Archives for posts with tag: pain and pain management

I slept somewhat poorly last night, restless with pain mostly. My dreams were filled with chaos and uncertainty, and the occasional random spider. Odd. I woke in the usual way, dressed and left the house, head still full of chaos. My thoughts as I drove up the highway reflected the restlessness of the night and the chaos in my head; I reflected philosophically on a variety of seemingly unrelated ideas, the only connecting thread being my own individual perspective, as I exist today. Useful? Hardly. Barely interesting, already forgotten.

I get to work, in less pain than yesterday but still feeling it as a distraction. I take my meds, get some coffee. I sigh and get things set up for the day. It’s a routine work day and I’m grateful to be working…but…

…Fucking hell life is expensive, and “enough” doesn’t always feel like “enough”. I say this acutely aware that I write from a place of relative privilege. Things could be better, yeah, but they could sure be a lot fucking worse. (And have been, in past eras of my life). My pain grates on my nerves – but so does my feeling of discontent and stress over the future. (Will I ever retire? It doesn’t seem at all likely at this point, until lack of fitness for such endeavors forces me out of the workforce to exist on whatever resources remain. A grim thought, and I try not to linger in this place.)

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Some days it is a force of will to be in a positive frame of mind. This doesn’t mean inauthentically silently screaming positive aphorisms to myself in my head or forcing a smile to the people around me while I proclaim that “everything is fine” – that doesn’t work. “Fake it till you make it” is not my way; I haven’t found success there, myself. Instead, I rely on practicing gratitude – legitimate, heartfelt appreciation for the things that are working, the things that feel good, that things I have, or do, or feel, that truly lift me up. There’s a lot to be grateful for, and generally the very temporary feelings of stress and discontent will pass if I don’t dig in and build myself a trap to fall into. So, here I am. I “feel around in my headspace” looking for a route to reclaiming my sense of self, my perspective, my feeling of being empowered… I remember I playlist I started once-upon-a-time that might be helpful right now… “No F*cks“. Hmmm… Pretty short playlist. I distract myself wondering what to add that fits the theme. I have definitely found that a “positive distraction” can help shift my mood from the dark places my thoughts sometimes wander.

“Anxiety” 10″ x 14″ acrylic on canvas w/ceramic 2011

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I catch myself wondering about the background stress and the thread of anxiety running through my thoughts. What’s up with me? Is it work? Is it life? Is it my doctor’s appointment later today? Oh. Yeah, that could be it, for sure. I sigh quietly. Aging has it’s ups and downs, and the doctor’s appointment is no big thing, but it brings my anxiety about my pain and long-term wellness concerns more to the forefront of my consciousness, where I thoughtlessly push it back in the form of anxiety. “Saving it for later.” Unproductive. I take a minute with myself. I do a quick “body scan”, and an “emotional inventory”, letting myself be more fully present and in touch with the feelings and sensations in my here and now moment. More than the usual pain, but a lot of it is still “just sore muscles”. My headache is worse than usual – and my health insurer (through their bullshit evil middleman) has decided not to reauthorize one of the few things that really actually gives me some pain relief (not a prescription drug, but a physical therapy). It “won’t fix anything”, which is their justification for denying reauthorization, and that’s certainly true – but there isn’t actually a treatment that will “fix” my degenerative disk disease, my osteo-arthritis, or the headache (at least nothing has been proposed as likely to be a real solution, so far). I would think relief and improved quality of life would be a good choice, with that in mind…? I catch myself gritting my teeth with suppressed fury. The pain is bad today, and I’m annoyed because it didn’t have to be, and it may be getting worse before it gets better. Cheaper to addict patients to powerful painkillers and shame them for being junkies than to provide care that actually eases suffering. Fuckers. Another breath, and I let that go. I can care, even if my insurer doesn’t. My Traveling Partner cares. My doctors care. Those things matter. Doesn’t make it easier, but I’m at least not traveling alone.

