20 Hours and 23 Minutes

20 hours and 23 minutes—that’s how long I went since my previous dose of analgesic before I took this one. That comes out to about 16 ½ hours of continuous pain withstood—a record, I think, for some number of months.

Sometimes I wonder why I do such things. Put up with the pain that is, choose to suffer. There are times I just don’t want to take drugs (the pain killers). There are other times when I don’t want to feel the pain, and so take them more like clockwork, taking the next dose before the full effects of the current dose wear off. I asked my doctor (pain specialist) about this, which approach is better. He said it depends upon the patient. I interpreted that to mean “whatever works best for that particular person.”

I do wonder about this, about what kind of person/patient I am in this regard. Is my behavior typical? Atypical? What types of people (personalities) are most likely to use this same approach to pain management? I know I am not unique in this regard. I have friends who take a similar approach.

I do suspect that part of what happens for me is that sometimes the pain is tolerable, and other times the pain is suffering. What is it about me that leads to this distinction, this differing experience of pain? Could it be completely psychological? Does it have to do with the length of time I can withstand physical distress without relief (which seems to be typically three to four days for normal kinds of pain)? Are there neurotransmitters, hormones, eicosanoids, other internal biochemical substances that are produced or used up as a result of experiencing ongoing stressors?

I do know that I am able to withstand much more pain over a period of time when I get to experience periods of relief. The same is true for me with other types of suffering (e.g., the distress around my increasing debilitation). At times (most times) I am glad for this. At other times, I think this pattern just extends the duration and totality of my suffering. Sometimes I just wish the suffering would get so bad I would finally end my life.

If I’m wishing bigger, I wish for a rapidly-progressing terminal condition that will take me soon. Especially one that is socially recognized, and for which there is effective standard palliative care which I would be able to request and be granted without being challenged about my decision. If I wish even bigger than that, I wish I would simply pass away gently in my sleep some night before circumstances get beyond tolerability.

My biggest wish of all (well, a fantasy really, as it seems so impractical to wish for) is that my body would return to a much greater state of wellness (instantly is preferred!). I try not to think that way, though, as this seems like such a futile form of magical thinking that it often makes me cry.

So I do what I can, what I must, and try to do what I most need. I take my analgesics. I sometimes choose the pain instead. I write poetry, I cry; I make love when I can. I distract myself with various kinds of activities (mostly mental rather than physical these days), and I offer myself in service. At times like early this morning, I engage in a form of mediation in which I offer up my suffering for the good of All.

I don’t know what it is about doing so that is so healing. I don’t understand how it functions. Yet my experience when I do this is one of transformation. Part of the pain and suffering flows out of me, to a focus or Spirit or some kind of Intercessor of sorts. It is accepted. I don’t know what happens with that energy and intention, how or in what ways it helps others. Or even if it does help others. I don’t know that what I’m doing isn’t just some psychological, physiological experience and not real in an “objective” sense.

What I do know is that my experience then becomes sacred. The tears that flow then are tears of connection, of gratitude, of awe. At least for that moment and for some time afterwards, my suffering has value. I am simply a human being having a human experience. A spiritual being having a sacred experience. The suffering often eases somewhat, if only from the predictable effects that come from not resisting it.

More importantly, my relationship with my suffering changes. I become less self involved and more involved in life. Less self pitying and more accepting of the suffering that all beings experience. I remember that I am only one of many, one of the All. And humility rises once again.

2009 July 21

Add your comment

    : Comment:

Comments

1 - 10 of 10
  • Freed by Mercy
    August 9, 2009
    Edit | Reply
    I find I am at a loss of words after reading this. I admire your "keeping on keeping on"

    I have a chronic pain condition, but with enough sleep it's pretty low grade. But emotional pain - I've had more than my share of that in the last few months. My son became so severely depressed that he was suicidal and hospitalized for 6 days. I found out later he was waiting for me to refill my Ambien prescription. My husband and I don't see eye to eye on how best to help him, which is also painful. Plus I suffer from anxiety and agitated depression. I feel there's a flood of tears locked in a vault, waiting to be broken into. I am so scared that he will kill himself, that in the end I won't be able to prevent it. To think I can is foolhardy. I can try my best to get him the help he needs, but in the end it's up to him.

    Thank God for the OVW Anthology, which has helped keep me occupied, and given me a sense of friendship, accomplishment, accelerated learning and a little joy these last few months.


    • BearWoman
      August 11, 2009
      Edit | Reply
      Thank you very much for your acknowledgement (sp?) and support. I as well find that sufficient quantity and quality of sleep helps pain (as well as everything else).

