Hello — a short report on my adventure with nerve pain (spinal stenosis). Now into the fifth month of opioid-induced fuzzyness, I have no real sense of what time and which day it is. The long-awaited neurosurgical consult is a month away. I’m hording prune juice, just in case of a Hard Brexit (pun alert).
Meanwhile, jars of soup have appeared on the front porch and revolving teams of neighbours are taking Waldi for pees and poos. As I type this, the clock reads 1:26am and I thought it was time for dinner. Who me, confused? Might as well ask a Persian mystic for guidance:
I went to the doctor (Rumi writes).
“I feel lost. . . . What should I do?”
“Give up owning things and being somebody. Quit existing.”
Cease owning, being, and existing, what might that look like? When pain comes in waves and jolts, I become an observer, noting how they grab body parts, twisting and stabbing without mercy. I hold my breath until the intensity softens, then exhale in short bursts, finally relax into the sweet flow of in- and out-breaths. Occasionally I end up on the floor and emit moaning sounds that rouse the dog from his nap. “This is not my pain” goes the watch word, just an unpleasant phenomenon that comes and goes with a mind of its own.
I take myself on short walks, practicing shuffling steps as instructed: half a block yesterday, a little longer today. Walking towards me, some people return my greeting, others ignore me by seeing straight through an old man with a can. Quit existing.
Be a lamp, or a lifeboat, or a ladder.
Help someone’s soul heal.
Walk out of your house like a shepherd.
Guided by my vow to serve, I continue to teach and volunteer, just less so. My supervisors make allowances for my snail’s pace, students drive me to and fro, and I’m learning to accept acts of kindness. Welcome everything. I no longer apologize for memory gaps or explain grimaces when pain twists my innards. Shepherds don’t say much when they work.
I bow to Rumi’s wisdom across the ages. Quotes are from Barks in (2010). Rumi: The Big Red Book and (2007). Rumi: Bridge to the Soul, both published by HarperOne. Image credit.
Sending love and light to you, Tante Pea. Healing wishes for this new year. ❤️
I can so empathize with you dear man. I can feel your pain, though no one can unless in the throes of it them-self.
I had 2 levels of spinal fusion surgery (L 4-5 & L5 – S-1)2 weeks ago.It took 18 years for me to get the courage to have that surgery. I was practically bed-ridden because I could not walk far; however the nerve pain you describe was something I could find relief from if I got into certain positions, which is why I could put off the surgery for as long as I did. Once I made up my mind to have it surgery, it was scheduled within a few months.
It feels so inhumane that your country’s health care system – though meant to help the many – fails to take care of what you are experiencing in a speedier fashion. I wish I could reach out to you across the miles to comfort you some how.
Please allow all your loved ones continue to help you. <3 Melanie
I have been a follower of your writings since you were graciously leading the online meditations for inspire health. I so empathize with you with the pain. I too struggled with spinal stenosis years before the other diagnosis. I remember still the pain, so intense, feeling and seeing it with all senses! After a year of specialist consults and while on surgery waitlist, it miraculously left me. And I hope and pray for the same for you. Thank you for your inspiration and service!
oh my, such courage, such love. Shepherd on-wards nx
I find great value in reading of your journey Peter. It is giving me courage and guidance for my own struggles. I had not realized there are words and a way to Express what living with chronic pain feels like. I am sorry you are going through this and pray you will soon be delivered to a place of hope and peace , restored to good health.