Pain

Last night as I was trying to pop some frozen fruit out of an ice cube tray, my hand slipped and my right thumb smashed into the counter at just the precise angle to bend the nail back so far it bled. It hurt enough for me to make continual guttural sounds, possibly blaspheming, for about ten minutes. (I don’t remember what I said or if I said anything coherent. I just remember it hurt enough to require some verbal response.) It was tender for the remainder of the evening, but my only inconvenience was not being able to quickly unlock my iPhone as I couldn’t use my right thumb print to do so.

That pain, that smashed thumb pain, was nothing like what I’ve been experiencing for the past three weeks.

I don’t know what I did. It might have been a yoga position performed without adequate stretching. It might have been sitting in an awkward position for too long. But three Sundays ago I woke up with pain in my hips radiating down my left leg and into my calf. After I returned from my usual dog walk with Sgt. Thomas Tibbs (because why wouldn’t I go?), I could hardly walk. I ended up on the floor on my back, knees pulled up, breath coming in moaning sobs.

The pain in my calf from the irritation of the sciatic nerve felt as if a dragon had sunk its talons into the back of my leg and would periodically squeeze just to remind me it had all power over me.

For the first few days, I barely functioned, spending most of my time on my back, a heating pad beneath my hips. After an appointment with my doctor, some time on an oral steroid and copious amounts of Ibuprofen, I slowly—ever so slowly—began to feel some relief. I am still recovering, but in the last few days, I’ve been able to walk Thomas again, which is one activity I simply can’t live without.

That pain, that sciatic nerve pain, was excruciating. But it was nothing like the pain a friend is going through now as her husband, recently diagnosed with a debilitating disease, begins to decline. I can’t imagine what she’s feeling. The two are inseparable soulmates. They’re my age, so they should be looking forward to another 20 or 30 years together. Instead, they are trying to maximize the handful of years they may—or may not—have left. Outwardly, she is still smiling, still maintaining her strength, her warmth, her tender care of the man she loves. Inwardly…. As I said, I can’t imagine what hellish heartbreak she’s experiencing.

Pain is relative.

I will confess that as I began to spiral downward into the vortex of pain my sciatica produced, I felt myself on the edge of despair. I had to summon all my strategies—reading good books, talking to good friends, hunkering down on the floor with Thomas or curling up on the couch with the kitties—so that depression didn’t take me over. I kept wondering how I would survive if this issue with sciatica became my new normal. How would I cope with the harshness of the world at large if I couldn’t walk my dog out into the quiet countryside and center myself?

But sometimes surviving comes down to a matter of perspective. I hurt. And the pain immobilized me physically. But it was nothing like losing a loved one. When I couldn’t get out to buy groceries, a friend brought pizza. Another friend came by to socialize and to reassure me that I would get better with time. I never lacked food or shelter or love. How can I not see myself as incredibly blessed compared to those in the world who go hungry daily or live in constant fear for their lives due to war or oppression?

Perspective is everything.

This morning, for the first time in weeks, I walked with my good dog on a quiet, dusty road far from the bustle of the city. We inhaled the autumn-crisp air and watched the sun slowly rise in the east as the birds began to flit around us and chatter. My hands on Thom’s leash were freezing, but my heart was warm. May this gratitude continue, even if I am once again immersed in pain.