The Fear of Never Ending Pain

I spent most of this weekend in a reclining position. It seems that, despite the fact that I had just scheduled a chiropractic appointment for Monday evening, my recent, increasingly frequent bouts of lower and upper back pain, shoulder tension and neck spasms culminated in a massive lower back systems failure on Friday evening. All I did was reach down to pick up a garbage bag and BAM. The left side of my lower back just completely seized up. I could barely walk.

Fortunately, I'm not prone to panic. Plus I happened to have company that night and help the following morning to get my eight-year-old son to soccer, and then later on to karate. So I had the freedom to be able to stay in bed, and then on the couch, for the majority of Saturday. Oh, and thank goodness for take-out Chinese food, ice packs, hot showers, ibuprofen... and Flexeril.

Now here I am, Sunday night, still pretty sore and not yet able to pick things up from the floor, or easily make the transition back and forth from sitting to standing... but I know things will be OK soon.

I was reminded of a few things this weekend, though. When Ivor died, it ended a lifetime of chronic pain. He had been born with sickle cell anemia, one of the crappiest diseases I have ever come across. I know it intimately, from over two decades of supporting him through his crises, his hospitalizations, his gradually decreasing stamina and the slow erosion of his joints, the weakening of his major organs and the ultimate full system collapse that finally ended his life.

Since Ivor died, I have had several transient health crises. One was a stomach virus that had me grateful to lie on the cool floor between bouts of expelling my insides out both ends of my body. There have been a couple of eye splitting migraines. And then there was this debilitating back thing this weekend. Fortunately, the pain never got completely out of control, and I never got too scared. But I remembered what it was that has always frightened me about episodes like these - the possibility that it will go on forever.

What if my back is permanently damaged or injured? What if I will never regain my mobility? What if I will always be in pain? What if I will no longer be able to just walk anywhere I want, or ride a bike, or stand in the kitchen cooking all afternoon, or dance, or have sex all night, or even sit at the computer for hours on end? What if my life was permanently altered by a drastic change in my physical status? My biggest fear of being in pain is that it will never end.

I watched my husband live with chronic pain for over 20 years. I learned first hand the kind of assistance he required to live a good life. But I also learned how his positive attitude never let him lead with the pain. If asked how he was doing, he would always reply that he was doing either well, or OK. The pain was never the thing that defined the quality of his life.

When I was more actively working in coalition with other people advocating on behalf of the chronically ill and disabled, there was a term that people in the advocacy community used to refer to healthy individuals - the temporarily able-bodied. Because really, any one of us could suddenly be injured, or develop a terrible illness, or otherwise find ourselves faced with life altering circumstances. We healthy folk generally take our good health for granted, until something happens to shake us out of our complacency.

You would think that a big chunk of my life spent married to a man who lived with chronic pain would give me some perspective on this issue. It has. I suppose going through the grief of losing him has also taught me a lot about what I can survive, and what I'm capable of handling. And then of course, there is the instant motivator of having a son who needs me to be there for him. Despite my discomfort this weekend, I did my best to keep a good attitude and make sure my son knew I was still present and attentive, if not physically active.

Being a widow of a man who had a chronic illness puts me in a unique club. Anyone who has been there knows it's a life that encompasses many layers of challenge, blessing, frustration, and joy. It's really complicated. But here I am on this end of it, making my way through a fairly crappy weekend with my spirit intact, despite the fact that I didn't get to do anything special with my son, or do any of the house cleaning I meant to do, or the cooking, or even the writing I was supposed to do for a few of my projects.

Grief, loss, being a witness to suffering... are these hardships or gifts? For me, I like to think they have been a little of both...