

I was to have several weeks traction before the operation, which
actually extended to 8 weeks once they discovered that a friend had
been sneaking me out to the pub, and shortly before they did the deed
they came round to the ward with a video tape of 'one theyd done
earlier'! No, really, they thought it would set my mind at rest to
actually watch one of these operations, but I declined and just begged
them to get on with it (they'd taken me off most of my pain medication
and I was suffering greatly when each spasm occurred). I was
pleasantly surprised at the minimal scarring - they'd managed to
insert two 10 1/2 rods plus clamps through a cut only 3 inches long,
but I suffered another complication; the 'push' needed to empty my
bowels was putting pressure on the area they'd worked on, and the
nurse began finding me sat on the toilet for hours at a time with
tears pouring down my face.

Some laxative cured that, and they declared that it was time to start
walking again. My legs had atrophied remarkably during the now ten
weeks off my feet and I was embarrassed to discover that I couldn't
actually stand up on my own, let alone walk. The first day they stood
me I passed out cold, and it took several attempts over a number of
days before they had me standing well enough that they wanted me to
attempt some steps. Unfortunately one of the nurses was relatively new
and had an 'incident' when opening the curtains round my bed,,, They
pulled the curtains when they stood me, one nurse in front pushing
against my shoulders while the other held my catheter bag and
generally cleared the way. Not thinking, she pulled open the curtains
with the hand she was holding my catheter bag, and promptly pulled it
straight out. I screamed the place down, and this put back my recovery
several days.

Another two weeks later and I was sent home to complete my recovery,
but in later years found that the cartilege wastage was gradually
creeping up my back and about three years ago a scan revealed that I'd
have to have more vertebrae clamped, and possibly have the rods
replaced with longer ones. I've not been to the hospital since, and
each time I see my doctor over unconnected issues he looks sternly at
me over the top of his glasses and recommends I get it over with. At
the moment, I'm still ignoring it, because with a small number of
exceptions its 'livable' with. By far the biggest problem is sneezing,
not aided by the fact that I suffer mild hay fever. When I feel a
sneeze is imminent, I reach for the nearest thing to brace myself and
hold on for dear life. My wife recognises the sudden panic in my eyes
and even my son is 'trained' to stand completely still when I grab for
him. If suitably braced, I'll mostly get away with it, but if I'm
somewhere with nothing to grab (and I really dont care, I've often
grabbed for complete strangers and then apologised afterwards) theres
usually only one result - I'll end up in a pile on the floor.
Sometimes I wont be able to get back up, sometimes I will, but either
way I'll be dizzy from the flash of bright-white pain that sheeted
through me. While I can keep these incidents down to ten or twelve a
year though, I'm going to carry on avoiding another operation.

But I digress - I was talking about pain. When I was just ten, I had
an accident out cycling with friends. Three or four of us would pedal
furiously, standing up on the pedals to get the maximum push, and then
hold our legs out and freewheel along, blurring past pedestrians and
generally whooping it up. On the fateful day I turned my head to see
how much of a lead I'd built up, and when I turned back I was
confronted by a concrete lamp post only a couple of feet away. I still
remember going ice-cold, knowing there was simply no way of avoiding
it, and I just waited grimly for the impact. I struck the post dead-on
at about 20 mph, and the front wheel folded underneath the bike and
ripped a chunk from my leg. The handlebars whipped round and, without
those plastic protectors on the end of the tubes, entered my groin
less than 2 inches from my penis and sank in for a depth of 4 inches.
My momentum ripped the tube from me and slammed me into the post,
smashing four teeth and giving me a pair of black eyes so heavy and
perfectly cast that I looked like a panda a week later.

As I staggered to my feet, I tasted some blood in my mouth but only a
little, and my mind was stuck firmly on my bike. It looked like
someone had parked a car on top of it, and I was doing my best not to
cry in front of my friends. It was only when one of them pointed at my
crotch and the rapidly growing patch of blood that I even considered
that I might be hurt, and of course as soon as I looked down and saw a
river of blood coursing down my leg I lost my composure and the tears
began. Oddly it seemed that there WAS no pain until I saw it, but it
certainly made up for the delay once it came in. White hot, so intense
it took literally my breath away and made my ears ring. Some passers
by called an ambulance and I was duly whisked off to casualty where
the torn wound was sewn up and a beatifully doe-eyed nurse smiled at
me that I'd escaped by a few millimetres and I would still have my own
kids after all.

