Pain's Solitude

The Solitude

I woke up with my bones yelling this morning. Everyone has felt it before - especially those with chronic pain conditions like lupus, rheumatoid arthritis, cancer, and fibromyalgia, along with the excruciating natures of anxiety, depression or post traumatic stress - the psychological pains, so to speak, know of a similar sensation in the mind. I feel as though a spectral fist is crushing my neck bones together - I can picture of cartoon villain squeezing until my bones crush in on themselves and begin to crumble - that kind of pain. When I've been under the dark thrall of depression, I've felt that same fist squeezing my brain instead.

Today, I find myself grateful that it is my bones and not my brain. I'm glad for a lesser evil this time around. Any physical pain is far preferable to the mental . . . kinda like choosing a splinter to a nail gun in the eyeball. (Don't ya just love how Eminem has made "eyeball" instead of "eye" the word du jour?!) Mental pain is a discussion for another post.
Today I just wanna spout out about physical pain and the repercussions thereof. No fun at ALL. I wake up in the clutches of that spectral fist and feel the bones throbbing all the way down to the very end of my spine, my muscles roped around them in awkward and screaming positions. OH, NO. We are traveling today. But first things first. I have to get out of bed. It hurts too much to move so I just lie here but I absolutely cannot continue to stay because my whole body feels warped in on itself, as though someone tried to fold me in half overnight. Ouch ouch OUCH. I could cry out for help, but why? What can they do?  I lie here looking at my sweet dog who comes up and licks my face sympathetically. No leaping with joy this morning. This intuitive creature seems to feel my body throbbing with pain and calmly waits for me to muster the courage to move.   And I do, eventually, because the promise of my pain medicine downstairs and a strong cup of coffee spurs me forward.

I make it upright and I feel a bit of relief just to be moving. If only I could take the next big step and resolve to walk Prim daily (the dog, Primrose), it would be so helpful for me, for her, and for all of us. As it stands  right now, between my pain levels and my narcolepsy, my weight is off the scales (as in, I STAY off the scales!). I do hate being fat though. I know how much better my body would function if I were not. If it were simply a matter of willpower, I'd have it kicked. But the only thing that seems to have willpower these days is this pain. I'm being treated by the brightest and the best so I cannot complain about lack of care. I also recognize that many MANY people suffer from faaarrrr greater physical conditions, crushing, agonizing conditions and so I've tried so hard to stop complaining.
And there is the crux of it. I've recently resolved not to complain because I do not feel worthy when so many go through so much worse. Complaining to people is an empty thing anyway. I've talked to my husband and he has naught to offer but kindness and sympathy. Nice, but for goodness sake, he must be so SICK of hearing the same thing over and over by now.  I sometime have to explain to the children "Not today. I am hurting." But they do not care about that. All they care about is that I've let them down again. Coworkers (when I once had them) - sick of it. Friends - sick of it. Heck, I'M SICK OF IT. But it doesn't make it ease up not one single bit. Hence, the solitude of pain. Nobody else wants to hear it or even needs to hear it because they've got their own struggles to deal with.

FINALLY, SOME RELIEF

I have learned a few things recently that have helped me tremendously when I can feel my spirit flagging because I wonder if I'm stuck this way forever (it's very encouraging that so far that the answer to that has always been - No, I'm not stuck. Everything passes.) The first thing is a decidedly Catholic concept that may be helpful to my Protestant friends as well - the concept of giving one's pain to God for his use on a daily basis. The reason I've found this so helpful is that instead of my pain just being this useless agonizing void and no good to me or anybody else, God can use what is for my bad, for his good, i.e. "And we we know that in ALL things God works for the good of those who love him . . . " Romans 8:28. One prayer I really like on mornings like this is:

Dear God,
Today I hurt. I do not wish for my pain to be in vain, nor do I wish to use it to gain pity or be the cause of frustration to others. Please remove whatever pain you wish to remove. If, in your Providence, You choose to use my pain for the good of others as only You can do, then so be it and may it be done according to your word. Teach me to take good care of myself and to accept those things I cannot change and have no control over. Amen.

There are also countless Bible verses of encouragement and enlightenment regarding pain - of both the physical and the mental varieties. The Psalms especially have many entire songs crying out to God because of personal anguish and agony. I appreciate that David and the other writers of the Psalms didn't whitewash anything when it came to talking to the Lord.  The ugly truth was poured out and spelled out. Ahhhhh, what's that? I can tell it all to the Lord. I can waller (southernese for wallow) in it and just whine awhile to God Almighty. Really?!

