I’ve had a hard semester. I’ve had a difficult two-years, but the last few months have taken a toll on my mind and stability. I have been concerned with dying – with falling apart at the seams – and consumed with constant, stabbing pain in my gizzard.
I am beginning to understand my mother; and see her in a new light. My mother developed polio as a young child. It affected her leg and her growth and the polio has wreaked havoc with her bones. It has caused her constant, agonizing pain, which she rarely shares, but I am vaguely aware of. She is too strong, and a bit too hard headed, to admit to her pain. I can relate as I do the same. But the pain of living can, at times, overwhelm her. It can be hard to be happy when you hurt.
I have had a taste, a mere glimpse into the world of chronic pain as of late, and I am able to sympathize with my Mom’s struggle over the years. For nearly a year I have developed a sharp, stabbing, burning pain in my upper left abdomen directly under the rib cage. It started in slow and has increased steadily over time. I have gone days, sometimes weeks, without sleeping much and unable to do any activity but sit and rest. The pain has affected me in horrendous ways; it still does at times.
For nearly a year I have been unable to practice karate, help my friends with their weekend home projects, or do simple household chores. The pain has been too great. I am unable to take my family to Silver Dollar City for a fun outing because the amount of walking required is almost unbearable for me.
The worst part, one of the emotional pains associated with long patches of pain, is that I am not able to give my daughter the beautiful memories of playing with her Daddy that she deserves. She is a good girl, a creative child, and a blessing to have around. I have done what I can to spend time with her, but I have restricted that to things that do not require much exertion – no small chore when dealing with an active 6-year-old. I found that I was able to go to White Water this year. It is a smaller park and requires less walking and strain on the body.
I am rather buoyant in the water and that seems to help. She loves White Water and so that was an acceptable adaptation. But we can’t go to White Water in the fall or the winter. Sometimes Mommy and daughter will go out together, but it is not the same. My daughter gets the experience of a good time, but she also takes home a missed memory of time that could have been spent with her Dad.
We go to movies together and have developed our own routines – memories – that are important to her and me. Every night, without fail, my daughter comes into the spare bedroom where I am diligently working away on homework. She comes dressed in her cute nightgown, with hair combed and teeth brushed. Homework is finished, kitty is loved on, and her mom has read her at least two books.
She smiles with a mouthful of baby teeth and seven adult teeth, and asks the same question.
Not that it’s necessary to beg. I am going to do it, but she clasps her hands together, cocks her head to one side and opens her blue eyes. There she stands, swaying and twisting sweetly, waiting for my answer. Snuggling in bed is one memory I can give her and so that is what I do and it is a sweet thing to be able to do.
Almost every night I am able to take time off from my studying and spend time with her. We pile up our pillows: me with three pillows lined one in front of the other against the head board and one on top. She, wanting to be like me, does the same: three pillows and one on top. Nothing else will do. We snuggle down in the sheets and turn on the television. There we stay, sometimes for 10 minutes and sometimes for half an hour or longer, until she drifts off to sleep.
Once she is down, I go back to the spare bedroom and finish my work. It’s a small thing, but it’s important to her. It is our time together and it is time that I can spend without much exertion, without much pain. I treasure those moments and enjoy our time together. One day it she will not want to snuggle in bed with me. One day it will inappropriate for us to do so. One day, not too far off, those days will be over and I will miss them. I may not have some Silver Dollar City memories from this past summer (although I do have other seasons to rely upon) I do have Daddy-Daughter dates to the movies and White Water.
And we have camping. We were able to camp this last weekend, which hurt, but it was worth it. We had loving friends who set up camp for me so I didn’t have to. I’m not good at that. I have a hard time letting things go and letting others do things for me. But my friend, Paul, kept yelling at me; so I finally sat down and let my friends help me.
I have a very supportive structure with both family and friends and it makes life easier. My wife is the head of my fan club and she tries her best to keep the family together. It’s hard on her because I can’t help out a lot, what with all the homework and pain. It takes a toll on her and sometimes she feels unappreciated. I try hard to remember to tell her how much I love her and appreciate all the household chores she does, but it’s hard. I am a good patient. I don’t complain a lot unless I really hurt. I try to remain happy and smiling and engage in as much as possible. I know she is looking forward to me feeling better; and not just so I can do more chores, although that will be a nice help.