I let the music play in my ears, and sip my coffee. Sometimes enough has to be enough – even when it doesn’t feel like “enough”. Sufficiency is often not what I want it to be – it’s only what it is. Things could be legitimately worse – far worse. I’ll make the best of what is – because that’s the path I’ve chosen to walk. That’s the woman I most want to be. Capable. Fearlessly self-aware. Doing my best. It’s not nothing – and sometimes something is all I need to get by for awhile.

I smile to myself. I feel it still. I definitely do. It’s time to begin again anyway.

It is a gray morning on the edge of winter’s end. Spring soon, and this morning hints at that, mild and wet and so very gray.

Early on a morning in March

I sit quietly for a moment before I head down the trail. I listen to the flocks of geese overhead and the sound of traffic on the highway beyond the nature park. Everything is muddy. Marshy. So gray. My head aches ferociously. My arthritis pain is a serious distraction. Still, I’ve got my boots on, and I’m here. This trail won’t walk itself. I sigh quietly and try not to anticipate the pain of every step ahead.

… I’ve just got to actually begin…

Yesterday afternoon I spent time in the garden. It was lovely. Time well spent. I’m paying for it now, I suspect, the bending and reaching is not ideal for my spine. It’s okay, though; the garden needed attention. If we don’t tend our garden, we surely can’t complain that all we have are weeds! The roses are pruned and ready for spring. I put down some fertilizer for the hungriest ones. I got started on cleaning up the veggie bed, too. Weather permitting, I’ll finish that today. After my walk, I remind myself, I can stop at the garden supply store and pick up soil amendments , or at least look around and put myself in the mood.

Another sigh. Another moment. It isn’t always easy to get started down the path, even when I have an idea where I’m going. Sometimes it’s more a matter of will than enthusiasm. It’s still a beginning. It’s still time. I push myself off from the side of the car, where I’ve been leaning, ready but not yet going. I look down the trail a little unenthusiastically, and get started. It’s time to begin again.

I’m sipping my coffee on a rainy winter morning, feeling cross and irritated and in considerable pain. It’s the pain making me so cranky, but it’s “only” my osteoarthritis (and my perpetual headache), and there’s not much to do about it, really. I live with this. A lot of people live with pain, that’s a real thing. I sigh to myself, as I pull my posture more upright. It helps a tiny bit, though barely noticeable in the moment. The moments add up. I’m grateful to have gotten a good night’s sleep. I’m grateful to have what limited Rx pain relief available to me that I do (and am willing to use).

My reflection stares back at me from the window; it’s not yet daybreak, and I see a middle-aged woman with slightly tousled carelessly-kept long hair, glasses, wrapped in a warm (if a bit frumpy) sweater, looking back at me. She looks pleasant and approachable, relaxed, with a soft smile hinting at a life well-lived, and maybe some interesting stories to tell. She looks just a bit… amused. I don’t see the pain, just the smile, which reaches her eyes. At the corners of her eyes and her smile, laugh lines, no frown lines. She looks… capable. She looks ready for the day and unbothered. I find myself liking what I see reflected there in the window. I sigh again and think “you’ll do”, and take another sip of my coffee. I’m not at all sure how I got “here” – it’s been a difficult journey in spots, and I’ve often wandered off my path – but I’m okay with where I am, and that feels like a win.

I sip my coffee thinking about friends. Thinking about love. Thinking about errands I need to run. I think about hearth and home and all the things that add up to this life I live. It’s not perfect; there’s the pain, obviously. That’s its own difficult experience. I try not to take it personally. Things could be so much worse. Instead of living with this pain, I could have rejected having the surgery to repair my shattered spine, and taken a chance on things “just healing up” more or less, and most likely ended up in a wheel-chair, unable to walk at all. It can be hard to trust the opinion of an expert; we live in cynical times. I’m glad I did – I walk every day, and often see the sunrise from some favorite trail. The pain seems like a price worth paying for that privilege, most of the time. My irritation slips away. I chose this with my eyes open. I may not have understood the full measure of the price I’d be paying when I lay there sedated in the ICU so many years ago, but I knew there’d be a price. TANSTAAFL.

