I have a friend with degenerative disk disease. We fell in friend-love because we have a lot in common: we’re both intelligent, snarky, music-loving folks who adore the sublimely silly. For a long, long time, we talked every day. When his pain became too bad, we’d hang up, he’d pop a pill or three, and he’d nap.
It was life as usual.
I didn’t realize how often–or how many–pills he took because his pain, while noticeable, was far higher than he ever led me to believe. Because he doesn’t live here, I didn’t see him on a daily basis hobbling through what few of his daily activities he could manage. Because he’s prideful, I had no idea how bad it had truly become.
He dropped off the face of the earth for a time–a very, very long time for someone who was concerned for him. He entered a dark phase, and didn’t come up for months. When he resurfaced, we talked about it, in bits and pieces. The pain had become so unmanageable that he had sunk into a deep depression, and every day he’d have to decide whether it was worth going on for. He was hopeless–he could not imagine a life better than the one he had. He felt that he had no value–he was no longer capable of adding value to the world.
He came out of the depression, mostly, but was still burdened by a level of physical pain that I cannot even imagine. He was not the same.
But then a miracle happened.
He found a doctor, a pain management specialist, who introduced him to lidocaine patches and physical therapy. Within a week, he was screaming in joy, “I am 70% better!” he said, excitedly. Within a month, he was a brighter, happier person than I had ever known him to be. He’s more active, more creative, and more cheerful than I have ever known him to be.
He’s a new man.
I started guided meditation this morning (again). In healthcare, we measure pain on a 0-10 scale, and I realized been living at between a 7 and a 10 for the past year. Perhaps longer than that, but definitely for the past 14 months. I lost my shit when I was broken into last August. I’d lost what little shit I had left when I was sexually assaulted in my home last December.
People have noticed, although I never really talked about it. I had never come back from that. I had curled up, tuned out, and turned off. Completely disconnected. I’d sign up for different things, but only half-ass participated. I couldn’t engage anything.
My life, as it stands now, is a wreck.
I thought how lucky my friend had it, discovering the lidocaine patches and PT, but then I realized that the lidocaine patches only relieved the pain so that he could do the work. Yes, they make his life far more tolerable, but he still had to strengthen the muscles in his back so that his body could heal to whatever extent it is capable of healing. He’s the one who went to every PT session. He’s the one that’s walked, strengthening his back. The pain patch, while vitally important, simply opened the door; it was a kick start.
He’s the one that took the steps.
I’ve been in a fog, half-assed trying to get out of it. Showing up but silent. Unable to engage anyone. Listening to whatever others have to say, but not ever, ever being present.
I have no idea how I discovered David McGraw on YouTube, but I found his home site here. I looked around for a while and figured, what the hell, the 22 day course is free. I signed up, did the first visualization, and felt something stir.
It’s not the whole answer. But maybe, just maybe, it will open the door to an answer. Oddly, I don’t feel like I have a whole journey in front of me. I just have one step. A single step. Another step after that, yes, but my only concern is the step I have before me, now.
My intention? To live with intention. That is all.
I’ve come across this quotation several times in the past few weeks.
Live with intention. Walk to the edge. Listen hard. Practice wellness. Play with abandon. Laugh. Choose with no regret. Appreciate your friends. Continue to learn. Do what you love. Live as if this is all there is.
It’s by Mary Ann Radmacher. It seems relevant.
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