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Show 188 are trying to bum out the Baclofen which has leaked from the dura; it is positionally overdosing me by its untimely and overly excessive return into the intrathecal space. She types in the computer instructions and positions the wand over my pump. Her doing so risks overdose. Her not doing so resigns me to a different agony, It will take some time before the bolus reaches its target and my muscles reverse their course and relax, even just a little. "Would it help to mb your joints?" Isla is asking. r K "No," I am saying. "I don't think so." I am trying to wriggle what movement is left me into a more comfortable position. In vain. My ankles are so inwardly contorting that they are spraining, slowly, muscle pulling tendon from joint. My elbows and wrists are locked, fixed in their contracting positions, becoming more and more drawn in with each passing minute. If my fingernails were longer, they would now be drawing blood from the palms of my hands. Even short, they will indent the palms with blunt red lines. It is becoming difficult to breathe. I am softly moaning with pain as much as I try not to. An hour passes heavily. |