(Before I start, I would like to thank Mr. Leroy Moses for the inspiration for this piece)
Chronic pain comes upon us like a thief, ready to steal away so many things that we hold dear. For some of us, it sneaks up on us, taking a little here, a little there. We don't notice the losses at first because they are so small. And then one morning, we wake up to a new ache or pain, and we attribute it to sleeping wrong, working out a bit too vigorously, or just getting older. We think that small pain will go away in short order, and just consider it an annoyance. And then, that pain continues to grow. It constantly reminds us that it is present and that it isn't going anywhere.
For others, chronic pain bursts in on us like a home invader. The pain comes on us suddenly and violently. We are totally unprepared for what is happening. It could be caused by a car accident, a work injury, an attack of some sort. No matter how it comes upon you, there is no way that you can be prepared for what has happened to you. The pain is intense and unrelenting. You believe, however that the doctor's and others working to help you will eventually take the pain away. You do exactly as you are told, and slowly, you begin to realize that your pain isn't going away; you aren't getting any better. The pain isn't going anywhere.
And that is just the beginning of the theft of chronic pain. It doesn't just take away your feeling of comfort - it steals away the most important things in your life. Chronic pain takes and takes, no matter what you do to stop it. I know, because I live with pain on a daily basis. Chronic pain stole into my life when I bent over to pick up a piece of paper, and my life hasn't been the same since that day. Before my pain began, I had a husband and three little boys that I dearly loved, a job that I actually enjoyed getting up and going to everyday, friends; in short, I had a life. I got up every morning, took a shower, fixed my hair and makeup and went to work. I didn't think about doing these things, because they were simply part of my routine. How I miss that routine today.
Chronic pain stole the obvious things from me. I had to leave my job because I was no longer able to sit at a desk for eight hours a day. The pain would be so intense that I would have to leave work early. After a time, I was no longer a valuable employee, I was a liability. And the job that I loved was taken away from me by that insidious thief. I miss my job. I miss the people that I worked with. I miss feeling like I was contributing something to my community, and to my family. I miss the social interaction with my coworkers. And I feel robbed.
My children were little boys when chronic pain came into my life. They were just starting school, making friends, starting to play sports. I loved being able to rough house with them, or sit on the floor and play games. I couldn't wait to get home from work to see them because I adored every inch of all three of them, and I still do. When I first injured my back, I had to explain that Mommy couldn't play with them, but that I would get better soon and we would sit on the floor and play whatever game it was once I was well. Weeks and months, and even years, passed. And still the chronic pain remains.
My boys grew up. I never got back on the floor with them again. Chronic pain stole so much, not only from me, but from my family as well. I missed ballgames because I knew that I couldn't sit in the hard bleachers. It stole vacations we might have taken because I couldn't stand the long car rides, or walk through theme parks and the like. And my beautiful boys would look at me and tell me they understood. When they weren't around, I would cry for this loss which they didn't deserve, but accepted as the way things simply were.
I am not the same woman that I was before pain became my constant companion. Before I became a pain warrior, I had been a singer. I studied music all the way through college, and I was good. I could sing a Broadway show stopper or an aria in Italian. I loved to perform, and I did every chance I got. Once I got older, I loved to go to a bar that had karaoke, and get up on the stage and sing my heart out. That part of my life is gone. Pain has stolen my ability to perform. My voice is still there, but pain makes going out too difficult. I so miss the joy I got from this part of my life.
I am not alone in feeling the sting of theft from chronic pain. Each of us living with this condition know what it is like to lose the things that we hold dear. Some lose the ability to participate in a sport that they love. Some are no longer able to take care of their daily needs. Like me, many are no longer able to work. Most of us can no longer walk for any distance. We lose joy in small things like going shopping, going out to dinner with friends. We can't attend concerts, or movies, or church. We lose friends. We lose confidence in ourselves. And, saddest of all, chronic pain steals our hope. Eventually, we stop hoping that friends will call again. We stop hoping that we will be healed. We stop hoping that things will go back to normal.
Yes, chronic pain is a thief, which steals so much from each life that it touches. However, we have the choice to simply sit there and watch it take all we hold dear. We can become the victims of pain, and wallow in the loss of hope that we feel, or we can choose to fight. We can truly become pain warriors. There are many things that chronic pain steals from us that we will never get back and we mourn those things. But we don't have to allow it to take our spirit. We can learn to love the person that we are now. We still matter! We are stronger than we give ourselves credit for. How do I know this? I'm still here, and I am still fighting the thief of chronic pain.
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