      I am sorry to hear of your recent and intense emotional pain. I'm glad to hear your son got help. FYI, the sleep aids these days (I take Ambien myself from time to time) that are prescribed aren't generally fatal by themselves, even when taken in overdose. That is part of why the older sleeping pills are generally no longer prescribed, and in some cases no longer even manufactured.

      I can understand how hard it can be to not see eye to eye with your husband on how best to help your son. Particularly with a situation in which he feels suicidal. It is true that, short of physical imprisonment and/or restraints, it is not possible to completely prevent suicide attempts. I think it is very courageous (and healthy) of you to recognize that. Accepting how little control we have over most of the things in our lives is, I believe, both very wise and can be very anxiety producing at times (at least I can find it to be so).

      I am sure your anxiety and agitated depression only add to the stress and distress of the situation. I thank God/dess myself for my poetry outlets, and AP in particular, for helping me cope with my situation and helping to ease my stress and distress. The online relationships I am forming (including with you! ) are a big part of this. Those little feelings of joy I find an essential nutrient to help me "keep on keepin' on."

      Best wishes, dear poet. I feel for ya. Sometimes I'm even up for hearing other people's problems , so feel free to write me sometime when you need support, and I'll help how I am able.


  • Nickelspring
    July 20, 2009
    Edit | Reply
    My beautiful Misha,
    This is such a moving piece, brought me to tears- tears of sorrow, empathy and understanding. I can only empathize from the outside.. my experience with pain really only includes migraines (which knock me flat) and perhaps childbirth, both finite.
    I love that you meditate and offer up suffering, that touches me deeply. It is a sacred thing. You have provided me with much to think about, much to be grateful for, especially an exceptional friend like you- what an example of strength and humaness.

    Kris


    • BearWoman
      July 20, 2009
      Edit | Reply
      Thank you, sweetness. You are a bright spot of joy in my life. I'm glad we have connected.

  • Ceridwens Soul
    July 20, 2009
    Edit | Reply
    Sweet one, as always you express your thoughts so clearly. You are such a strong woman Misha and I repeat what I said before you are bloody amazing!

    When I had cancer there were times the pain almost didn't exist - it was there but it didn't matter, life mattered more. Then there were times it hurt so much I wanted to die, my mood was black and dark.

    Now at the time I didn't know I am a manic depressive. I didn't understand that at times I am so high I can do anything, suffer anything and others I am so low even a pin prick is too much to bear. My point is a lot of how we react to physical relates to mental and vice versa no doubt.

    Keep strong my friend

    Jem


    • BearWoman
      July 20, 2009
      Edit | Reply
      Thanks, Jem. Including for your support.

      Remember, though, that Bipolar Disorder is not just "mental;" it has some distinct physiological features. I was diagnosed with Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) in 1991, which some psychiatrists now consider to be a form of bipolar. I know from experience tastes of what hypomania can be like (and can extrapolate from there about full-blown mania). I take your point, though.

      ~Misha, a happy bumbling bear, knowing friends are reading and caring.


  • paulcreates
    July 20, 2009
    Edit | Reply
    In addition to the subject matter being quite introspective and thoughtful, I must say that I, as a reader, enjoyed reading this very well. You are quite the fluid writer and this flows right down the page. It belies the reality of your pained condition with lucidity and insight.
    I have found that when I'm in a situation where I'm having to take medication for longer than a day, I'll welcome the effects to the extent that the meds do their job. After a while I think there is both a cumulative effect and they start to reach a point of diminishing return or the side-effects are not worth the bother. Also, there is, I think, in all of us, a desire to "rejoin the world", to regain that elusive feeling of normalcy that is not available in pill form. This may also include the return of some, or all of the pain associated with the malady.
    I Think it is human nature too to ask, "Am I Normal?" when it comes to taking meds. We tend to want to standardize, collate, organize and even out a life that many times simply refuses to bow to our strictures. As it is said, "The only constant in life is change" but I hear you. Sometimes we just want to get out of the fast car and search for life's hammock.
    Very well done my friend. Good article.

    Paul


    • BearWoman
      July 20, 2009
      Edit | Reply
      Paul~

      Thank you for your feedback, including some interesting, thought-provoking ideas for me to ponder. I always appreciate your feedback and insights, and the caring and respectful ways in which you interact with me. Also, the fact that you don't allow your feelings for me as a person to overshadow your ability to offer critical feedback.

      >> "We tend to want to standardize, collate, organize and even out a life that many times simply refuses to bow to our strictures."

      You said it!

      Namaste', dear man.
      ~ Misha Bear

1 - 10 of 10

Recent Journals