Friday, June 10, 2016

Exquisite Pain

There are moments when I feel so much pain associated with my medical condition, that I scream, I cry and I feel like those moments will last forever.  Sometimes I beg Adam to take me to the ER, even though I know there is nothing "wrong."  With the pain tends to come fear, and my very patient husband holds my hand and asks questions to see if it is different or if the pain is just associated with my condition.  He has learned that sometimes I am not able to trust that the pain will pass, that sometimes the treatments create such irritation that it feels worse for a little while.  That I forget I am still learning how to administer medication and it will take time to learn to do it gently and carefully.  There are also rare moments when he reminds me that it is okay to go and get things checked out and to ask for pain medication.  That asking for pain medication doesn't make me weak.  

It was in one of these moments of pain, of me sitting alone because Adam was at work, that the term "exquisite pain" came into my mind.  I thought it was an odd term, and so I googled the definition of exquisite, and found the definition pretty fitting.   The paradox that it is, the sharp agony does bring beauty, it serves as a reminder to be kinder to myself, to continue to pursue what I want even if it feels like I will never get there.   Because to be honest the goals that I have set for myself seem impossible to me right now.  It feels like I will never have enough energy to continue to pursue my studies, to continue to make time to write, that eventually I will drown in medication and exercises and rules about what I can and can't eat.  

I am reminded of how fragile this little body is and at the same time amazed that it continues to work it continues to carry me through life with the pain and the pleasure.  My mind continues to share with me the frustration about my lack of progress with my strength, my flexibility associated with my physical therapy.  My body silently whispers to me, notice the tiny changes, notice how the breath can move today, notice that I am aware of what needs to be strengthened, that I am able to isolate and feel muscles that months ago I wasn't able to find.  That sometimes the greatest sign of strength is that I keep going, I keep smiling and I keep looking for the lessons.  

I am not fond of words like fight or survive anymore.  Because the fight is really just in my mind, my body is doing what it needs to do to communicate with me, to stay healthy.   The pain is just a signal, it is a language that is difficult to ignore, it turns "shoulds" into "musts."   My mind, that chatter is what wants me to believe that my bladder is the enemy, that it needs to be conquered, my mind wants me to believe this makes me unlovable and broken.  

The pain is a gift, it is a language that my mind won't argue with and allows me to connect to what is going on.  

Question of the day:  What was the last gift you received that you didn't like but eventually learned to appreciate it?   I know I have received presents for Christmas or my birthday that I didn't really like and eventually became priceless to me, because I learned to look at them with a different focus, learning to appreciate something the mind says is useless opens the heart to more possibilities.  



1 comment:

  1. This is a beautiful description of what you are going through. What a strong woman you are. I'm sorry you are dealing with this ��

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