Tag Archives: back pain

I make no sense: Exhibit A

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I guess I didn’t do too good of a job at expressing my thoughts last night. I definitely did not mean that none of my family, friends, or Mike care about my pain, nor did I mean that none of your family, friends, and significant others don’t care about your pain. I get the feeling that I inadvertently hurt a few people’s feelings, so let me clarify.

It’s not like you can tell everyone you come into contact with that you are hurting. So, you wrap it up and walk around with it.

This is probably the only part of the post that is clear. I go through every day encountering many different people: coworkers, complete strangers, family, friends, and my Mike. (I’d throw him into the “family” or “friends” category, but saying he’s family just sounds gross when I think about it, and saying he’s one of my friends doesn’t even begin to cover it. Mike gets his own category.) There’s also my cat, who seems to be the most in tune to how I’m feeling — which is only because she has that sometimes creepy seventh sense. (I say “seventh sense” because we all know cats and dogs see ghosts.)

Now… where the hell was I? (See what happens when you try to clarify a post before eating dinner? My pizza needs to hurry…)

One of two things prevent me from telling anyone I don’t feel good (unless they ask):

  1. I don’t want to whine, or
  2. it would be inappropriate

I recently had a conversation with a friend whom I had just told about my mystery autoimmune disease. I’ve known him for years — going on nine years, to be exact — but in the past four years since my body started going haywire, I had never even mentioned that I was sick. Yet, we share things that most friends share with each other, like family problems, relationship problems, job problems, and so on. I felt really bad that I had never told him, and apologized. He asked why I had never mentioned it, and I said that I didn’t want to be a whiner.

He said something along the lines of, “You’re not a whiner. I think you’re really cool.”

I had to backtrack. “No, no. I didn’t think you would think I was a whiner. I just didn’t want to whine. I make no sense.”

And that’s exactly it — I make no sense. I don’t want to tell the people I’m close to that I’m in pain because I have some kind of macho “you can’t be weak” mentality toward myself. It’s not that I think anyone would think any less of me. It’s me, coming down on myself. Even stranger, no one has done anything to me to inspire this mentality. I can only speculate: denial? stubbornness? wanting to appear strong, even though I feel weak?

The second reason why I don’t say anything about my — I so hate to use this term, but here we are — illness is that it’s not always appropriate. Before I started working full-time, I would have bad pain days that would send me straight into tears. Now, those bad pain days — or even moments of excruciating pain — still make me tear up, but I hold it in because less than ten feet away from me are my coworkers. And then I would have to explain why I was whimpering. And then I would have to explain why I have this pain. And then I would have to explain why my doctors can’t figure out what’s wrong with me. And so on.

Having to explain all of that is exhausting. Plus, it again comes down to me wanting to appear normal.

So, no one truly knows what it’s like to live with my pain, except for me.

Every day is kind of a crazy circus of emotions regarding my autoimmune disease and chronic pain. For example, yesterday:

  • 6:30am: My alarm went off and I got up out of bed without stiffness or pain. I got ready for work without limping around.
  • 7:50am: I left for work still feeling pretty damn good. As I drove, I started to think that maybe I had overreacted, that it all hadn’t been that bad.
  • By 10am, my left wrist was stiffening up and aching.
  • Around 11am, or maybe even noon, my right hip started getting slammed with jolts of excruciating pain. I kept biting down on my fingers so that I didn’t scream.
  • By the time I got home around 6pm (I had to work late to make up time for tomorrow’s doctor appointment), my feet were stiff and too swollen for my Nike sandals.
  • By the time I went to bed, my lower back was aching like a female bunny after too much Woohoo*, and I was ready to punch someone.

Today was actually a relatively good day; I am a little stiff and swollen in some places, but not in any real pain. (I’d say about a 2 out of 10.)

Because I also have depression — which is now worse because of my autoimmune disease — I can honestly say that it’s the same when your pain is in your heart rather than your joints.

Anyway. I hope I’ve made my last post a little more clear.

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*Clearly I am having Sims withdrawals; woohoo is the Sims word for sex.

No one cares about your pain, except for you

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I don’t mean that no one cares about you. I don’t even mean that no one cares that you are hurting. When you experience any kind of pain — emotional or physical — on a daily basis, you carry it around with you. It’s not like you can tell everyone you come into contact with that you are hurting. So, you wrap it up and walk around with it.