One cold winter night 40 years ago, I ran from a knife wielding man to save my own life. I took the only route available to me, that I could see in the moment, which led me to dangling from a balcony rail, dangerously high above a beautiful tiled patio, slick with ice. That man was my then-husband, who rushed to the balcony to plead with me not to let go. I looked back at him in a moment of unexpected clarity and calm, aware of my agency in a new way. The choice was mine. “I have to,” I said, and I did. The explosion of light in my head and the sudden pain that shot through me and my breath knocked out of my body overcame me only for seconds before adrenaline and terror drove me to my feet to seek help. It was a moment of profound change. One choice. One moment.

I sit with my thoughts a while. “I had no other choice” is reliably a lie. We have choices (many) – I know I’ve made a lot of them. Probably the worst choice(s) I’ve ever made? Telling myself I’ve no other choice, and and following the path that took me down. The menu in The Strange Diner is immense. We choose, on our own, to keep it folded, and to narrow our options willfully. Refusing to consider all the options is also a choice.

We’re born “a blank page”, and although we have little to say about our introduction to life, we have so many choices as we grow, and more once we are adult and free to do as we will. What will you do with it? The menu in The Strange Diner is impressively vast. What will you choose? Will you make your world (and your life) a better place in which to thrive? Will you walk a path that leads you somewhere beautiful? Will you take the steps that carry you to becoming the person you most want to be? Who is that? What will your legacy be? You have choices. Choose wisely. Pay the price. Don’t take the pain personally.

It’s time to begin again.

Last week’s snowstorm feels like a long time ago, not the short 4 days that it was. The long weekend I was so fortunate to enjoy stretched time and gave me an opportunity to really rest, to get a few things done, to enjoy my Traveling Partner (and my life) – and I took full advantage of it. I stayed up later. I slept in a couple times. I even took an afternoon to dive into a long-waiting personal project to do with sorting and filing and tidying up my many digital images of my art work. That was incredibly satisfying. I cooked a couple of really good meals. I enjoyed breakfast or brunch with my beloved each morning. Time well-spent. It wasn’t “fancy” or costly or exotic, it was just… mine. I needed that.

This morning I woke to my artificial sunrise and prepared to head to the office. I didn’t notice until I was almost half way into my commute that I had somehow set my wake up time to… 04:00. Good grief, really?? I definitely did not need to be up that early. No traffic, though… pleasant, quiet drive.

Now I’m at my desk, drinking my coffee, trying to stretch enough to feel… different than I do. I don’t know what I’m going for, maybe, but I think “comfortable” would be good. I feel unexpectedly sleepy, in spite of the coffee (because of it?). I didn’t sleep particularly well last night. I am paying for that, and the early wake up, in physical discomfort and restless sleepiness. My back aches with my osteo-arthritis. My neck aches from degenerative disk disease. My headache is with me this morning, too. My shoulders feel tight in spite of adjusting the height of this adjustable desk several times. The delicious relaxation of the weekend gives way to the subtle tension of the work week. I stay away from the news; it’s all pretty bad, and none of it is “new information”. It’s all stories about shitty people doing terrible things to make a name or profit for themselves, in some cases out of nothing more than pettiness and spite, other people standing around wringing their hands and not doing much of anything helpful about any of it. The usual. Human suffering. Human greed. Human cruelty. No superheroes.

…And I’m fairly fucking over hearing about Elon-fucking-Musk. I mean, seriously? That fucking guy. How he’s managed to con so many otherwise rational-seeming people is just beyond me. Why keep giving him more money for products he will not ever make? Can we not also let him tear down our fucking government? Are his substantial and obvious conflicts of interest not enough to make that clearly a terrible idea?! Fucking hell. Just how fucking stupid and gullible are we?

