Another Good Book: AfterShock

I was going to link to the article in my local paper, the Oregonian, about this cool book, but here we are on June 11, and the article on June 5 is nowhere to be found on their website. Transitory news. (As one used to see on bumperstickers mocking the paper's then advertising slogan, following the breaking of a scandal about Oregon's senator in an East Coast paper, "If it matters to Oregonians, it's in the Washington Post.")

The book is AfterShock: What to Do When the Doctor Gives You - Or Someone You Love - A Devastating Diagnosis by Jessie Gruman, Ph.D. Here's the website.

Since it is an almost universal human experience in the modern, western world, that we will someday stroll into a doctor's office and stumble out into a changed world, changed only by the words spoken aloud by the doctor or other health professional, this book is for everyone I know. Almost everyone of us will get such a diagnosis in our lifetime. Or someone we love will.

This looks like my kind of book. It looks like real, practical advice, both about what to do to respond to the medical crisis, but how to handle the emotional aftermath.

The article in my local paper said, if you don't need this book now, don't read it now. Buy it, and keep it on the shelf, or lend it to someone who does need it now.

I'm not sure how to handle that advice. I have diabetes, type 2. Does that qualify as a devastating diagnosis? Type 1, yes, devastating, absolutely. But Type 2?? My diagnosis was years ago, although the more current issues of chronic foot pain have been pretty devastating. And, with diabetes, there's often a devastating diagnosis or complication in the future, hopefully the far future.

I think I'll buy it.

Many stones

I've been hiding out for a little bit. I'm having trouble adjusting to the idea that I have neuropathy. It brings up all sorts of nasty feelings.

Did I do enough to control my diabetes the past eight years?

Did I do this to myself? Is all this pain my fault?

My HbA1cs have been fairly good, but I'm sure I have swings into highs that create the possibility of damage to my nerves and blood vessels, while the blood is overloaded with glucose.

Is this foot pain a physical manifestation of my thoughts? My negative emotions? Is it a punishment?

You know what I mean, I think. And yet these thoughts are lies. Because I haven't abused myself. I didn't wish this on myself. My faith is not weak. God's grace abounds, even to me.

I had my follow up visit with the NP at the Pain Clinic today. The MRI did not show any actionable flaws. It did show a little bit of degenerative joint disease in my great toe, but only on the left foot.

They recommended that I visit the psychologist for 8 sessions. He'll apparently teach me some coping techniques and tools that often prove helpful for folks with chronic pain. (And no, seeing the psychologist does not mean that they think the pain is all in my head. It means that I want to use my mind effectively in this battle.)

I haven't gotten past the (competent, highly effective, polite but immoveable) scheduler in the Neurology department, so I have to follow up with that. The NP assures me that the neurologist should be able to figure out whether the pain originates from a nerve injury (such as Joplin's neuroma) or from neuropathy. I'm hoping that the neurologist may have some sort of prediction of the course of the condition.

We tweaked the meds a little. I do feel like the pain is diminished, but I don't feel like it's conquered. I like the direction of the trend. I feel I can walk more. I don't feel like I have to ration my steps or my standing time. I'm still in my clunky unfashionable shoes.

Life is good. I think I can live with this pain. I think that it is not a punishment. And I don't think that it's OK for me to throw stones at myself, figuratively, thinking that I didn't do a good enough job at managing my diabetes.

Maybe I could have done better, eaten fewer bites of this, chosen that more often, but it's in the past. I have to deal with what is. No second-guessing, unless I can gain wisdom for the next set of choices.

Life is good.