Compassion and Understanding

Growing up I never understood why my mother wouldn't just take her pain killing medication. As she was the victim of a series of car accidents, two or three by my count, she had perpetual injuries around her back and neck. She's had over 20 surgeries and is looking at what may be number 23. I understood and commiserated with most of her woes. Insurance companies did everything in their power to deny her claims as long as they could, hoping she would give up or die before it came to court. Doctors wouldn't pay attention to the real issue. However I could never understood why she would rather be in pain then take the medication to alleviate it. For a while I thought she was scared of being called an addict, which is understandable given our current culture.

Now I understand why. As some of you may know I injured myself at work back at the beginning of March. My right shoulder, attached to my primary arm, is now the home of a light burning ache almost always and if I used it too often, sharp stabbing pain. Doctors are no closer to figuring out why this is then they were four months ago. At this point an MRI has shown inflammation in my shoulder, but not  the cause. There is still some question whether or not my pain is somehow caused by injury in my neck. The only tests have been a single MRI and a useless X-Ray.

Trying to arrange a visit into Boston today to see a specialist (a particularly fine fuster cluck for another day) I felt myself enter a despair. I needed a copy of my MRI, and I hadn't even seen an image of it previously. All the offices were closed for the day, and the next couple days between then and when I would come into the city were looking particularly busy. My second of three hamsters had died, the third was on the way out, and my shoulder was throbbing with pain.

As I reached for my prescription bottle, I realized I resented needing it. I resented that on a day to day basis I needed to medicate my pain to get by. I resented that I was still injured, and that all I wanted was to be healed. I was depressed and angry that I was injured at all. I despaired and threw beanie babies at the wall and cried. Fortunately my mother was coming home from her own appointment with pizza.

I understand now.

She shouldn't have had to take the pills.

I shouldn't have to to take the pills.

We shouldn't have to worry about pain.

We should simply have to worry about being fixed.

I want to be fixed.

I want to be better.

I want my arm back.

I want my life back.