I think the Elidel is a horrible idea. But I thought the steroids were an acceptable idea and I was totally wrong. So maybe thinking the Elidel is a horrible idea means my subconscious KNOWS it's a brilliant idea and I will be able to CANCEL that appointment and never see a doctor again...
At least this is clear: my pain should NOT have been getting worse on the steroids. I knew that but the doctor confirmed it. No, first he said "You can try applying the steroids seven days a week" and I said "HOLD ON buddy! I am writhing here!" I think he thought the pain just wasn't going anywhere. But no, it was going way, way, way up.
I stopped the steroids on Thursday and on Saturday night I tried a Vicodin. It didn't work. By which I mean -- it didn't work. The pain was still there like it was before I took the Vicodin. I even laid still on my couch since movement hurt and that didn't help. It just flared like...like I imagine it would feel being dragged at 70mph over asphalt.
So I am sort of terrified even though now I'm much less offended that my gynie wouldn't give me pain meds. I read that Vicodin is for "moderate to moderately severe" pain which means there have to be levels of drugs up from it before your only option is unconsciousness. But while the flare I had was bad (really, really bad), it was still not the worst pain I've ever felt. The worst crotch pain I ever felt was worse than the worst cluster headache I ever had, and cluster headaches are termed "suicide headaches" because they make people want to kill themselves. They have no medical recourse except for weird stuff like pure oxygen and injections. If Vicodin can't address what I would call a moderately severe coochie flare...I'm just matching things up here.
I'm also terrified because this thing remains such an intractable mystery.
I'll stop there and tell you something good. My brother and I took my grandparents home from the Labor Day party yesterday. We got Poppa out of the car and wheeled him into the house where we gave them both our usual super-sweet, lingering goodbye. As we were leaving we realized we didn't put the car in the garage, so I ran back in, got the keys, and pulled the car in. I ran back to give the keys to Grandma, and as I was leaving she HIT ME IN THE CROTCH.
"I hope your ------ feels better," she said. "I've been praying for you and I just want those doctors to take care of you!"
Thank you, 20/20 and Mom, for telling Grandma about my problem, because that crotch swat was the highest benediction.