Letting the phone ring.

The past two years have been incredibly tough as what seemed the rapid acceleration of my chronic pain has left me with gaping emotional and spiritual scars. To look back, I could say I was in denial but worse than that- it was like having an out of body experience but instead of being joyous and seeing myself moving towards the light- I felt almost nothing but a tinge of sadness in watching myself literally disappear.

Chronic pain makes it very stressful to make any plans because you never know if you can keep your end of the bargain. You can only cancel so many invites before the phone ceases to ring and sadly, you kind of feel relieved. Answering the phone sometimes becomes a chore because when the person on the other end inevitably asks you "how you are?" you can tell the truth and now discuss a subject that makes you scream out loud or  you might choose to hesitantly reply "Not too bad." However, if the pain has you in the throes of its force and you receive an enthusiastic response, you must know find the energy to carry on the façade. THAT IS WHY I GENERALLY LET THE PHONE RING! My grandmother is typically my exception because with her, I don't need to wear any mask so it is truly a "hellish," day when I don't answer my special angel's phone call.




In my early years of experiencing daily pain, I would make every effort to go to events and activities for my kids despite the pain. For years, I ran a music studio and even when my pain began to betray me, I pushed myself to a point beyond breaking because I couldn't bare the thought of letting down my students or their families. It was ironic, sometimes I would be lecturing my student on their lack of practice (especially before an exam or performance) and inside, I would be weeping because I could no longer play the piano--such was the nerve pain in my arms and hands.


However, the pain has weakened me over the years and somehow missing one event or concert has stretched into missing several events etc. I remember one event in particular where my favourite and uplifting group "The Tenors," were performing and we had tickets. I was in a dark place with pain that night but I still took the time to carefully dress my handsome son, Christian and my beautiful girl, Malia. Oh my, they looked divine....anyways, off they went with my husband, all of us waving goodbye to each other, I felt relief to be home and yet so incredibly devastated. Worried that I would always be waving goodbye and worried that one day, they would forget to wave back. FORGOTTEN! AND in complete realization that Life had gone on without me!

MY PRECIOUS DOGS  STAYED GLUED to my side as if they sensed that their unconditional love was not only needed but NECCESSARY that particular night.  I knew God had sent them to me in my time of need and I was so grateful for their companionship that expected nothing from me in return but a rub behind their ears. Maestro, Kiesa, Oliver and Solomon's unconditional love never failed to make me feel present even if it was just a little piece of me. I think that detaching myself from my feelings is the only way that I won't completely break into pieces when I think about my "new reality."







 Both my children are gifted actors but I realize that I, their mother, had put on the biggest performance of my life just getting out of bed and carrying on is some sort of capacity during those difficult days. I was fortunate during these very bleak months to have just an hour or two of moments where I felt truly present. Chronic pain and depression now held the keys to my daily life and frankly, it was obvious they had set up house. The fog was so diminishing and hours turned into days and days into weeks until I started to truly think that "THIS" was my new norm! Looking at some of Christian and Malia's acting photos ignite a small fire inside me, I want to help them achieve their dreams and be present with them on set. I cannot give up completely!!











Becoming house-bound was my personal safety net and it took a lot for me to even want to venture out. Honestly, before chronic pain became my best friend, I never understood people who didn't leave their house. But now of course, I understand it differently as I now stand firmly in the shoes that I never wanted to wear. Personally, I don't think one ever sets out to alienate themselves from society by taking cover in their house but over time, it can make sense, it can make things easier. You don't have to pretend, you don't have to engage, you don't have to even truly "BE."


ANY TYPE OF PAIN CAN RENDER YOU HOUSEBOUND and SADLY, it's ironic that your safe haven becomes in the very same moment, your private prison cell.


So, next time, don't judge or forget to think about the person who for their own unique reasons choose to stay inside their house. Pray that one day, they will find the strength TO answer the phone, TO open the door and then,  TO take a step. It is very difficult  to be brave enough to face your inner voice that will sometimes rise and make you acknowledge your true loneliness.


I am blessed to be able to say that after being extremely housebound, I am slowly learning that not all of my plans must remain tightly locked in a drawer. Looking back at those lonely two years where I barely ventured out of my home, I am learning  new strategies for dealing with the pain that helps me find moments of joy outside my home. I know there are tough days ahead where I will choose to stay home but at the same time, I don't want chronic pain to hold the key that will decide if the door can remain open.


So take that first step, if need be, let someone take your hand. THEN, take a moment until that moment turns into a day and the days turn into weeks and LIVING becomes your new norm.
I, for one, will be cheering you on!
Be kind to yourself on days that you sink into darkness but tomorrow may be brighter, always know that there can be a better day!

