After feeling at least some degree of pain for a couple of years, I am still adjusting to mostly not being in pain any longer. There are still some aches and minor annoyances as life continues on with age, but these are still not comparable to what used to be "normal." When things got to a certain level of bad--and even before they reached that point--it was a weighted decision for me when I should actually take pain medication, whether it was simple Tylenol or something heavier.
I didn't want to take something unless I needed it, but that point was difficult to define. This was particularly difficult when trying to sort out when to take the narcotic based pain killers after surgery. Not only were these of a limited supply, they also had a bevy of unique factors: for example, I would not be able to drive for 24 hours after taking them, so I had to be certain that I had rides arranged for work or anything else. Additionally, I don't like how fuzzy my mind gets when I take these. But, then, there's the not being in pain part; something that brings relief even for a short while is still relief. And what I tend to long for more than anything in those periods of continuous pain is just a Break.
A "Break" encompasses a lot of things to someone with a chronic condition. What would it mean to not have to worry about managing symptoms, pain, running constant systems checks, timing medications, organizing appointments, and all the corresponding emotions. To not have to deal with that for even a short period of time, that sounds unbelievably enticing. There is a brief moment when taking a narcotic based pain killer can seem like that. It's not a real Break--just a brief break--but when there's enough of that desperation, I see why someone might turn to them. And I'll admit there's a part of addiction that makes a lot of sense to me.
I'm very aware that emotional escape is not a habit I want when considering pain medication--this is one of the chief reasons that I have denied myself in those moments of decision. I don't want to ever start trying to rely on it. On some level, too, the latent anger that I have toward parts of my body may be a peripheral part of why I have wrestled with when to take pain medications,that perhaps I felt part of me deserved to suffer, as twisted as that sounds. There was even a measure of pride in denying myself pain medication, that I was showing I was strong to an invisible audience while also annoyed with myself for thinking that way.
At some point, I realized that I didn't have to be in pain, though. That I wasn't weak for recognizing pain nor any stronger for suffering through it. And that compassion for parts of my body was more satisfying than a level of revenge on it.
I want to emphasize these things: there's nothing noble in suffering when you don't have to. There's nothing weak in asking for help. There's nothing weak in accepting help.
Different cultures have different perspectives on how people should face pain, how people should react. Whether individuals should suffer in silence, ignore the pain completely, or simply hide everything pertaining to emotion. It's seen as strength, to a lot of people, to the point where people start to feel guilty or inferiority for feeling human feelings of pain, grief, and many other strong emotions.
I think I believed that for a long time, that I needed to pretend things didn't really affect me. Now I believe that vulnerability can be a far greater show of strength than pretending that something isn't happening. Allowing yourself to be authentic to what you are feeling can be difficult--no one wants to linger on tears and pain longer than they have to or feel that they're dragging other people into those feelings. But these are the parts that make us human, the struggles that bind us together; what good does it do to ignore these parts of ourselves, pretend that we're happy and unaffected all the time? By collectively trying to avoid these unpleasantries, it seems we grow less and less capable in dealing with them as a culture. A lot of people freeze up when they see someone crying, report that they don't know what to say at a funeral, feel uncomfortable seeing people in the hospital, whether because of inexperience or the subconscious understanding that we will have our own turn in time.
We can be better. We can be better by acknowledging these truths and meeting people where they are. If we can do something (safely) to alleviate pain, why don't we do it? There is a difference between treating or preempting pain and avoiding the situation. And this applies to medication, too--if I take pain medication because I am in pain that makes sense. If I wanted to take pain medication because I don't want to deal with pain or don't want to feel it or anything else, that is dangerous territory. Same goes for larger and emotional pain, that taking measures to help cope with that can be good, but taking measures to avoid it tends to led to unhealthy behaviors, particularly if they are the only strategies used. Where that gets tricky comes back to that idea of a Break. A Break can make all other elements seem more bearable, just having that space to breathe, but the allure of staying there can be dangerous.
I think of all of these things when I feel a twinge in my back and try to decide whether to grab some Tylenol or ibuprofen, even though these are non-narcotic and over-the-counter. I was in a lot of pain for a long time and was responsible for managing it as healthfully as I could. I needed the autonomy to make these decisions, identifying and speaking up for these needs while discussing them with my healthcare providers and trying to find the right balance to schedule what my body needed to heal. It's a heavy weight, but I still needed to be the one to make those decisions. I deal with the problem, choosing to address pain instead of avoiding it. Really, I think that is the main difference. I still weigh that when I think about what my body needs.
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