I pause my writing to hunt for a tissue in the quiet empty office. Noticing how good it feels to actually move around, I wander a bit, and take a walk around the building, outside, stretching, and taking deep breaths as I walk. I bring my attention back to “now” – where I am. This moment, here. Daybreak has come, dawn is here, the sunrise is imminent. It is a new day, filled with new opportunities. I amuse myself with observations of how good self-care sometimes feels. Funny that it can feel so hard to make time for those practices…

I sigh to myself and return to my desk, along with my aches and pains. Typical shit. Most of us deal with some measure of pain, some of us deal with more. It’s part of the human condition, and I try not to take it personally, and also do something about it and get on with my day. I smile fondly when my thoughts return to my Traveling Partner. I hope he gets the rest he needs. (He’s also been sleeping poorly.) I look at my calendar, check over my email, plan my workload for the day… It’s time to begin again.

I left the house in the usual way this morning, amused to see a dusting of snow on the car. It hadn’t been sticking on the ground. It was a loose powdery sort of snow that the windshield wipers easily brushed away. Snow was falling as I got into the car. Snow fell as I drove through town, and the streets were white with it in some of the colder places. “Funny”, I thought to myself, recalling the forecast from the night before, “we’re definitely below 500ft”.

…The weather forecast, complete with a winter storm warning, was pretty clear that the chances of snow were near 0 below 500ft, and more likely above 1000ft. Plenty of rain in that forecast, at the elevation where I make my home, which is around 150ft of elevation. Unimpressive as elevation goes. Agricultural low-lands. No particular expectation of snow in the forecast…

I drove to the office grateful that my chains were in the car, at least initially. The snow fell plentifully the first handful of miles. The closer I got to 300ft of elevation, the less snow fell. The peak elevation of my commute to the office is only about 420ft, if that. No snow. The pavement wasn’t even damp. Clear skies and dry pavement the rest of the drive to the office, on the highway and on the side streets, too. “Nothing to see here.” I chuckled to myself. There wasn’t much traffic for a Monday morning, and I felt certain a great many people likely looked at that forecast and made plans to work from home if that were an option (or to be absent from work due to the potential for inclement weather if it wasn’t). The office is empty and quiet.

It’s a useful metaphor for all manner of anticipated or predicted disasters. The plan is not the event. The forecast is not the weather. The map is not the world. Panicking over what is not yet (and may not ever be) is an enormous waste of emotional energy, and a big contributor to stress. We humans tend to expect the worst, generally. I sigh quietly to myself, breathe, exhale, and relax. I pull myself back to “now” – this moment, this very real actual lived moment of my life – right now, and any time I find myself all wrapped up in something that hasn’t even happened, or isn’t happening to or near me. I’m not saying I “don’t care” about what is going on around me, just that it isn’t helpful to get lost in a moment that is not my own, and may not be happening at all. There’s a lot of completely misleading bullshit in the media we consume, that isn’t true or real at all, and often things that are true are presented in a way that provokes far more emotion or demands more attention than is useful or necessary. Perspective is a handy stress-reliever. Non-attachment is a good practice. Finding peace in presence is healthy.

…None of this defies what is true and real; there are some really terrible things going on in the world. It’s just that we may be more able to provide whatever help we can if we’re not freaked out and stressed over the things that are far removed from our lives, or quite abstract, or not actually happening (yet)…

Another breath. I sip my coffee aware of my “winter pain”. The cold and damp make my arthritis so much worse. I take a moment to do the things I know help the most; I stretch, I move around, I take my pain medication, I distract myself with something engaging and positive, I breathe and set my timer for future breaks so that I don’t find myself stiffening up from sitting too still for too long. Practices. No, it’s not enough to get rid of the pain I live with, but the pain would be much worse without taking the steps I do. The rest is “noise”, and I’ve mostly gotten used to it. It’s not ideal, but it’s real; I live with chronic pain, like a lot of people do. Letting it wreck my life moment by moment isn’t helpful, so I do my best to avoid that (when I can). Today is better than a lot of days. Worse than some others. I breathe, exhale, and relax – and let that go. Again.

I think about the snow, this morning. It was so pretty while it fell. A beautiful moment, and like a lot of moments, so brief, so temporary – a lived moment that will never repeat. Ichigo ichie. It’s already time to begin again – here comes the next moment.