The Fragile Lost Lamb

I lay quietly without moving and I steer my complete focus to the exquisite music playing through my headphones. I feel in a good space and try not to think about my once impressive pain threshold that sadly over the past year  has began to falter. As a mother, I fought to be strong especially in front of my children but after years of treatments that have included several facet injections, it has become increasingly difficult to put up a brave front. However, I have been practicing meditation faithfully every night to help cope with the pain and I felt relieved that the doctor had given me special permission to us my music as a way to cope with the procedure.


The doctor touches my shoulder gently indicating he is ready to start and stares intently at the x-ray machine preparing for the challenge ahead of him. We share a sigh because my extremely long fusion complicates things and it takes a very skilled hand to inserting these six needles into my two overworked, compressed disks to try to bring pain relief to my lower spine. The nurse sympathetically hands me the two squeezy balls to grasp onto as it is safer than holding someone's hand.


I close my eyes and let my mind find serenity on a white sand beach, with aqua blue water. It takes only a moment before the  soaring cello melody invites me into the warm water's edge. I flinch startled when I feel the first of the three freezing needles go deep in my back.  I had counted on the meditation to get me through this procedure so I feel a tinge of panic that my mind would abandon me so readily with so much more excruciating pain still yet to come. Determined, I run back into the ocean and I gasp with the next needle before taking a breath and diving underneath the crashing waves. For a moment, the serenity envelops me, the clarity of the water is remarkable and everything I see is utterly beautiful. Suddenly, the scream erupts as, the searing pain bursts from the very root of my nerve and I think that there is no way I can possibly bear it. I mutter an apology afterwards so used to not being troublesome. The nurse holds my leg done and reassures me that we are almost done. I strain to hear the music now over the hum of the x-ray machine but it is like trying to soothe a frantic toddler intent on getting their own way. There are no distractions, only the feel of the hard cold table when the last needle finds its place and in seconds my tiny pillow is soaked from the sudden rainstorm of tears.


The doctor touches my shoulder, he is genuinely compassionate when he says "I'm sorry" and it is his and the nurse's true kindness that proves the  my complete undoing. I start to sob uncontrollably, loudly and I can barely breathe. As the nurse walks me to my chair,  I don't care how many patients see my brokenness. I sit in the cubicle with my own Kleenex box and can barely dial my husband's work number. HEARING HIS VOICE, MY OWN IS LOST FOR A MOMENT AND EVEN THEN I COULD ONLY WHISPER, "PLEASE!! PLEAAASSSSE!!!!!


He answers panicked "What's wrong, were you in a car accident?" He is distraught and asks if there is someone who can talk for me. My crying only intensifies as I pass my phone to the nurse realizing  that my husband didn't remember I had injections today. He has so much work on his plate taking care of his entire family, he has forgotten.


 My tears flow incessantly, I THINK I AM HAVING A BREAKDOWN OF SOME SORT- and the depth of my vulnerability and sadness leaves me utterly transparent. I see the pity in everyone's eyes and instead of feeling embarrassed, I SOAK IT UP LIKE A FRAGILE LOST LAMB!!




 The nurse asks me if I am in extreme pain and I almost laugh through my tears, not at her....she is truly caring but it's the question that is difficult to answer. I try to focus on the small left bottom section of my back and it seems to be in less pain but my mid spine upwards through my neck is in agony. It strikes me funny, I have so much pain everywhere that I wonder WHAT AM I DOING?  just trying to fix a small piece of me. It's overwhelming as I still have four weeks ahead of me alternating left side L4, L5, S1 and right side L4, L5, S1, two times each side to determine if I am a candidate for another procedure that would burn part of this nerve.


AM I IN PAIN? The nurse asks again still patient and like a flash flood, I think of everything that I have been doing to co-exist with this pain  from wearing a pain patch, taking spinal meds, practising  mediation, physio exercises, holding a magic rock, using heat and ice, going for therapeutic (not relaxing) massages, spinal injections and of course I PRAY TO GOD but .....


"YES,"  I answer in a whisper  "But that tiny part of my back is a little better".  The nurse brightens quite a bit at my answer, after all, this tiny part of my back was the reason for my procedure today.  She brings me a pack of cookies and a juice and like a little girl, I take it gratefully and eat it. For the next hour while I wait for my husband to arrive, my tears fall continuously but finally silent and I wonder if they will ever stop.


Today, my physical, mental and emotional pain collided in a head-on crash and for a time, I thought there were no survivors. However, my resilient spirit crept out from the wreckage and found it's way home to the open arms of my children and my dogs. Their overwhelming love dried my tears and helped me walk through the door and reminded me in countless ways why I must never lose hope.