Smile through the pain.

I am in pain. 

I'm always in pain. I have 'chronic pain'. I am in pain every single second of every single day, whether I am lying in a warm bath, or leaning in an awkward position to take a patient's blood sample. I'm in pain even though I take painkillers and I use muscle rubs and hot water bottles and acupuncture and every other type of pain management you can think of. Those around me forget about my chronic pain, and that's ok. I don't forget. Not ever. But... I survive.

I've struggled with pain since being a teenager. I did something that caused pain in my back, but while it became more manageable, it never really left. When I was in late teens and much of my twenties, sometimes my pain slept. It rested quietly, occasionally stirring and rolling over, then waking up and playing for a while. As time went on, it slept less. It was awake for longer periods and its waking time became more destructive than playful. Pain began to dominate my life, I struggled to work, to lift my kids, to drive. My GP prescribed stronger and stronger medication, and I was referred for various investigations. An MRI discovered two prolapsed discs and I was advised to try various treatments; physiotherapy, steroid injections, various conservative measures to help me live with chronic pain. 

The treatments helped a little. Sometimes I was up to 80% function, but more often I was nearer 50%. It took years and various specialists before meeting the consultant who was prepared to offer me a potential fix. They could perform a spinal fusion; a major surgery that could take away my pain. This consultant was wonderful and brutally honest. 

I could have the surgery. It would mean an extended period of time off work, and several weeks of being unable to do much for myself at all. However... he couldn't guarantee it would even work to reduce or eliminate my pain. He couldn't even say there was a good chance it would work. The chances would then be high that I would need further surgery 10 years later. Then another 5 years after that. Or... I could learn to live with the pain. I asked what he would recommend out of those two options, and he advised the latter. I remember this part of the consultation with perfect clarity; he said if I learned to overcome the pain, that would benefit me for life. The surgery on the other hand *might* give me a few years of relief.

So yeah... that sucked.

Now that a few years have passed, I can see how right he was. There's a reason why cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) is offered to chronic pain sufferers. 'Mind over matter', the very powerful saying tells us. Once I realised that I had exhausted or explored all of my options, my pain seemed more bearable. I stopped wallowing in it so much. I stopped letting it restrict my life and dictate my daily activities. Don't get me wrong - I'm not exactly joining any gymnastics groups, but I still work and do what I need to do at home. I still have pain and it is still constant, but I can handle it now.

Interestingly, there's a link between chronic pain and narcissistic abuse. Emotional and psychological abuse literally cause brain damage. They change the brain's chemical reactions, which affects memory, sleep, appetite, energy, digestion, and pain sensitivity. I often wonder if those few years of intense pain and associated depression would have been as bad if I were well supported through them. 

C isn't the sympathetic type. Even aside from my chronic pain, if ever I were unwell for any reason, I learned not to expect any extra help or even kind words. If I were ill when the kids were little, I was still expected to be on mummy duty while he worked. When I had my gallbladder removed, he had his sister take time off work to help with the kids while I recovered. When I had a severe flare-up of asthma (and had already had an ambulance attend to administer a nebuliser), he refused to stay home, despite the paramedics warning that another attack could occur. I guess I'm lucky that I had to have emergency surgery for an ectopic pregnancy during the Christmas holidays and he was already off. He was hideously unsupportive when I had postnatal depression and when I struggled to come to terms with my ectopic pregnancy.

When my pain was excessive, he was just as unhelpful. If wet laundry needed to be moved to the dryer or hung out on the line, I would ask him to do it. He would 'forget', then complain that his clothes smelled damp. If I did it myself - wincing and groaning - he would tell me off for not asking him. I would wait so long for him to empty the bins that I would end up doing it myself because they were overflowing. The grass would sometimes look like the wilderness before I would cut it myself. If he did do what I asked, he would leave it incomplete. He would leave dry washing in a basket, unfolded and getting creased. The bin would be left without a new bag in it. He would leave the grass cuttings sitting in the bin of the lawnmower, where it would later be a smelly, mushy mess. This all relates to the 'mental load' I have mentioned in previous posts; why was it my job to tell him when the bins needed to be emptied or the grass was too long? Not to mention having to remind him when he had forgotten after being asked already, or asking him to finish the job. Quite simply, it was easier just to do it myself than to pursue his cooperation. 

There's something much much easier now, in having complete responsibility for running a home. It genuinely is easier to do it all myself. I cut my grass today. It wasn't desperately needed, but I knew it would get desperate before long and I may as well do it when the sun is out. I didn't leave the cuttings inside the lawnmower to rot and stink. I put the mower away and tidied everything up after. I got out the leaf blower and cleared up all the debris, and I pulled up some weeds. My bins are never overflowing, as I empty them before they get that bad. My house isn't exactly show-home tidy, but it never has been and I'm ok with it. I'm aching after gardening today, but it's manageable because... well, because I know it has to be. I didn't realise how frustrating it was clearing up after a grown man who couldn't seem to move his own underwear from the bathroom floor to the laundry basket. The funniest thing is that he claims I was the messy, lazy one. While I won't ever claim to be the type to immediately clear away my empty bottles or packets, I never expected anyone else to clear it up for me. The only person I need to depend on is me, and it's working. Shit gets done, and there's no cold shoulders, rolled eyes or snide comments. It's refreshing and freeing. 

I'm happier now. I'm still stressed over everything else that's been going on, but I am genuinely much happier. Today, I sat in my garden in the sunshine, sipping a chilled cider and listening to S howling with laughter over something on YouTube or TikTok, and wondered if it were possible to be more content than I was in that moment. There haven't been any arguments in the house for months; the girls are getting on better than they ever have - in fact, better than I ever thought they would. J is having a good few days so I haven't needed to hover over her. The house and garden are tidy and presentable, and I had nothing at all that needed to be done. I don't often get to completely relax like that, and I thoroughly enjoyed every blissful moment of it. Yes, I'm still in pain; but when I'm not walking on eggshells in my own home, I barely notice it. When I can be myself without fear of the consequences, I can enjoy the simple comforts in life. Above absolutely everything else, when I know my children love and appreciate me, nothing and no-one else matters. If you can smile through the pain, it really does hurt less, and I have lots of reasons to smile wide.