Good News, Bad News

  Monday afternoon, and the reporter and photographer came through my front door.  Questions where asked over the camera's clicks; answered, at times, through clenched teeth.  In all the story was told, and I spent the night in pain.  When they left they wanted to get some video, so they scheduled to come back on Tuesday.
  Tuesday morning, bad pain, and the photographer walked through the door.  She set up, filmed, asked questions.  Pain consumed, and it was time to go to the ER.  That poor photographer, she looked so worried, but she was getting the real story.  She was capturing, on film, what real pain looks like.  RSD is the worst pain in the world, worse than cancer or natural child birth, and she was right in the middle of it.
  One of the few things I remember is the look of terror on her face.
  I called my mother, begged her to hurry, to take me to the hospital.
  Time passed.  The reporter took photographs, filmed.  I gasped for breath and struggled to keep my body from tightening against the pain; fought to stay conscious and present while my mind was trying to shut down from overload.  Then I was in the car and rushing for the ER.
  Vomited in my mouth, swallowed, and blacked out twice on the way.  Prayers to God to give me strength; get me through one more time.  Arrival, and a wait for someone to come with a gurney or wheelchair to get me inside.
  They're rough getting me out of the car.  Big burly police man.  He embraces me, keeps me from falling to the ground, and it hurts more than he knows; could understand.  Vitals where checked, and then I was rushed into a large scary room.  'Oh God, why this room,' I thought.  Crash cart, machines that ping, all things medical surrounded me.  My vitals must have been extreme to have put me in that room.  I.V. run, drugs promised, and then I laid in wait, in pain, in prayer.  Minutes ticked by like hours.
  The doctor arrives, asks what is usually done for me.  The nurse arrives and pumps the drugs into my system; first a needle for nausea, then a needle for pain, and lastly a needle to calm.  Minutes pass, and the pain is still pretty severe, so she hits me again with another dose of pain killers.
  In all they dosed me with enough dalauted and Valium to knock over a rhino, and I got off the gurney and into the wheelchair on my own.  Then I wheeled myself to the exit.
  The reporters where there for a lot of the time.  They asked questions, and took photos.  In all, the two women working on my story had been some of the most compassionate and endearing individuals I've met.  Today I will send them a letter or email with all of the gratitude I can muster.