A potful of pain

I am struck that now that I have no children living with me and haven't for almost two years, I have returned to habits much like my teen years.  I enjoy listening to music in my bedroom, in privacy, free to surf, think, rest, or just play.  Surely another factor is playing into this with my 40th high school class reunion coming up in a little less than three months.   Recently in touch my classmates I have not communicated with for over 40 years, my mind stretches to wrap around the good changes in some, the unknown in others, and in some who are stagnate.  

Two of my daughters are calling this my "rebellion phase" which they think was repressed by marrying and having my first child at a mere 17.  No, I had my rebellion phase at least twice; this is another life phase to me.  I labored to raise my children by the best standards I could muster up, no drugs, no drinking, no partying except for birthdays.  My life has indubitably changed by chronic pain.  

My doctor willingingly provides pain pills liberally.  They work but at a nasty cost; not going into that here.  One night a thought came across my mind:  I was not diagnosed with chronic pain until 1985, after I had quit weed about eight months before.  Pregnant with my third child, I suddenly found myself in a world of pain while doing hospice work.  My young obstetrician told me nothing could be done other than Tylenol because of my pregnancy.  I immediately defied her statement in my mind.  Going through several painful days of work where I could barely function, my complaints grew louder, and a nurse co-worker spoke up with the name of some very wonderful chiropractors, partners, who she thought might work miracles.  I had nothing to lose.  I made an appointment nearly immediately.  After a careful exam and explaination of what my treatment would be and how it would feel, treatment commenced right then.  Going back each day for the next three days was a part of the treatment.  My second treatment had caused some disconcerting feelings physically and mentally, but I had splendid pain relief on the fourth day, free drug free from extremely painful sciatica down my right leg.  Careful planning of regular chiropractic treatments for the remainder of my pregnancy was made.  

After such a  marvelous and quick departure of the sciatica, I expected a pain-free course to delivery by Caesarean section.  Evil little pains shot up here and there, thereby making me keep my planned appointments even if I had thought of skipping one.  After delivery, I would be seeing my chiropractors regularly as my hips narrowed back to their normal position.  My beautiful baby also underwent gentle treatments, as a child delivered by C section does not get that natural alignment of the spine whilst traveling through the birth canal.  Maintenance treatments further took place with another pregnancy 19 months later.  I never had a care about sciatica.  Ultimately, my doctors told me their diagnosis was fibromyalgia and thus the chronic pain, curiously symmetrical pains mirroring left and right sides.  

A few years later, I was a single mom of two precious toddler daughters, and had insurance but it didn't cover chiropractic (which is a real shame).   I sought pain relief then from my primary medical doctor which was duly dispensed after an exam and scribbled prescriptions.  One of my last visits with my chiropractors revealed that their opinion was that I had masked my pain for years by my chronic marijuana use, to be revealed only after I sobered up completely in 1984.  

In my bedroom now while squinting at the light of my laptop screen, I am once again using marijuana to mask my pain.  After relying on  years of prescription medications, I reached a point where they either no longer worked well or presented such uncomfortable symptoms I was no longer willing to use them regularly at all.  Being child-free made me more apt to buy weed even though I did not yet have a prescription for it.  A little spaciness and a lot of pain relief are feasible now; during parenthood it was not.  

I'm not thrilled to be a "pothead" now like I was when young.  I don't like the culture, the purchases, the expectations that go with it.  "Good manners" require a tip to the person acquiring it and anyone else who might have had anything to do with it.  My senile husband starts raling and whining for some, and although I have emphasized many times that he cannot do this, he starts inviting people over for a party, at which point I get teed off and lock myself in my bedroom.  

So here, I sit in my bedroom, radio playing oldies, not being mad at my parents but another family member, a spouse who no longer has his right mind, who while being married to him I no longer have a marriage of any sort, hazily contemplating another serious love relationship that is so very, extremely important to me, while still attached to this one-- by what?   What keeps me here?  A number of noble answers roll through my mind, all quite feasible and would be fully acknowledged and encouraged, yet I'm not in a noble mood.  

So the answer goes somewhat like this:  I have willed to make a sacrifice via marriage vows to honor in sickness and in health, to stay and let God work out all those other details of my love contemplations elsewhere because He sacrified for me first.  Wow, such a conservative and traditional stance for a woman who loves being free to liberally interpret God's love and grace.  I don't know how long I will be able to live with this answer, maybe truly until its over or maybe I will move on when there is nothing left to hope for, no recognitiion of my presence.  Maybe I will just get tired and go away earlier than that.  When I know that, I'll be back here with another answer.

I'm back, May 13, 2009:  I cannot do this anymore.  More to follow--