Your pain becomes yours and only yours. You begin to feel wretchedly lonely. Every day, you spiral further and further down into your pain. You get to know it, learn its intimate secrets. After a while, your pain almost becomes a friend — you know, if it didn’t hurt so damn much. Your pain knows you better than you knew yourself, and because of your pain, you get to know yourself better. You become stronger. You learn that what you thought were your boundaries are silly little lines that you can just step over. Every day, you conquer your pain a little more in some way — whether it’s figuring out a new medication routine or something that soothes your aching mind.

And then your pain unleashes a surprise attack, one that overpowers your new medication routine or your new relaxation technique. You begin to descend again.

When you come out on the other side, you learn something new about yourself — that the boundary you learned to overcome previously is just a silly little line that you can step over.

And so it goes.

Doctor #4, here I come!

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Yesterday I hit rock bottom: I sat through Painting and could barely paint; I tried to sit through Visual Basic but after doing research for thoracic outlet syndrome and local chiropractors decided to wave the white flag. I called a local chiropractor that I’ve heard good things about. First I made sure they took my insurance, and then asked when I could get in for an appointment. I seriously expected next week at the earliest, but my appointment is for three this afternoon!

I got a really good vibe off of this website, so I’m hoping my intuition is at work here and that Dr. Rosa can help me.

I may or may not update later, as I’ve still got a lot of catching up to do on my school work and some other issues at hand.

Why beat ourselves up?

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As I sit here at work in Day Five of my back feeling like it’s been run over by a large pancake pressing object, I wonder: why is it that we push ourselves to the very limit? Why do we force ourselves to go to work or class when we are hurt or sick, pushing our bodies until we can barely go anymore? (As I type this my left arm feels like it’s on fire, with pins and needles too!) I think we can all relate to this; I think we’ve all known some kind of severe physical pain, even as we continue to struggle through our days.

Our bodies need rest when we are hurt. Realistically, I should be laying in bed or propped up in my grandfather’s recliner so that my back can heal. Still, our society seems to have this mindset now that we have to keep going. Mike has said to me, when I told him my back hurt, that at least I could still function. I wonder if I should be functioning. I wonder if we all should stop being so harsh on ourselves. There have been days when I was terribly sick with whatever and still dragged my sorry ass into work. Would I have gotten better sooner if I had just stayed home and rested in the first place?

I know I’m not the only one. Sandy has, on several occasions, done the same. My father, whenever his back goes out, will usually force himself to keep on working. Last winter, my grandmother’s back went out and she still did her craft fairs, pushing herself to finish the various things she made to sell. Making money has become a beat so strong in our brains that we have become masochists to ourselves, starving our bodies of the rest we need and beating ourselves up to make that dollar. We are a working force, but we are far from being machines. What will it take for us to realize that sometimes we need that extra day of rest, no matter how much we lose off our paychecks?

Taking all my sunshine

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Things have been very frustrating lately, but I’ve decided that the only way to deal with them is by writing and ignoring the things stressing me out. Easy to say, tough to do. Still, I think that by focusing mainly on my writing this coming winter I might just make it out of everything alive. Mainly, there are two people who are causing me the most stress. One is a family member and the other is a good friend. Both are for very different reasons — or are they? There is nothing I can do about either of them, considering one is seen as a golden child in the eyes of everyone else (so who is going to believe me when I say that this person treats my sister and I like dirt?) and the other yeah-I-knows me but continues to do what they do anyway. I do have to say that I’ve decided not to take anymore shit from either of these people, no matter what the consequences may be. I’d rather have them and everyone else angry with me than be treated like shit. I do matter, despite what these people’s actions may say.

Anyway. My back is still hurting. Every once in a while — like when I stand up — I’ll get a nasty little spasm, and for the most part it just aches in general. It’s all in the lower back, which was what I hurt when I fell last winter. (I sound like an old person. Oh my goodness.) I’ve noticed that since then it will hurt occasionally for a few days, no matter how much rest I give it or how many times I pop Aleve. I’ve accepted that it’s probably something I’m going to have to deal with for the rest of my life, but I don’t like it. Speaking of pain, I am still getting pain in my arms — still mainly in my left arm. As I type this my fingers are not very happy. ): I’ve accepted that this too is something I am going to have to deal with, unless I can magically find a good doctor who can actually figure out what’s wrong.

I didn’t mean to make this a complaint post, but that’s exactly what it’s turned out to be. Sigh. Here are some good things that have been happening: Continue reading →