Dear readers, this morning it took me two hours to get out of bed. Two hours from the time that I woke, until I was able to gather the courage to sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed.
The final bit of motivation came when my husband entered the bedroom, laid down beside me and reached out to hold my hand.
"What are you thinking about?" he wondered.
"I hurt. I don't want to get out of bed," my truth sounded wimpy, voiced in the jungle of all the other bedroom noises. Fan whirring, birds outside chirping, puppy dog grooming, cicadas calling out in the budding heat.
He nodded. Snuggled closer and wiped a tear off my cheek. He didn't offer any words of wisdom. He didn't tell me I should go ahead and get up. He didn't tell me how I was wrong, or what he thought would help. He was just there with me. A few minutes later he asked again.
"What are you thinking about, now?"
His question hung in the air as I took a deep breath, shook the blanket off this stranger's body that they tell me is mine, and sat up.
"I have to leave for class," he reminded me. I nodded. He held my hand as I sat there on the edge of the bed.
I knew what it would feel like when I put weight on my legs. I knew the radiating pain of nerve damage in my hip and the reluctant ache of the fracture site in my knee. I knew how scary and strange my abdomen would feel as I unfolded and stood tall- those deep, sharp pains. If I press the pads of my fingers down, searching along the injury site as I lay flat on my back, I can still feel and count the dissolving stitches. My physical therapist likes to remind me how far I've come, but in these morning hours all I seem to be able to wrap my head around is how far I have yet to go.
The physical pain is somehow a comfort, because I know where it's coming from....but there is this new emotional pain that came out of nowhere and has knocked the hope and courage right out of me. I fought it the best way I knew how, eating healthy foods and getting as much exercise as I could, talking with friends, praying and meditating, but I was sinking. And I was falling back into some unhelpful behaviors, greeting my dishonesty and escapism like the long absent old friends that they are to me. I talked to my doctor and started taking an antidepressant.
Several times every day I ask myself what I should do with my pain. I thought that my physical pain would lessen the farther out from the accident I came, but it's worse in many ways. I've cut back on pain medication, so that is part of the issue. And injured tissue and nerve endings are rebuilding, so naturally areas that used to be numb are coming alive with sensation (and pain).
Then there is the matter of this soul breaking internal pain. The inability to "power through" sadness. Being unable to think rationally and reason with despair, hopelessness and apathy. Knowing there are people in situations that are so much more challenging than mine. Hearing, "You look great!" when I feel like the ickiest speck of sludge on the underside of a rotting log. If you've ever been to this place, you know it isn't a matter of adjusting your mindset. "Just be more positive!" sounds as unattainable as, "Just fly to Jupiter!"
What do I do with my pain? I accept it. I practice mindfulness and work to stay in the moment. I do the little things I can. I (eventually) get out of bed. I play fetch with my delightful pup. I make a list of things I am grateful for. I take my medicine and I stay away from alcohol and un-prescribed drugs. I paint. I keep all the appointments that I can. I go to the doctor. I meet up with friends. I treasure hunt at Goodwill. I pray, and read, and meditate. I ask my Higher Power to help me be of service to others. Some of these actions help me feel better. But they don't heal me.
So, what do I do with my pain?
Today, I'll just keep going.
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