It is good to have friends and family who care. Sometimes they don’t understand, but they care and they try and that makes the difference.
I am beginning to understand my mother; and see her in a new light. My mother developed polio as a young child. It affected her leg and her growth and the polio has wreaked havoc with her bones. It has caused her constant, agonizing pain, which she rarely shares, but I am vaguely aware of. She is too strong, and a bit too hard headed, to admit to her pain. I can relate as I do the same. But the pain of living can, at times, overwhelm her. It can be hard to be happy when you hurt.
I have had a taste, a mere glimpse into the world of chronic pain as of late, and I am able to sympathize with my Mom’s struggle over the years. For nearly a year I have developed a sharp, stabbing, burning pain in my upper left abdomen directly under the rib cage. It started in slow and has increased steadily over time. I have gone days, sometimes weeks, without sleeping much and unable to do any activity but sit and rest. The pain has affected me in horrendous ways; it still does at times.
For nearly a year I have been unable to practice karate, help my friends with their weekend home projects, or do simple household chores. The pain has been too great. I am unable to take my family to Silver Dollar City for a fun outing because the amount of walking required is almost unbearable for me.
The worst part, one of the emotional pains associated with long patches of pain, is that I am not able to give my daughter the beautiful memories of playing with her Daddy that she deserves. She is a good girl, a creative child, and a blessing to have around. I have done what I can to spend time with her, but I have restricted that to things that do not require much exertion – no small chore when dealing with an active 6-year-old. I found that I was able to go to White Water this year. It is a smaller park and requires less walking and strain on the body.
I am rather buoyant in the water and that seems to help. She loves White Water and so that was an acceptable adaptation. But we can’t go to White Water in the fall or the winter. Sometimes Mommy and daughter will go out together, but it is not the same. My daughter gets the experience of a good time, but she also takes home a missed memory of time that could have been spent with her Dad.
We go to movies together and have developed our own routines – memories – that are important to her and me. Every night, without fail, my daughter comes into the spare bedroom where I am diligently working away on homework. She comes dressed in her cute nightgown, with hair combed and teeth brushed. Homework is finished, kitty is loved on, and her mom has read her at least two books.
She smiles with a mouthful of baby teeth and seven adult teeth, and asks the same question.
"Daddy, will you snuggle with me in your bed? Please. I love you."
Not that it’s necessary to beg. I am going to do it, but she clasps her hands together, cocks her head to one side and opens her blue eyes. There she stands, swaying and twisting sweetly, waiting for my answer. Snuggling in bed is one memory I can give her and so that is what I do and it is a sweet thing to be able to do.
Almost every night I am able to take time off from my studying and spend time with her. We pile up our pillows: me with three pillows lined one in front of the other against the head board and one on top. She, wanting to be like me, does the same: three pillows and one on top. Nothing else will do. We snuggle down in the sheets and turn on the television. There we stay, sometimes for 10 minutes and sometimes for half an hour or longer, until she drifts off to sleep.
Once she is down, I go back to the spare bedroom and finish my work. It’s a small thing, but it’s important to her. It is our time together and it is time that I can spend without much exertion, without much pain. I treasure those moments and enjoy our time together. One day it she will not want to snuggle in bed with me. One day it will inappropriate for us to do so. One day, not too far off, those days will be over and I will miss them. I may not have some Silver Dollar City memories from this past summer (although I do have other seasons to rely upon) I do have Daddy-Daughter dates to the movies and White Water.
And we have camping. We were able to camp this last weekend, which hurt, but it was worth it. We had loving friends who set up camp for me so I didn’t have to. I’m not good at that. I have a hard time letting things go and letting others do things for me. But my friend, Paul, kept yelling at me; so I finally sat down and let my friends help me.
I have a very supportive structure with both family and friends and it makes life easier. My wife is the head of my fan club and she tries her best to keep the family together. It’s hard on her because I can’t help out a lot, what with all the homework and pain. It takes a toll on her and sometimes she feels unappreciated. I try hard to remember to tell her how much I love her and appreciate all the household chores she does, but it’s hard. I am a good patient. I don’t complain a lot unless I really hurt. I try to remain happy and smiling and engage in as much as possible. I know she is looking forward to me feeling better; and not just so I can do more chores, although that will be a nice help.
It is good to have friends and family who care. Sometimes they don’t understand, but they care and they try and that makes the difference.
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