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Venn diagrams I'd rather avoid

Wednesday, July 09, 2014

I went water jogging yesterday. I'm water jogging because my back injury prohibits many other activities that will get my heartrate high, including running, biking, the elliptical machine, and, oh, pretty much everything except walking and water jogging. (Even lap swimming is something that I'm limited in doing, though I'm working my way back up on that one.)

Anyway, so there I was, in the deep end of the pool, my head out of the water, inching slowly forward while my arms and legs pumped wildly beneath the surface, and I started thinking about the many similarities between chronic pain and grief.

Chronic pain and grief both slow you down. It's been just over a month since Rebecca died. The sharp edge of disbelief has dulled a little. The pain is not quite as fiery. At times, I don't think about it for a few minutes. But everything is suffused with sadness. Even when I'm not actively thinking about it, my brain is still muddy, my movements still slower and more cautious. Getting anything accomplished feels Herculean.

Chronic pain and grief both come slamming in on you without warning. I can be walking down the road or climbing the stairs or just twisting the wrong way and, BAM! I'm in pain. Bad pain. Pain that stops you in your tracks. Which kind of pain, you ask? Either. Both. They both sneak up on you like that.

Chronic pain and grief may be temporarily diminished, but they never go completely away. It's always right below the surface, twinging occasionally to remind you. People saying things like "I'm glad you're getting over that" is frustrating because they don't want to have to explain yet again that there is no getting over it, just better times than others.

You *can* rally for a while and spend energy to push chronic pain or grief away, but it will return, often with a vengeance. This is one of the things that people least understand about both chronic pain sufferers and the grieving. People will see them engaged in activities, talking and laughing, doing something physical, and assume that this is the magic moment when they are "cured" of their pain or grief. They are not. They are "deficit spending" their energy, and will have to pay back that debt in the days to come. So don't get impatient if you see them out and looking well one day, and then hear that they disappeared back into themselves for a week. They are doing their best, and sometimes they have to protect themselves from getting too stressed out.

Chronic pain and grief sufferers don't know when it's going to be worst, and can't always be sure about what is going to trigger their pain. Walking 4 miles one day didn't feel bad at all. Walking 3 miles a few days later was like having my left leg on fire. I can't tell you what was different about those two days. The same with grief. Some days memories will feel warm and comforting, other days they will trigger anguish. They can't tell you what was different between Tuesday and Friday.

Chronic pain and grief sufferers often feel lonely and frustrated. They have to say "no" to so many things, and then know that they are going on without them. People eventually forget to invite them, even though they would still come when they were able. They feel stupid about complaining about this, because they can't guarantee that they will be up to accepting the next invitation.

Chronic pain and grief may both diminish with time, but that time is not a week or a month or even a year. And both will always be there, ready to resurface with fresh agony. My dad's been dead for 18 years, and every once in a while his death completely flattens me. Still.

So if you are spending time with someone suffering from chronic pain or grief, don't say to them, "I'm glad you've gotten over that" or "I'm glad you're better." Say, "I'm glad you were able to participate today" or "I'm happy to see you." Enjoy what they are able to give, and don't put expectations on them for the future.
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Member Comments About This Blog Post
    I apologize, but I went to my "inactive blogs" list and saw you. I don't know how it happened, but your blogs just disappeared and you got lost in my busy life. I'm glad I found your blog again. I love the way you write and the subject matter is close to my heart and mind. I am a swimmer and I am a retired pediatric RN. I have also had many deaths in my life.
    Hi again,

    I don't know what happened to my subscription to your blog. It disappeared. I found out from looking at my blog subscription just now. I apologize I missed many of your blogs. I could have been supportive and maybe a help. Any time you want message me. I have a kind shoulder to rest on.

    I have chronic pain. I've had it for about 12 years. I also used to suffer from PTSD from having unresolved guilt and pain from grief. I know everyone copes with it differently. I maybe be able to give you some insight from my point of view from time to time. I have accepted my physical and mental pain that derives from chronic pain. I'm not afraid of it any more. I just live with it like it's an old friend. I have support and help coping with it. I see a pain specialist every three months, I exercise daily, I eat healthy food and I help others in pain the best I can. I know if I didn't take care of myself I could not cope with pain of any type. My motto is "move, move, move..." If i don't keep up, the pain returns aggressively. I swim daily. I am a Red Cross certified swim instructor. I love it. I am in the water helping children, and indirectly their parents ,learn to survive, live a healthy lifestyle and have fun while learning it. Most of my students go on to team level. It's so wonderful to see them thrive, see them develop. I cheer them on at meets. My grandson is one of them. He is going to be 12 yrs old tomorrow and has very high functioning Autism and mild very mild Hypotonia (decreased muscle contractile quickness) . I taught him to swim when he was 3 yrs. old. Now he's competing in the Junior Olympics. My family and I have such drive, commitment and fun with his swimming. His personal goal is to compete in the 2020 Olympics in swimming. He trains two to four hours a day 5 to 6 days a week. He is self motivated and committed. Myself, I swim while I am teaching children and after lessons are over. I just love the water. I happen to need it and happen to adore it. It's two in one for me. Maybe we can share some stories from time to time. Myself, I started swimming all over again by walking in the water. That was many years ago. I can swim the butterfly stroke now. I've never done a triathlon. I would like to participate into swim marathon, but feel like I am not ready aerobically for it. It's taken me a long time to get to where I am today. It has been a slow process for me. I haven't reached my optimum goal yet, but I'm getting there... The gratification and fun is in the process.

    Have a great day! emoticon emoticon
    2203 days ago
  • OPTIMIST1948
    Thank you for the insight...however terribly they were acquired.
    2222 days ago
  • no profile photo CD13342094
    I rarely use the phrase "get over it." You're right: it implies that something is past and done. What you're doing, both emotionally and physically, is healing. Your choice is to heal, or to give up. Healing is hard work, but for most of us, it beats the alternative.

    After the death of my first husband, I was saved by a support group called Friends and Families of Violent Crime Victims. Anytime a new person attended a meeting, they were told "We're very sorry you're here, but we've very glad you found us." It recognized both the terrible circumstances that brought the person to such a support group, but also recognized how deeply a grieving person needs to connect with someone who can understand their pain.

    I admire your strength. It's not easy to persevere through the pain, but you are doing it.
    2224 days ago
    2224 days ago
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