Pain

By Dick McCullough

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I've got a pinched nerve in my lower back. It has caused me pain, sometimes intense pain, pretty much continuously for the last five months. And pain, in turns out, is really interesting.

Pain, chronic pain, affects you in some surprising ways. Of course, when you've got an intense pain, it grabs your attention and makes you focus like an international grand master at the world championships. You stare at it, roll it over in your mind, examine it, feel its textures, its color, shape. You become a Zen expert in that particular pain, living entirely in that moment. But you can't concentrate for diddly on anything else. Like your best friend's telephone number, for example. Or how to tie your shoes. Or how to run the VCR. You, my friend, like it or not, have just gotten substantially dumber, complements of pain. Pain takes energy. It makes you breathe hard like you're running uphill (even when you're sitting in a chair). It makes all your muscles quiver and shake, like you're so weak you can't walk (you are and you can't). Pain makes you perpetually tired. Pain transforms you, no matter who you used to be, into a frail, out-of-shape, old geezer, huffing and puffing after a trip from the recliner to the kitchen table. There's a good side to this part, though. Since pain wears you out so thoroughly, it must be burning a ton of calories. So go ahead, eat whatever you want. You won't gain weight. Candy, pastries, ice cream. Knock yourself out. Now's your chance. For the first time in years, you can eat like a teenager, without exploding. PS. Pain also kills your appetite.

Chronic pain will make you feel old, feel handicapped, disenfranchised. It will separate you from the rest of the normal, healthy, ambulatory world. Pain will make you feel like an outsider. Inferior. People will avoid eye contact with you on the street, because you're different, unfamiliar, uncomfortable. I think people must subconsciously fear they're gonna catch whatever I've got if they get too near. My pain must make dummies out of more than just me.

Pain traps you, keeps you from normal routine like going to lunch, driving a car, making a phone call, writing a letter. Pain is a set of handcuffs that are on too tight. Pain is a prison cell with a giant picture window. You get to see all that you are missing. And it gets to see you, too.

Experiencing chronic pain wears you down. So your ability to tolerate pain is reduced. After a while, any little blip on the pain radar screen becomes an explosion that must be dealt with and dealt with now. In short, you become a whiny little wimp. And all your friends are silently disappointed in you.

Pain will strip you of all pretense, all those false attitudes and values that were convenient or popular to claim, back in the day when you were whole. Then: "No, I don't believe in drugs. Nature has amazing healing powers. We just need to learn how to harness them. The natural way is the best way." Now: "Please, doc, give me some pain killers. I don't care if they're addictive. I'm not gonna live too long, any way." Then: "I would never dress like that in public. Doesn't he have any self-respect?" Now: "I'm so proud of myself. I actually put pants on today." Then: "Why walk? I mean, if you're going to exercise, get some real exercise. Run, you lazy putz!" Now: "Look! I took a step!" Then: "You actually hired a Feng Shui consultant to come out to your house? I thought your doctorate was in physics?" Now: "Who knows? Maybe it will help."

Pain, for me, at least, has had one other impact, as well. I am a frantic worrier of historic proportions. I've been a stressed out worrier since kindergarten. This back pain of mine came at a bad time. My father had just died. My business was failing. I needed to get back to work. I needed to jump on my horse and ride hard. But the pain just said no. I wasn't going to bust my butt to pull my business out of the fire, no matter how many reasons I had to do so. Didn't matter if I couldn't pay the mortgage. Didn't matter if my kids wouldn't go to the college of their choice. Didn't matter if my wife wouldn't get the house of her dreams. Didn't matter. Because I couldn't move. And I so obviously couldn't move that it was even obvious to me, Mr. Neverquitnomatterwhat. And it wasn't like I said to myself, "Self, don't worry. You can't do anything about it so quit worrying." No, not like that at all. I simply didn't worry. For the first and only time in my life, worry just wasn't in me.

And that part was really cool. I really enjoy not worrying. And all that stuff I wasn't worrying about? It's all worked out just fine so far, despite my lack of worry. I just hope I remember how not to worry once I'm healthy. I'm really worried I'll forget.

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