From that point to today, I've seen several different medical doctors, a chiropractor, a couple of physical therapists, massage therapist, and an acupuncturist. I've had x-rays, ultrasounds, muscle work, needles stuck in my gallbladder meridian, tiny gold balls glued to my ears at strategic points, and been offered multiple pain pills, muscle relaxers and anti-inflammatories. I've been given a walking restriction when I refused to take two weeks off to "just go to bed and hope I felt better," and that has since been lifted and replaced with an order for "light activity but not for more than 20 minutes at a time." Each of these therapies and treatments offered some relief and some healing, and the pain really is getting better, but I'm still hurting a lot, mostly my right leg and foot.
I'm not writing this for sympathy, quite the opposite. I'm writing this because I feel like there are several lessons I've learned and ways I want to change my own habits in relation to this experience.
One of the most concrete things that his experience has shown me is that I want to be the type of person that offers real, tangible help to those in need. There have been many offers of assistance, and don't mean to discount any of them because I do truly appreciate the sentiment and I know they were offered with the best of intentions. Still, I've had a few friends who have stepped in and offered real, practical, incredibly "helpful" help - the kind of help I didn't even think about requesting because I didn't know I needed it. One lovely lady called and asked if I had everything I needed for Halloween, and when I didn't, she went to Target and picked up candy and a trick or treat bucket for Riley. Another couple stopped over, picked up my car, a grocery list and my credit card and headed off to fill up my car with gas and pick up some groceries for me. Both of these acts were so simple and so straightforward, but they were both so needed and so appreciated. I try to be helpful, but I think that I often offer vague, "let me know what I can do" type of assistance. I am making a note, from this point forward, to be the person who offers the real, practical, "make-a-difference" type of help. It matters.
I am also learning a lot about surrender, about not trying to tough it out or muscle through when something hurts. There have been days when I had no choice but to surrender to the pain because nothing- NOTHING- touched it. The most I could do was just go to bed, feel it for what it was and be grateful it was intermittent and there was enough relief that I could take care of my daughter. I'm learning to surrender to the need for rest, because many days I am exhausted by 8:30 pm and can't do
much but head to bed early. I'm learning to accept that some days, I am going to accomplish less than usual at work, because physical therapy and doctors appointments take a large amount of time and I have a limited amount of that available each day. I'm even starting to surrender to the humor in the whole experience, like when the senior citizens brush past me when I'm walking too slow, hurrumphing their irritation with my impaired gait or when the PT aide, in all seriousness, suggests pregnancy as way to help loosen up my muscles and joints. But most of all, I'm learning to surrender my own expectations of how a situation should look or feel or be, and instead just trying to open up to whatever the moment brings. These have been hard, hard lessons to learn.
Try as I might, I can't bring myself to be grateful for this mysterious, random pain. I'm not thrilled that it's happening and I'm really not happy it's taking so long to heal. But I do believe in trying to find the lessons in the hard times, and I think this experience is proving to be am important teacher. I'm getting stronger and feeling better each day, but I really, truly hope that there aren't more lessons I'm supposed to learn from this, because I'd like to move on to the normal, active life I love.
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