Pain

If I knew then what I know now...
One of the biggest influences in my life was my father.  He taught me so much, without seeming to do so.  My lasting memories of him are tainted with the crippling effects of the arthritis that he lived with for most of his life.

Daddy was never an overly involved parent.  From my early years when he was in construction,  through the deli years, when he ran, and later owned a local deli, it was long hours and not a lot of family time. It was after I had kids that he mellowed.  Where my siblings and I would barely  DARE to enter my parents room (also his office), my oldest, Stacie, was free to use their bed as a trampoline with no fear of repercussions.

 She was guaranteed Boston creme donuts fresh from Swan Bakery every Sunday. When Katie came along,  it was lunch at the house in Blue Point every day.  During which Daddy would take great pleasure in feeding Katie from his own plate. And sneaking her cookies.

The one pleasure my father never had was holding his granddaughters. He declined, because he was afraid he might drop them.  The pain, the arthritis. I still remember him, in the winter,  in damp weather, rainy days, never complaining, but the pain on his face,  it was always there. I cannot erase his shuffling walk from my mind. Two hip replacements and an ankle replacement, and still the pain. There was the one day at lunch, I was sitting next to him,  he put his hand on the table and commented how he couldn't even lay his hand out flat-the arthritis had deformed it that much. My heart broke for him a little bit that day because I think I finally realized how debilitating it was.
If I didn't get it then,  I certainly do now. I have always considered my pain tolerance to be fairly high. I have never been less than fiercely  independent. Ever. Now I find myself in the hated position of having to depend on others. Since getting hit by a truck,  I cannot walk without a crutch. I cannot drive, as my left elbow required surgery to be rebuilt. As a result,  my left arm is severely limited in its mobility. I cannot do simple household tasks. I curse my lefthandedness. I cannot bake the traditional annual Christmas cookies that everyone looks forward to every year. I cannot sit for long periods of time due to a pelvic fracture. I cannot navigate the stairs to sleep in my own bed. Suddenly I fully understand my father's dislike of cold, damp, fog, rain. I got it this morning when I woke up to fog. I got it the last couple of days when the wind chill was 10. This pain is unrelenting. It takes far too long for my liking to get my ass going in the morning, my hip and my arm stiffen up overnight.
I have started physical therapy. the PT guys are awesome even if I do occasionally tell them I hate them. They're very understanding.  With PT and time,  I hopefully will become independent again.  They say I may not get full range of motion back in my arm but I'm still trying to remain positive.  When the pain threatens to overwhelm, I think of my father and the pain he lived with constantly,  without relief, and I think,  I got this,  I can do this.  I am stronger than this pain. This past month has not been easy,  emotionally or physically. I am still dealing with both the best I can.  But I'm seeing progress, I'm feeling progress, and I know that this too shall pass. it will take time,  and my gut tells me that I will never be enthralled with inclement weather again. But this will, indeed, pass. And I keep reminding myself that it could have been worse, so much worse. I'm still here, I'm  breathing,  as long as I can feel the pain,  I know I'm alive. One day at a time,  I can hear my father's words in my head,  one day at a time....keep the faith.  And so I will.
Everybody Hurts~REM