Pain, Perspective, and Moving Forward

Last time, I wrote about pain—mostly my wife’s pain. It’s usually easier to write about or help with someone else’s pain than your own. Like most guys, I tend to go into “solution mode.” Now, if only I were a miracle worker.

My wife is going to need a shoulder replacement. Hopefully, we can hold off until June, and we’ll determine the complexity of the operation a week before. The intense back pain she’s been experiencing was most likely muscular and is (very) slowly improving.

So now I have to look at my own pain. Minor, in the grand scheme of things. Mostly age-related. And, I just checked—Mozart, at my age, had already been dead for 48 years. Sort of puts things in perspective. And I’m not even very musical!

But the pains are there. I saw my primary care physician and complained that between maintenance and various PT, I’d have to spend more than two hours a day exercising. She smiled. “That’s your new full-time job!” Hmm. Attitude shift? I wanted to protest, “But I have to…” and then wondered—maybe she’s right.

It’s a paradigm shift.

Still, I have it good. I enjoy exercise. I find it a nice way to turn off my mind—counting strokes in the pool, listening to the sounds as I walk in the neighborhood or parks. Nothing wrong with that. And it’s true—all those endorphins released by exercise are good for both body and mind.

And there lies the bigger problem: my head—and maybe yours, too.

Sometimes, I have to admit that physical pains are easier to deal with than the ones in my head. Meds help for some—muscle relaxants, etc. And time heals. (Or maybe, eventually, I’ll need a hip replacement myself.) But the mind is a trickier opponent, even with medication.

The sneakiest pains, I find, are the little ones—the ones I try to wave away. “Nah, Ken, what’s the problem? This shouldn’t bother you. So what…” But they’re real, and they can be a literal pain in the neck—or a crushing headache (#3 on my personal ranking scale). Try making your own system—double-digit the pain: first digit for location (1 = head, 9 = toes, everything in between… well, gender-specific spots included); second digit for intensity. Who knows, it might even be fun.

(As a kid, I tracked my nightmares on graph paper, coloring the squares with different shades. Sorry, I’ve forgotten the key—it was 70+ years ago. But I’m still having fun.)

My primary care physician noticed I was depressed and asked if I’d like to see a therapist. Sure. Turns out, there was at least a six-month wait for an appointment. Jeez, a guy could die in that time—especially when his biggest worry is, well, dying. See what I mean? Life is full of in-jokes, but who’s laughing?

Please—if you need help, remember that others are there for you. Or reach out and call 988.

So, I start therapy. Once a month. We probe slowly. Death by a thousand strokes. Then my wife decides it would be a good idea to join me. OK. We’re in this together. Maybe you, too, have someone close—a partner or spouse. A few months of joint counseling later, and suddenly, the fear of dying starts to feel like a piece of cake!

Not really. It’s still a struggle. Facing the big now—running into the wall of mortality—I just realized that the impact creates a bounce-back, a spin-around. The question flips: Why am I here?

It’s not an easier question, but it might be a more productive one—especially when focused on the present. We can’t change the past, but we do have some freedom in how we act now. Not that acting with awareness is easy. It isn’t. We all carry baggage from the past.

But I (and we—remember, I wrote about sharing the burden) can do my best to move forward.

Try doing things that aren’t world-shattering—but are right as they relate to others, and, by extension, to myself.

ACTS OF KINDNESS. GOOD DEEDS.

No, not every moment of every day. But maybe in a sneaky way—when least expected, like the punchline of a good joke. Wham! Bam! Hot damn! Neck and neck at a four-way stop, I wave the other car on. Me—Oscar the Grouch—smiling at a stranger on the street. Picking up a piece of litter that’s not mine. Wishing my partner “good night” with a kiss on the cheek.

Sounds trivial? Not when you’re coming from a place of pain. Being kind when you’re hurting is hard.

None of us are perfect. But trying our best is always worth it. It helps with the pain—and makes the world a little better.

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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.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.