"Some people shrink to twigs as they age. Others become trunks."
Dr. Atul Gawande, author of Being Mortal--Medicine and What Matters in the End.
For several months now, I've been receiving daily lessons from a teacher I never expected to meet. I thought I knew it all at my age; but here she is. I have little choice but to view her presence as a chance to learn more about myself.
I haven't decided whether my teacher is looking out for my best interests, or if she is a masochist. She is persistent and strong-willed; and she is becoming increasingly obnoxious. She interrupts my sleep in the wee hours, and she wakes me up every morning. Bottom line: she calls a class whenever she feels like it. She is in full control....at least for now. I'm already sick of her.
My teacher's name is Delilah, named after the Biblical temptress who betrayed Samson by leading the Philistines to him so they could cut off his hair, the source of his great strength. Samson loved and trusted Delilah, so he finally revealed his secret to her. In the end, her guile and greed (she got paid big bucks) led him to his death. I don't expect her to lead me to my death, but if she isn't put in her place or doesn't ease up a bit, she has the power to make me wish I were dead.
Personifying pain helps me keep our relationship on a more personal level. I figure if I'm patient and remain calm with this invader, I'll be able to understand and forgive her for her uninvited and abrupt arrival in my life. Already, I've learned something: I have learned that pain is very individual, difficult to describe, and very difficult to manage. I've also developed a new-found respect for individuals who suffer chronic pain. It's got to be hell.
When the Physician's Assistant announced the cause of my neck and shoulder pain, I felt my world cave in. I knew my slight frame would eventually cause problems, since I had osteoporosis; but I thought I had some time before the process of disintegration occurred; and I sure never expected osteoarthritis.
As she brought out a model of cervical vertebrae, the PA seemed a bit too eager to show me that on my neck, they are knocking up against each other. Oh, that's interesting, I said, picturing the dowager's hump that is sure to define me as an old lady (not likely to happen, she told me later, as long as I keep active). But pain? She never guaranteed a lack of pain.
I didn't want to hear any more details after she told me there are few avenues to fix this, and that it won't go away and will probably work its way down my spine. "Already", I said, "I have loud popping in my lower spine." But that doesn't hurt, so I didn't push the discussion in that direction.
I had a good cry when I got home, which was cleansing but ultimately boring, since there was no one around to offer pity. I dried my tears and immediately increased the amount of eyeliner and cheek color on my face, as though that would solve my problems. At least I wouldn't look pathetic when my husband got home. It worked for a while and actually cheered me up. Eventually, though, I started to feel sorry for myself again. As soon as he walked through the door, I launched into my blow-by-blow orthopedic visit and pain reporting mode. That was satisfying for a while; it got me lots of hugs, generous wine fill-ups, shoulder massages, and empathetic tenderness. But that even got old.
The lessons keep on coming. My fear of growing old and frail and not being able to stand up straight someday scares the daylights out of me. I'm active and full of life and joy most of the time. I'm also impatient and want Delilah to take a hike to nowhere. I'm not used to being held back by some drama queen who demands center stage. I'm the drama queen in this family, and I'm not used to competition. I'm hoping she and I can work something out.
There are good days and bad days. Since all this began, I have stayed close to home. The PT sessions wear me out, and as usual, my sleep time has been jeopardized. I don't feel as perky or social, mainly because I've been tired. But I'm working my way back to normal and am determined not to lose my sense of awe and wonder that life brings. I'm trying to hold my head in such a way that I can still draw and write and paint at my work table.
The biggest lesson I have learned, and this is huge: keep taking one day at a time and try to focus on all the good things in life that fill my soul with joy.