Recovery--A Dark and Lonely Place to Be
Have you ever been a car accident? Most probably–I am going to guess–you have. A fender bender, maybe, or quite possibly something more serious. Well so have I. I have been in quite a few “fender benders” over the course of my lifetime; some were my fault, other times, they were somebody else’s. But the typical outcome was someone was cited (or not) and my (or someone else’s) insurance rates went up.
Well, six months ago I was in an accident that was so life-threatening that I was whisked away to a hospital in an ambulance. My injuries were so potentially serious, that my head was immobilzed to a gurney and the rest of my body was strapped down so I couldn’t move. Not that it mattered. That ambulance drove over every pothole and bump on the 10 mile trek to the hospital. Looking back, I think it actually would have hurt less if they would have let me sit up (and at least talked to me).
Anyway, I don’t want to get too much into the whole hospital, insurance, medical bills, legal bills, etc., etc., headaches (literally and figuratively) I had–and continue to have–regarding this whole nightmare.
Long story, short. I had to have surgery 2 ½ months later. For all intents and purposes, my neck broke and within just weeks of the accident, I quickly lost control of my fingers, then my arms…then it started in my legs (and my bladder)…let alone the crushing head-, neck-, and upper backaches I was experiencing.
I had no choice BUT surgery. My other choice was sitting in front of a computer all day, binge watching Netflix (because I didn’t have the strength, or the wherewithal to read, let alone hold a book or iPad) buzzed out on Percocet, Valium…whatever. Now, this might sound like a “dream” life to some people, but as a Professor, Farmer, and all around active person, I can attest that it really sucks.
However, I don’t want to get to much into all of that; it just depresses me. I want to discuss the worst part…the recovery. The dark and lonely place you experience–personally and professionally–on that long, painful (and hopefully full) recovery.
Yes, initially, so many friends, family, and work colleagues are “there” for you. They send you cards, flowers, and sometimes food. Don’t get me wrong, it’s so very nice, and appreciated, but after awhile–like maybe a week or so–it’s business as usual. And, I guess–no, I know–that is to be expected. But you know what? My pain hasn’t gone away. It’s chronic. I hurt all the time. Everyday. All day. I still take pain medication–not as much as I used to–but I still have to to get through the day (and sleep through the night)
Yes, the pain is no where NEAR where it used to be. I can (sometimes) work for a few hours a day, but if I overdo it, I pay. Dearly. You see, I am a Professor, and luckily, I work from home (and a Farmer, but I know that work will be a long time from now [hopefully]) and my students need, want, and deserve feedback from me. That’s my job. I teach graduate students. My students are serious about their studies and read and contemplate the feedback and guidance I provide. THAT’S MY JOB and I take it seriously.
In fact, this post took me 3 hours to type with, probably, about 40 backspaces and retypes because I don’t have complete control of my fingers yet, and my arms and fingers are now numb/ache, probably for the rest of the day.
Anyway, I guess what I am trying to communicate to you–
not whine about my circumstances, I promise, because honestly, I am hopeful for a full recovery (even though it is taking WAY longer than I anticipated. I am looking at a year +, at least, to not be in daily chronic pain [and I have, begrudgingly accepted it])
–if you have a work colleague or a friend or a family member who is experiencing chronic pain, check in on them once in awhile. Just say, “Hey, I’ve been thinking about you.” Because I can just bet you, they are not bitching about their pain and probably the depression they are also experiencing because of it. They have their head down and they are plowing through what they have to do.
But I can also just bet you when they go home at night, or no one is looking, they are probably crying. If not tears from their eyes, it’s tears in their heart.
Chronic pain pain is a dark and lonely place to be, regardless of how many people are around you. If you know or work with someone who is in chronic pain,
and it’s probably NOT the person who is bitching about how much they hurt all the time–ignore those people
don’t avoid them, don’t neglect them, be present for them. Help them, even in the tiniest possible ways.
You know, I’m probably one of the LUCKY ones; my chronic pain will–eventually (again, hopefully)–fade away, but for all of those other people out there in the world living, working, moving in the world among us in chronic pain, I can honestly express with all of my heart and soul, understand and empathize with you and I will never, ever avoid or neglect you ever again.