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.
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