Pain

One of my residents asked me the other day, “How do you do it?” With a dramatic shake of her head, she added, I don’t know how you do it.”  We’d been chatting a few minutes, and she’d noticed me grimacing at each little movement.  I explained that my back was out, that I was currently suffering from a persistent and painful muscle spasm.  She shook her head some more, and admonished me: “You have to take care of yourself.”  I tried to deflect and laugh it off.  “Oh, I’m okay, I’ve played sports my whole life, I’m used to playing in pain,” I said, “I’ve had fifteen surgeries, broken bones, dislocated joints, sprains and bruises, cuts and stitches…I’m used to pain.”        

 

“Whaaaat?  Fifteen surgeries?”  Her palm went to her head.  “My god, woman!  How do you do it?” she asked again.  Then her eyes closed, as she resumed shaking her head.   

 

Now I talk to this woman everyday; she’s bedridden and I’m usually the only aide who takes the time to sit with her awhile.  We share our stories, our lives.  She has almost nothing, not even a TV in her room.  She watches the movement of light outside, the changing status of the tree on the other side of her window, leaves budding, blossoming, coloring, withering…dropping off…  She waits for me, and always tells me to sit down for a bit, when I enter her room.  She knows how hard I work and all about the tribulations of my recent life.  “Sit down,” she’ll say, and then with a dismissive wave towards the door, she’ll add, “never mind them, they don’t care about you, don’t worry about them.”  She worries.  Because of my schedule, she sometimes doesn’t see me for as much as 4 days. She’ll ask about me to every other aide that comes into her room.  She’s always relieved when I come back to her...

 
 

There are all sorts of pain in this life, and I believe I’ve suffered them all.  But in my experience, physical pain trumps them all when it’s severe enough.  When your back is out, or your knee is wrecked, or you’re pushing a morphine button every fifteen minutes to assuage your agony, you don’t care about the pain of loss, the pain of heartache, or anything else but that physical pain of the moment.   

 

My old friend knows this.  As she opened her eyes again, she jabbed her gnarled finger at the air between us.  “You have to take care of yourself,” she said.   

 

I smiled and nodded.  “I know, I know,” I said, “I just haven’t been doing so good at it lately…”   

 

She interrupted me, head still shaking.  “I don’t care what anyone else says, when your back is hurt, you can’t do or think about anything else.”  Then the shake morphed to a nodding, and the gnarled finger pointed upwards.  “Health is wealth,” was her summation.  "You're no good to anyone if you don't take care of yourself first!" 

 

I smiled and nodded with her.  “I know, I know…”   

 

I was in the process of standing up, to leave the room, to tend to my other residents, but she interrupted me again, looked at me seriously as I stood now at the foot of her bed.  She considered my current pain, and my chronic pains as well I guess; she knows about my knees throbbing, keeping me awake at night, I’ve told her about my joint disease, my shoulders, wrists, elbows…and she knows how physical my profession is, bending, squatting, lifting, hefting, rolling… “How long has it been since you weren’t in pain?” she asked. 

 

I looked down at her a moment; thought about it.  Thought about all the sports I’ve played, the injuries I’ve suffered…the surgeries and procedures, the knocks and bruises, the sprains and strains and cuts and lacerations, concussions…  I looked at her a moment longer, smiled wryly at last and answered, “I don’t know…maybe when I was a kid…” 

 

She looked up at me with her cloudy blue eyes and one more time said, “You have to take care of yourself!” 

 

“I know…”  I nodded and turned to leave.  “I’ll be back,” I said; it’s what I always say to my residents.   

 

And as I left the room she said what she always says behind me, “Don’t work too hard!” 

 

I smiled and went off down the hallway, stiffly stooped and laboring at each breath, off to my next “customer,” Feeling a little bit warmed inside but worrying too.  It’s nice to know that someone cares about you, worries about you, but I worry for her; I don’t want her to spend energy worrying about me.  I’m her caregiver, she’s the one in pain…I’m just doing my job…working too hard…