Eyes closed, I day dream about when I was a child, roaming free in the fields and wooded area behind my parents' country house. A sunny smile across my juvenile face. The wind whipping gently through my hair. The smell of chimney smoke and a fresh batch of ginger snaps tickled my nose. I was free.
I open my eyes to six pillows surrounding my body and two cats warming my feet. My cell phone rings. 414 it reads. On the other end is a nurse patiently waiting for me to pick up so she can tell me I have another doctor appointment that should be set up.
The surgery, from the surgeon's perspective, was successful. Taking his advice, I took time off from work. I rested. I missed out on events, opportunities, fun. I weened myself off the pain killers. I slowly went back to work. I started physical therapy. I went to a massage therapist. I have the positive mind set of healing. What am I doing wrong?
I turn over and think of the timeline from the past six weeks to today. The pain is creeping its way back into my life, and worse than before. It is circling my shoulder, climbing my neck and overtaking the nerves in my head. It is knocking on the door to my mind. Pounding. Screaming. Scratching off splinter by splinter of wood to get to the one part of me that I need to keep strong: my mind.
Every fiber in me wants to scream back. Every fiber wants to go back to work. Every fiber wants to be pain free. Every fiber is trying so hard not to resent every person that doesn't have to go through this, and to forgive every person that judges my situation, without knowing the full tale. Every cell in my body wants to hug every single person that is dealing with this devil inside, or any other devil like Thoracic Outlet Syndrome. And every cell in my body wants to hug the closest members to us, the ones that are silently dying inside watching us suffer every single day.
I sit here in the debilitating pain I've come to know so well. Too exhausted to get up and put another movie in. Too exhausted to care if I'm staring at a blue TV screen. Too afraid to call my best friend and tell her I'm having a bad day because I don't want her to get upset. I'm 23, but feel 70. I'm in shape but feel out of it. I'm happy but why can't my body get on the same track?
I play the waiting game with the doctor now. I wait until they set up the appointment. I wait in pain. I wait in the doctor's office. I get an ultrasound of my shoulder. I wait at home for a phone call that will be bad either way. And then I wait for a treatment option, one with more pills or more physical therapy. And then I wait to heal. It is all one big waiting game, and from it I have built up the best patience and hope that one lifetime could ever hold.
Equanimity,
Kelsey
(Author's note: Just a glimpse of a day for me. Not all days are bad. In fact, most days are wonderful even when I'm in the worst pain.)