Six years later I had another go at removing my manhood, this time
aided by the zipper on a pair of jeans. A friend rang, 7am, saying
that he'd just seen my pony hurtling down the main road near him. My
horse had gotten loose before but usually contented itself with
stealing food from someone elses box, but to think of him out on the
ROAD, especially when he wasn't good with traffic yet, made me blanch
with fear. Running upstairs for my room, I grabbed for a pair of jeans
and abandoning the idea of underwear which would take another 20
seconds just pulled them on and yanked up the fly. Before the fly had
gotten half way I was aware that something was incredibly wrong but my
hand had sufficient impetus and pulled the fly up the rest of the way
regardless, complete with the full length of my penis. The pain was
excrutiating, overwhelming even, and my legs folded under me even as I
started to scream. Amazingly there was no blood and I had one
tentative go at freeing myself before I realised that it simply wasn't
going to come loose easily. My father arrived and held the waistband
of my jeans up with one hand and yanked on my fly with the other. The
increasingly falsetto sound of my screams put him off having another
go and I was convinced that dogs around the county were pricking up
their ears as my tone ascended out of human earshot.

It took forty minutes for my father to admit defeat and call the
ambulance, during which the pain if anything intensified. My misery
was completed when my younger sister told the girl next door, who I'd
had a crush on for years, what the ambulance was waiting outside for,
and I was aware of myself from outside my body, being wheeled across
the road on a stretcher and off for another trip to the hospital. By
the time we got there I was easily able to shatter wine glasses over a
considerable radius, and the casualty staff wisely decided to wheel me
straight in rather than wait my turn. A doctor materialised into view
with what seemed to be a HUGE needle and cheerfully told me he was
going to sink it into my penis to administer a local anaesthetic. My
old friends the tears had already been on display, but spotting this
fresh assault began again with full fury, but within another 90
seconds or so my whole body from the waist down was numb. Laid down on
a bed, I even tried to sit up a little and watch what was going on -
the shock of sudden relief from such horrifying pain made me feel
detached from what was physically going on. A nurse held my shoulders
down, though, from the muffled curses coming from the doctor and the
intimidating number of tools he called for she thought it would be ...

read more >>



Wow!!!

I certainly hope you're feeling better now...really, "if anyone's
still reading"-once started, no way was I going to stop! Even though
I can't relate to roughly help of your experiences, for obvious
reasons (fortunately, despite some close calls, 'you've got something
I don;t got').

Well, you were fortunate last night, in one way-the hospital gave you
pain meds without even seeing you! If you were here in the US, you
would had had to fill out forms, maybe wait an hour or two(or five or
six), and, if the doctor who finally saw you was convinced you weren't
a "drug seeker" (more info on that phenomenon on the Payne Hertz blog,
link in Old Goat's post). A hospital giving out a pain script based
on a spouse's phone call? Unheard of here, at least since the early
70's.

But really, I hate hospitals as much as anyone, but you shouldn't let
that cartilage problem escalate much longer. Even now, I imagine some
people react rather unpredictably (and unpleasantly) when grabbed by a
stranger! I hope you at least see your doctor often enough to know
how the problem is really progressing-and can act accordingly.

So, I know it's nothing to congratulate someone on, but you do have
actual chronic pain. Please, feel free to use this group for its
stated purpose. Someone once suggested that we not question anyone's
status as a true chronic pain sufferer, once they have stated the
fact. With the examples you've given, trust me, you qualify.

But, qualifications and such are probably the last thing on your mind
at the moment. I hope this dentist did the trick, in fixing your
tooth and relieving your pain, or at least made a good start. Hope
you're getting some much-needed rest now, and are out of your misery,
or at least close to being so.

Take care.


-Legend










c
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