Because now, in 2007, there are really good drugs.

Yesterday, when I acquired the kids from the in-laws (who watched them while Rice and I hung out in the ER), I mentioned the prescription the doctor had given me for pain. Both in-laws scoffed. Both thought the prescription was a little much for a miscarriage. And I didn't know. The last time I lost a pregnancy that was about this far along I ended up having to have a D&C, which is an entirely different story. I got my hopes up a bit last night, thinking perhaps I could get by on Motrin. (I tend to have both a high pain tolerance and a low medication tolerance -- doesn't take a lot to get me all fired up and happy.)

I would like to say that the doc knew exactly what he was doing because this hurts. I needed the pain meds last night, and for most of today I breathed myself through a lot of the pain, but oh, tonight it hurts. It just really, really hurts. It burns, and sears, and throbs. And I've got one pill working in my system. I have just taken another, which should go into effect in about 20 to 35 minutes.

Pain is exhausting. And I need rest.

When the pain isn't bad I feel sad, and when there's pain I can't focus on much else. I suppose this is a good situation -- I can't imagine doing both at once right now.

But I'm grateful the physical pain is as temporary as it is. Soon I'll be able to get back to my normal life, and start working on some of the activities planned to help my back. I'm grateful I am not dealing with a more severe condition. My back is condition enough. And I know so many deal with such regular significant pain.

Just breathe in and out, deeply, just breath through it. Think about something else. Read some Connie Willis. This is what I tell myself, as I hug the heating pad, and cuddle with Sam and Elliot, waiting for the medication to take effect.