All Flared Up

There is the kind of pain that takes your breath away but then mercilessly leaves you alone after a short while. An electric jolt when you stub your toe in the middle of the night. The surprising sharpness of a paper cut. The sting of fumes when you chop onions.

And then there’s the pain that nags at you, relentlessly tugging at the raw ends of your nerves. Not enough to make you yelp, but enough to force you to consider whether cutting off that body part might actually be an option.

It’s a pain that never really goes away. Maybe a few hundred milligrams of ibuprofen buys you a couple hours of relief. Or maybe when you get really busy at work, you’re distracted enough not to think too much about it. But it’s always there, in the background. Loitering. A constant reminder of how uncomfortable your body has become.

I am no stranger to pain. None of us are. Like most, I have experienced all the iterations of it.

There’s the hot poker pain of an acute back spasm. Something that’s called a “Hexenschuss” in German, which can be literally translated as being shot in the back by a witch.

The dull ache of chronic back pain when you stand too long or dance too much. The kind that feels better when you bend over or put your weight on one foot.

There’s also the two-for-one type. The kind that aches nonstop with peaks of stabbing pain that forces you to suddenly stand up. Or to sit back down. Or to roll over in bed.

Since reaching menopause, both my chronic and acute pain has reached a whole new level. I asked my sister, who is two years older, about this. “I am always in pain,” she said. “So, I just don’t even talk about it anymore. There’s always something.”

This wasn’t the reassurance I was looking for. Like when she told me the hot flashes would get better, the forgetfulness would level out, and I’d eventually get my brain back.

No, this felt like a life-in-prison-without-parole sentence. A harsh statement of fact: this is your life now. Pain will cling to you from here on out. The young, springy, bounce-back-after-a-fall you is gone. So you might was well forget she ever existed.

I was not ok with this. So I started doing all the things: eating an anti-inflammatory diet, exercising, stretching, lifting heavy things, taking magnesium glycinate religiously so I can sleep relatively well (at least every other night).

Despite all this, I still have pain.

One benefit of the higher dose of prednisolone I took when I first got my Autoimmune Hepatitis diagnosis was that the dial on my pain got turned way down. I naively thought, “Oh, I finally have the right combo of diet + movement + rest figured out!”

But over the last few weeks, the doctor has been slowing instructing me to lower my dosage of prednisolone. And once my new medication (an immunosuppressant) fully kicks in, I will stop the prednisolone altogether. This is what I wanted, as fearful as I was of its side effects. But now that the pain is back, suddenly I have changed my mind. I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to hurt anymore.

Truth is, it’s exhausting to be constantly in pain. It sucks the desire and laughter and motivation out of me. At the end of the day, all I want to do is curl up on my good side on the couch and watch Netflix until my eyelids grow heavy.

No matter how many plans I make and how much I tell myself I should go out on Friday night to that concert or that wine bar or that friend’s house, when the time comes – the pain turns me into a particularly creative liar and I inevitably end up I texting my regrets. “I had to work later than expected tonight and when I got home, the dog was sick. I just can’t leave him and, anyway, I’m too beat. I hope you guys have fun!”

This is not how I want to live my life. It’s not how any of us do.

So, today I am asking myself – what happens when I embrace my pain, instead of pushing it away? When I see it as common humanity. When I recognize that by having it, I am more capable of compassion for others? What happens when I focus on where it doesn’t hurt? When I engage in things I love to do, things that take me out of my head and into my heart?

I don’t know what will happen.

But I am willing to try, so here goes:

Today my neck doesn’t hurt. My right hip and my left upper back are free from pain.

Today I will meet with a new, dear friend to help her study for an upcoming exam.

Today I will look for where the light shines in and I will smile whenever there are tiny peaks of joy.