"Between Here and Gone" (part two)
Memorial Day 2001 was well.... memorable. The rain, the tears and most of all the fear. By this time I had already sought out my doctor for an anti-depressant (Paxil) and a family friend who was also a doctor for pain medication, muscle relaxants and something to sleep (Restoril.) I had to stop the crying and hit the Restoril in double dose. I awoke the next morning with a "Benzover" (a benzodiazapene hangover.) I was listless and had a major headache. My chest hurt from all the crying. I would cry off and on for the next three days.
Greg returned from Michigan and he could see a change. Looking back, the Memorial Day breakdown was a huge red flag of what was to come. Greg was not equipped to deal with the "new" Matt. He could deal with the physical, but the mental part he wouldn't face. Greg was always happy with the status quo, not rocking the boat. He was VERY good at what he did at Tulane, but sometimes I wish he would have left the objectivity of being one of the chief judicial officers of a major university at the office. In the mean time I was spending what seemed like endless cash on whether to opt for ortho or neuro. The orthopedists were leaning to less invasive treatments. The still unaffordable M.R.I. would only tell. Greg had more travel lined up in early June with Tulane alumni affairs to host a group of alums on a two week trip to Germany.
A week into the Germany trip, I would awake one morning to get out of bed only to hit the floor. I had lost the feeling in my left foot. I dialed my brother David then 911. My brother David was my grandmother incarnate in situations like this. He beat the ambulance to our house and got me back to bed. He rode with me as I was taken to University Hospital in New Orleans. I was now in the state hospital system. David called to update my folks. During this visit I was injected in my lower torso with something that was to numb the pain in my back.
I was informed by the doctor that they could not order an M.R.I. as I did not fit the criteria (uncontrollable bowel movements being one.) David with his usual biting wit exclaimed: "Oh he CAN shit on himself if it will help facilitate the process." The doctor was not amused. She would schedule a follow-up M.R.I in three months. In the process of being discharged, I got out of bed to use the bathroom. I was suddenly hit with a stabbing pain down my leg that felt like a bear was clawing at me. It was ten times worse than anything I'd ever felt. I suddenly realized it had to be the earlier injection. I was crying and jolting when I returned to the bed. My brother was furious as the doctor emphazied she had done everything they could. She offered a shot of Benadryl. WHAT THE F*&K???!!! I was being sent home in more pain than I had when I arrived. I was wheeled out to David's vehicle with a script for Vicodin.
I cried in pain as we drove back to David and his partner Warren's home. I would stay with them until Greg's return. It was moments like this that I missed Greg the most. I began to have a sinking feeling that everything was changing and I had no control, like being swept away by a raging flood. I was in the water and Greg was no where in sight. It is here I have to give credit to my brother David who played the ultimate nurse, brother and friend.
I couldn't sleep and got out of bed to use the bathroom. THAT pain hit me again. I made it back to bed but was convulsing and whimpering as I did not want to wake up David and Warren. David would appear through the doorway. "Oh Matthew." he said in sympathy. "Why didn't you call me?" I couldn't even speak to give him an answer. I had the bottle of Vicodin in my hand. He went to get a glass of water. I took five of the pills. David would stay with me. He would later remark: "I looked like a fish flopping on land." As the medication took effect my movement slowed, the fish laying on the dock with only it's gills moving.
A new demon would visit the next day and this one would had nothing to do with pain.
David, despite everything that has happened, I will never forget this. I love you and always will!
-Matt
Greg returned from Michigan and he could see a change. Looking back, the Memorial Day breakdown was a huge red flag of what was to come. Greg was not equipped to deal with the "new" Matt. He could deal with the physical, but the mental part he wouldn't face. Greg was always happy with the status quo, not rocking the boat. He was VERY good at what he did at Tulane, but sometimes I wish he would have left the objectivity of being one of the chief judicial officers of a major university at the office. In the mean time I was spending what seemed like endless cash on whether to opt for ortho or neuro. The orthopedists were leaning to less invasive treatments. The still unaffordable M.R.I. would only tell. Greg had more travel lined up in early June with Tulane alumni affairs to host a group of alums on a two week trip to Germany.
A week into the Germany trip, I would awake one morning to get out of bed only to hit the floor. I had lost the feeling in my left foot. I dialed my brother David then 911. My brother David was my grandmother incarnate in situations like this. He beat the ambulance to our house and got me back to bed. He rode with me as I was taken to University Hospital in New Orleans. I was now in the state hospital system. David called to update my folks. During this visit I was injected in my lower torso with something that was to numb the pain in my back.
I was informed by the doctor that they could not order an M.R.I. as I did not fit the criteria (uncontrollable bowel movements being one.) David with his usual biting wit exclaimed: "Oh he CAN shit on himself if it will help facilitate the process." The doctor was not amused. She would schedule a follow-up M.R.I in three months. In the process of being discharged, I got out of bed to use the bathroom. I was suddenly hit with a stabbing pain down my leg that felt like a bear was clawing at me. It was ten times worse than anything I'd ever felt. I suddenly realized it had to be the earlier injection. I was crying and jolting when I returned to the bed. My brother was furious as the doctor emphazied she had done everything they could. She offered a shot of Benadryl. WHAT THE F*&K???!!! I was being sent home in more pain than I had when I arrived. I was wheeled out to David's vehicle with a script for Vicodin.
I cried in pain as we drove back to David and his partner Warren's home. I would stay with them until Greg's return. It was moments like this that I missed Greg the most. I began to have a sinking feeling that everything was changing and I had no control, like being swept away by a raging flood. I was in the water and Greg was no where in sight. It is here I have to give credit to my brother David who played the ultimate nurse, brother and friend.
I couldn't sleep and got out of bed to use the bathroom. THAT pain hit me again. I made it back to bed but was convulsing and whimpering as I did not want to wake up David and Warren. David would appear through the doorway. "Oh Matthew." he said in sympathy. "Why didn't you call me?" I couldn't even speak to give him an answer. I had the bottle of Vicodin in my hand. He went to get a glass of water. I took five of the pills. David would stay with me. He would later remark: "I looked like a fish flopping on land." As the medication took effect my movement slowed, the fish laying on the dock with only it's gills moving.
A new demon would visit the next day and this one would had nothing to do with pain.
David, despite everything that has happened, I will never forget this. I love you and always will!
-Matt
posted by Matthew Cortez at 8/18/2005 09:51:00 AM
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