I have had the unique misfortune of spending a lot of my life in pain. When I was in high school, I was hit by a car and as a result I’ve had dozens of orthopedic operations just like Humpty Dumpty to put me back together again.
Put Lyme disease on top of that and you’ve got an especially fragile and potentially overwhelming situation.
There are three mind-numbing things I clearly remember regarding my pain right before I was diagnosed and began treatment for Lyme disease:
My legs would hurt so much, that if I was sitting down in one room and was thirsty – I had to determine whether I was thirsty enough to justify the pain of getting up and walking to the kitchen for a glass of water.
If I had to climb the stairs (and climb is the operative word here, at that point there was no “going up the stairs”) I had to use my hands to crawl up them. If I was in public, I could only do one step at a time.
When I was in the Doc’s office I remember telling him that if I could just cut my legs off above my knees I would be fine.
Did you read that last one? At that point, I was in so much pain that I would have rather been an amputee in a wheelchair than have to deal with the chronic unrelenting and crushing pain I was in.
It’s easy to dismiss someone’s pain (mostly because *you* don’t know what they really feel like) but there are clues to look out for. If you (or someone with a chronic illness) starts drawing into themselves (sometimes this can be literal and they draw themselves into a ball or sometimes they just start shutting out activities and friends), if an otherwise happy person starts getting impatient or curly, if there is any talk of “I can’t do this anymore” then that person needs help. Immediately.
Pain can be so very overwhelming.
One thing that helped (and empowered me) was a pain plan. I wrote down a clear list of steps to take if my pain level started rising. When the pain started getting bad, I’d start off my trying to divert my attention with a book or a movie, if that didn’t work I’d take some Motrin and get off my feet, if that didn’t help, I’d take something stronger (usually a narcotic) and try to shut down anything else that was sapping my attention (no activities, no phone calls, no internet) and if that didn’t work, I’d call the Doc.
Just knowing that I had some measure of control gave me the power to be able to handle most of my pain. It was rare that it got too out of hand for me.
So for those who are deep into chronic pain (and let no one tell you that chronic Lyme disease doesn’t hurt) think about your pain and plan some steps on how to manage it. (And don’t forget meditation, pain can tie your body into stress knots that can exacerbate the situation, learn to mediate and relax.)
Once you have created your plan carry it with you and tape a copy of it to various places in your house so that at your worst, when you need those steps, when you forget what it is you have to do, you’ll see them and know. And you’ll be the one in control.
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Note: As a plug for correct Lyme treatment, I had been on a pain contract for 2 years which meant that I was prescribed narcotics each month. After 3 months of antibiotic treatment for Lyme disease I no longer needed pain medication and I haven’t taken narcotics since December 2014.
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Wendy Thomas is an award winning journalist, columnist, and blogger who believes that taking challenges in life will always lead to goodness. She is the mother of 6 funny and creative kids and it is her goal to teach them through stories and lessons.
Wendy’s current project involves writing about her family’s experiences with chickens (yes, chickens). (www.simplethrift.wordpress.com) She writes about her chickens for GRIT, Backyard Poultry, Chicken Community, and Mother Earth News.
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