1 Peter tells us to "Cast all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you." (5:7) It has taken me quite some time to realize that I'm not bothering God with "my stuff." In the past, I've felt that I needed to be a grown-up and handle things on my own. What a lovely thought! However, I've yet to accomplish it with any real success.  I really DO need God in my life. He's all I have standing between me and a leap off a tall cliff. And He is enough. Absolutely enough. More than enough. Abundantly more. He lifts me up and cradles me with His love, often through the people around me. What  an amazing God that he WANTS to hear my troubles and I am not bothering Him at all.  (Blessed assurance!)

The solitude of pain is an uncomfortable place to be. But it becomes a place of communion when I remember that I really can cast my cares on Him. He hangs with me in that very spot until my pain passes. Because of the gift of his presence, I do not despair. The solitude of pain becomes a communion of a soul and her God. Pain as a reminder and an opportunity to abide. So may it be.

Motherhood: A Series of Goodbyes

I have realized recently that motherhood is a series of goodbyes. I had no idea when I got into this mothering thing that I would be expected to function in a perpetual state of farewell.

I remember a few of the early goodbyes - goodbye to the breast pump (that was a very tough one because it was the last physical link between she and I. It was absolutely excruciating.) Then there was a funny goodbye at age 2 when she lanquidly pointed from her prone position on the recliner and demanded, "Hand me that blankie, mommy!" I laughed in awe and good humor at this tiny, regal creature and told her to get up and get it herself. Goodbye infant; helllllooooo, Toddler!

Now she is almost 13 and I still fall back onto my backside in shock at times. Yes, yes, another day, another goodbye. It seems I am constantly meeting another version of my daughter - vaguely familiar, but not at all the same person she was a mere 20 minutes ago. 

So this is life with a teenager. Yikes! I don't think I'll be able to keep up. 

Christmas has just passed and I can see that she has been catered to far too much over the holiday. She is demanding and difficult. She wants to go somewhere and does not understand why I do not joyfully leap up from folding clothes (HER clothes) and turn cartwheels to the car, rejoicing in turning over my entire wallet to her to frolic through the mall like a nymph tossing my dollars into the air like leaves.  WHAT is my problem?  It is apparent to anyone breathing that I deserve the most vile of punishments for not jumping at the opportunity to give her all my money, drive her around whereever she wants to go to do whatever she wants to do.

Funny, I do not remember my mother showing the slightest inclination to jump when I spoke. Though she swears we had the same struggles. Still, I find myself baffled by this strange restless guilt (is that GUILT?!) that I am not doing what makes my daughter happy. I want my daughter to be happy. Ummm, why is that?

And so here we go with another goodbye. Goodbye to the idea that my daughter's happiness should be foremost. No, no, no. Not at all. Actually, what is really BEST for my daughter now, at this age and time in her life, is a little bit of hardship. Otherwise, she will not have the depth of character to deal with adversity. She will not even know her own ability to overcome if she never struggles to firm up her mental muscles of perseverance. I fear she has been somewhat deprived of this opportunity. She needs to groooowwwww. And it is my job to see that this takes place - with God's help, of course.  Most of it is in His hands, not mine. But I've been discussing it with Him lately. I know He'll give me the discernment I need to do my part and He'll do the rest.  

I am very grateful that she had a childhood with emotional stability and security. There is no substitute for her adult wellbeing than those first years of life being loved, secure and safe. But now comes the consequences of life. The consequences are both of ours to bear. I now realize that I will be losing her love for awhile as I ensure her higher good by demanding that she rise to the occasion. Sadly, I see perhaps a kind of permanent goodbye in this . . . a goodbye that may last until we arrive in heaven one day.  I have to risk losing her from now on to give her the best shot at life that she can have.  Perhaps I must be the bad guy unless God provides another dupe for this unsavory business. 

And now, before I go for the night (because I am very sleepy), I find myself wondering . . . Did my very own mother make this same choice? Did she sacrifice herself and our relationship in order to strengthen me for my own future?  And if she did, isn't it time I acknowledged it (at 42 years of age) and finally let her off the hook for it? Thanks, Mom. Oh my gracious, THANKS.