A Pain in the, Well...........Everything

You know how actors, comedians and some of us old people develop catch phrases over time? Stuff we repeat over and over a lot. Donald Trump's is "You're fired!" Chef Emeril Lagasse says, "Bam" a lot. The Robot on Lost in Space says, "Danger Will Robinson!" Billy Crystal used to say, "You look mahvelous" when he did his Fernando Lamas schtick. My own catch phrase used to be "I'm working on it." Sheila would ask me if I'd finished something she'd told me to fix and.....

Sheila and I have developed new catch phrases of our own lately. Hers is "I'm sick to my stomach." Mine's "I know. I'm sorry." My other catch phrase is "Ow!" It's something I say when I get up out of a chair (or sit down in one), when I'm bending over or straightening back up again. I say it so often, I sometimes catch myself saying, "Ow" for now reason at all other than I haven't said it in a while.

You see these commercials all the time that ask, "Are you in constant pain?"  I never really thought of myself as being in constant pain before. I have a pretty high tolerance for pain myself. I have ADHD and a profound lack of grace. The only thing I haven't done to myself is broken a bone or cut off a limb. Other than that, I spent most of my youth with one sort of bump or bruise, stitches (32 some-odd) or abrasions for most of the time back then, when I was young and believed myself to be immortal. I seldom went without something or other hurting for longer than a week at a time.

Yesterday, Sheila and I went for a trip on the bus to Tacoma, the next town over to visit her doctor. We got to kidding about the noises we made getting on and off public transportation and I got to thinking. "Hey, is this what they mean by chronic pain? Well, this ain't funny at all!" The trip lasted from 10:30 in the morning till we returned to the house at 7:30 in the evening. It was 9 hours on a total of 8 buses - 4 over and 4 back. I was listening to Sheila tell the story to her cousin and sister on the phone that evening and noticed that the number of buses went steadily upward as she told it from 10 buses to eventually she settled on 12. I did not interrupt because I have been properly threatened that if I don't stop correcting her all the time in front of people, well, let's just say I won't like what happens. I figure accuracy in storytelling can most likely afford to take a backseat in deference to my current lack of major bruising. So you guys can just take your chances where accuracy is concerned when Sheila tells a story involving some kind of misery, discomfort or pain. I'm not saying she's exaggerating or anything, don't get me wrong. I'm just glad she doesn't read my blogs.

The total trip took 9 hours (12 hours if Sheila is telling the story because she throws in having to vacuum the house afterward and do some laundry she didn't get done because we were out and I ran back into town to pick up my freshly repaired computer). We hit the hay around ten o'clock that night. She woke me up again at midnight because she dreamed someone was knocking on the door. I stumbled around the house for a decent period of time so she'd be sure I took the threat seriously and then crawled back into bed. We got up at 8 after 10 hours of sleep and got up this morning to take her to get an MRI of her spine. We were gone for three hours (two Ubers and two buses and the MRI trailer). Sheila gave the house another scrubbing and was asleep by 8pm.

So Sheila is conked out on the couch tonight, while I've been trying to get my printer to work and sleeping sitting straight up at my desk while my printer software downloads. I finally got it working and am writing this while trying to work up the courage to stand up (ow) and go take off my pants (ow, ow) and climb into the shower (ow, ow, ow) and then pull back the covers and climb into bed. I have to actually do a little jump to get into bed now. Shelia keeps adding memory foam to the top of our Sleep Number bed so that the bed is so high that I actually have to make a little running jump to get up onto the mattress at night. And I can't turn my mattress down to 35 (where I like it), because she rolls down into the hole I create, so I crank it back up to 85 and live with the equivalent of one of those granite orthopedic mattresses for people with very bad backs. Fortunately, in my youth I accustomed myself to sleeping on rocks, hard packed dirt and assorted army cots, so I can sleep on a hard surface. The memory foam helps a little. I do make accommodations for my deteriorating bones and joints, however. I sleep with a big knee pillow so my knees don't get thrown out of joint during the night, I plug in my CPAP machine and sleep the untroubled sleep of a man with a clear conscience. Not sure what she's rolling and tossing about over there and I don't dare ask or I'll have to get up and fix something that isn't right.

All that said, I came to the realization yesterday that I am one of those people who have chronic pain. I don't know how this happened. I didn't notice it happening to me. Sheila's been in chronic misery for years - takes meds by the handfuls. Me? I hardly every take pain medication. I don't pay attention much to things that hurt. It's kind of become my default state. My only compromise with the aches and pains is to say "Ow!" rather a lot more than I used to. Sheila gets tired of the noise after a while and tells me, "Why don't you take something and quit moaning!"

That would be like surrendering and I'm just tooooo stubborn for that. So I say "Ow!" frequently, which bothers Sheila because she says it makes her feel guilty or something. I take an aspirin a day for my heart, and a couple of other things, but I'm going to have to pass another kidney stone before I take "pain medication." Sheila says I'm stupid to just suffer like that.

She may be right.

© 2018 by Tom King


PS: I did pass another kidney stone and I did it on Tylenol. Ha!