I cannot express in words how wonderful it feels to be able to work. I have shed a few tears of joy over it. It has been so satisfying to get words down on paper and be told they sound like me before June when the pain got bad. My editor keeps reminding me I have found my voice.
And I have been using said voice. I run out of oxycodone/percocet tomorrow evening. I get the anestesia injections on Tuesday. I see my primary on Wednesday. Nerve blocks have not helped with my hip pain. And since the doctor doesn’t believe it will help this time, I’m hoping that after 3 failed attempts, I can use that as some leverage to get treatment beyond “suffer it out until the next injections”. It is in fact the only reason that I am going through with the appointment on Tuesday.
I have tomorrow to get 35,000 words written on Demonic Dreams. After that date, I have no idea what the future will hold for me. I had desperately hoped to be more than 40,000 words into the story by now, even if it has only been a few weeks or however long since I started the umpteenth million rewrite of the book and it is flowing so well. I don’t want to lose a single day, but I have a very strict time limit and medication limit.
Mentally, writing has helped me feel more like a person. More like me. The husband is out of town for work from tomorrow to late Wednesday. This would normally be a very productive writing time for me, but no guarantees this time. I loathe the possibility of losing that. All I have ever wanted to do was write.