Pain Management

My wife woke up this morning in excruciating pain. She called upstairs, and I hurried down. She handles pain better than me—far better. I’m a wimp. She’s had both hips replaced, a plate in her lower spine, and shoulder replacements coming up soon. But this was major pain. I had to help her dress. A random movement often got a loud yipe. And these weren’t isolated yipes.

We’re both old—I’ve also experienced those sudden, sharp pains that come out of the blue. Old bodies grinding gears. But it’s usually a one-off for me. This was every ten minutes or so for my wife.

We got her comfortable in the living room, and I brought in tea and coffee so we could…? I didn’t know what. But tea for her and coffee for me sounded like a good idea. Some kind of time-out couldn’t hurt.

So we just sat there—she propped up and arranged with cushions on one sectional, me on the other, a coffee table between us. Just a sigh or two, and then more than a couple of deep breaths. Been there, done this before. Physical challenges are nothing new.

I’ve had two cancers. The cancers didn’t kill me, but the operations almost did—but that’s another story. And as an Israeli friend answers when asked how she’s doing (she’s more than 90), “I’m still here.” Well. We’re both here.

So we sat there, quietly appreciating the sun coming in through the windows and a house that was snug enough. And without verbalizing, we both came to an understanding that the to-dos on the calendar for today and the rest of the week weren’t that important after all.

And then we realized that just sitting quietly, taking in our surroundings, and not running around from the time we get up in the morning until we go to sleep (and in a way, streaming an old movie while eating supper or going out for a Happy Hour break is much the same—doing this or doing that) was a novel experience. It didn’t make the pain disappear, but it helped us come back to center. It gave us a chance to realize we’ve been here before. Other challenges and setbacks in the past—we survived. And we agreed: we’d get through this one and others that are bound to come down the road.

I’ve no answer for why we suffer. It sucks. It hurts—yeah, that too. But we can muster the strength to get through these challenges. Sometimes even alone. But we have partners and friends to help. They have our back. And you’re in both your friends’ and my prayers and thoughts.

And in some perverse way, the pain—when we tackle it together—strengthens our relationship. I know it makes me feel good to be able to help in some small way.

Reaching out to others builds bonds. We become strands as part of a steel cable. There are lots of strands in those used in suspension bridges—more than 25,000. The cables are often spun in place. So think of it: all the strands are necessary, one dependent on another, and together, they can bridge large gaps, joining two distant sides.

Locally, you and I need each other. Globally, we all need each other. Together, we can and will get through all this pain. The spinning wheel for the cable is built of acts of kindness.

And if you’re worried about us, we’ve got appointments later this week with both the back and shoulder surgeons.

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Ken was a Professor of Mathematics, a ceramicist, a welder, and an IBMer until downsized in 2000. He taught yoga until COVID-19 decided otherwise. He continues writing, living with his wife and beagle in Shorewood, Wisconsin. He enjoys chamber music and mysteries. He’s a homebrewer and runs whitewater rivers.

Ken is a writer and his literary works can be found at https://www.kmkbooks.com/
He welcomes feedback on his articles and can be reached at havokjournal@havokmedia.com.