Things had changed drastically. I’d had a couple of surgeries and found myself permanently disabled with a secondary condition of chronic pain. For two years my doctors had added one narcotic on top of another in a vain attempt to control my pain; the entire time telling me that I would never recover, that my condition would only worsen. One day I complained that my medications were making it impossible to stay awake, so my doctor prescribed an amphetamine to help. My next appointment I told that doctor that I would not continue taking the “speed” because it made me not able to sleep. He didn’t even bother to ask what I wanted to do, he simply wrote another prescription; this one for valium. Well I just sat there for a minute, anger rising up from the pit of my stomach. Finally I calmly tore up the prescription he had written and told him “I am done”.
“Maybe we should look at your anti-depressant medication, which one are you taking” is what he said as he picked up my chart to scan through the long list. As he stared at my chart I stood up from the chair and started for the door. I told him “I guess you didn’t hear me, I said I’m done”. He being a great advocate for the pharmaceutical companies decided that more medications would solve all my problems. He felt that I just didn’t understand; so he had to explain it all to me again. He stood blocking the door and told me once again that as soon as they got the right combination of meds, my pain would ease up. And he continued, to explain again that I had to accept the fact that I am disabled, and always would be.
Now, I have spent twenty years watching chronic pain patients have their medications increase with no relief for their pain; just a decrease in their ability to think, to do, to live. I was not prepared to give up my life to narcotics. I told this to the doctor, then said “your fired” and walked out. When I got home, I flushed all my pills down the toilet, and burned the pain patches. At first the rebound pain was excruciating, but after a few days it eased up and I found that I had no more pain than I did while on the meds. A few days later I had a minor heart attack; because I didn’t stop my medications properly. Weak and sick and in pain I spent the next month in bed; then one morning I made a decision. I packed my car trunk with some camping supplies; grabbed my dog, my shotgun, and my cane and drove east.
My favorite place in the world is in Eastern Oregon. It is a mountain; well a hill with mountain in the name, and on this hill runs Little Fish Creek. After you leave the main highway it’s about 20 miles to Wildcat, then another 20 or 25 miles on dirt roads and what might pass as deer trails to my favorite spot. This is a small oasis on a high desert hill, pine trees and grass with a nice portion of Little Fish creek running right through it. Here the creek has a small waterfall that fills a deep pool, and then runs through shallow rapids. The sound of water rippling around ancient stone and swishing through lush mosses is a comforting sound.
It’s a small hike from the dirt road, but I managed to get the sleeping bag, shotgun and my dog to the edge of the creek. I laid out my bag, laid down and fell asleep. I woke in the middle of the night and above me I saw so many stars. My dog who had lain next to me through the hours that I slept, looked at me as though he was making sure I was ok; then laid his head on my legs and went back to sleep. I continued to stare at those beautiful stars until the sun poked up over the pine trees. I got up and struggled to get the tent and the rest of the supplies. I was so weak and in so much pain it took me most of the day to get the camp set up.
I never bothered to put my sleeping bag in the tent. I slept every night at the edge of the creek, so close I could reach out and let my hand drift in the water. I didn’t just sleep at night; I slept for a couple of days too. When I was awake, I ate a little, fed my dog and let him run around, but he was reluctant to stray more than a few feet from me. He watched me all the time, I think he was worried. I walked just a tiny bit, but enough to see some wildlife. I watched antelope come to drink at the creek, and a porcupine with pups waddled around scratching at a log until she noticed me; she hissed a bit and gave a little clucky sound then waddled away, quickly vanishing in the brush. A magpie came and tormented Merlin (my dog) for a morning; and even as this magpie tried so hard to get Merlin to chase him, my dog refused to leave my side. His loyalty is amazing.
One night I woke to Merlin growling; he is a Great Dane so his growl is deep and rumbles the ground, you can feel his growl vibrating in your chest. I sat up and put my hand on the shotgun. But it was just some cattle walking through; this is free range cattle country and being mid-summer, I watched to make sure there was no bull with these cows. (These cows helped to make a later camping trip an event to remember and one I think I will enjoy telling at another time.) The cows passed through, leaving a pie or two behind; and I laid there again staring at the stars. For five days and nights I slept next to that creek, even one day when it rained I stayed near the creek, the tent serving as nothing more than a storage area for my clothes and food.
During this time, my pain did not ease; but I was able to deal with it. My weakness and that sick feeling that follows a cardiac event, let up; I gained some strength and a little energy. Each day I was able to walk a little better, a little farther. Then something terrible happened Merlin ate the last of his dog food; it was time to go home. It was physically easier to strike camp, than it had been to set camp. But emotionally and spiritually, it was horrible I actually cried as I packed the trunk. I sat for an hour or so, on a log with my feet in the water; delaying my departure from this my favorite place. But finally the sun began to set and I had to drive away.
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