Sunday and Monday Morning

I don't really remember much about Sunday except, well, pain. I've written previously, and probably to excess, about my feelings on pain, so I won't repeat myself except to say, Props to anyone who's been put into a position where they have to live with chronic pain. I can't even begin to imagine what that must be like on an extended basis.

Anyway, Sunday was pain day. Lots -- and lots and lots -- of Oxycodone and hyperventilation, but not much else that I can remember now. 

But I made it through the day, and subsequent night, and was able to call in to the palliative care center first thing Monday morning. After an hour without a response, I called my oncologist's coordinating nurse and was able to have a chat with her. She promised to get back to me, and hung up to go have some conversations with the palliative care folks, my oncologist, and anyone else she thought needed to provide input.

About forty-five minutes later she called back with some new instructions: go to the ER. And so for the second time in just a few weeks I was headed back to the ER for abdominal pain.