Walking with Pain

I walk with pain.

I live, sleep, work with pain.

These past three months or so, I've had more of constant physical pain than ever before in my life. Or rather, the seasons of physical pain have been much shorter. This life with pain as a constant companion is a new experience.

This post is not meant as a complaint. I just want to process my thoughts on how pain is affecting my life.

At the very least, pain teaches deliberate and selective planning. I cannot follow my whims, jump wherever fancy takes me. How much can I do in a day? What takes priority, now that the time spent on my feet must be limited? I have to pray Psalm 90: "So teach me to number my days, that I may apply my heart unto wisdom."

Does pain make nobler?

Does pain build and refine character? Am I becoming a better person because I get to suffer?

I'm reminded of a passage in Jane Austen's Persuasion. Mrs Smith has just told Anne how much she enjoys the company and conversation of her nurse:

Anne replied, "I can easily believe it. Women of that class have great opportunities, and if they are intelligent may be well worth listening to. Such varieties of human nature as they are in the habit of witnessing! And it is not merely in its follies that they are well read; for they see it occasionally under every circumstance that can be most interesting or affecting. What instances must pass before them of ardent, disinterested, self-denying attachment, of heroism, fortitude, patience, resignation; of all the conflicts and all the sacrifices that ennoble us most. A sick chamber may often furnish the worth of volumes."
"Yes," said Mrs. Smith more doubtingly, "sometimes it may, though I fear its lessons are not often in the elevated style you describe. Here and there, human nature may be great in times of trial; but, generally speaking, it is its weakness and not its strength that appears in a sick-chamber: it is selfishness and impatience, rather than generosity and fortitude, that one hears of."

Anne Elliot, herself well practiced in fortitude, patience and resignation, has a rather romantic view of sick chambers - and perhaps she has had an experience like that when her mother died. After all, we can infer from all that the book says about Anne's mother that she was an admirable person. Anne could well have seen "self-denying attachment" and sacrifices in her mother's life.

But my own personal experience veers a lot towards Mrs. Smith's views. I don't feel very noble - a lot of the time, I feel crabby and impatient. All too easily snapping at my family members. Weaknesses and selfishness exposed: "I'm hurting and you should jolly well take that into consideration and do things to suit ME!"

Maybe that's the point, then. Weakness exposed. Let go of any illusions of having a noble, patient character. See plainly how much, how sorely I need Jesus.

A Megaphone?

"Pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our consciences, but shouts in our pains. It is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world."
C. S. Lewis, in The Problem of Pain

Pain tells me I need God. Is that the megaphone function that C. S. Lewis is referring to?

I remember this quote better from the film Shadowlands than from the book. In the film, his clever, pithy statements on pain come back to haunt Lewis as he watches how his wife suffers and dies. It's very different to talk it than to live it. Or at least that's how I recall it - it's been years since I saw the film.

Since I have just started re-reading The Problem of Pain, I'll perhaps come back to this topic. Even when my surgery wound heals, pain won't disappear from my life. Though I may hope that it will not be such a constant companion as now.

I know pain is a chronic fact of life for many people. Years instead of months. It's hard to imagine. If this is your situation, your perspective might be very different from mine. If you have any thoughts - and even if you don't suffer from chronic pain - please share in the comments!

In the meanwhile, looking forward to this:

And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; 

and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, 

neither shall there be any more pain: 

for the former things are passed away.

Revelation 21:3-5

Let's Walk, Again

I can see the hospital's lights from where I sit.

But I am at home. Oh, how glad I am to be at home.

The infected ankle was finally operated on Thursday. I was not at all nervous before or during the operation. With spinal anesthesia, I was awake the whole time but had no feeling in the left leg. As good an experience as an operation could be. I even felt surprisingly good afterwards. It's a strange feeling when the legs 'come back' - like pins and needles - but this time I had a lot less pain in the evening and the night than after the previous operation in October.

The hardest thing was to wash the wound on Friday morning, before the nurses put a PICO on it. I have to admit, I didn't really look at the wound... But neither did I faint in the shower. PICO is "negative pressure wound therapy": a special dressing on the ankle and a little pump that I carry round. Apparently, it's a pretty good and effective way to treat wounds like mine.

With the PICO in place and working well and my body responding nicely to pain medication (paracetamol and ibuprofen), I was able to come home on Friday.

So here I am. I can still walk, a bit better than four weeks ago when the cast came off. At home, I walk carefully but without crutches etc. Going outside, I take crutches and wear a walker boot, just to be on the safe side. I try to keep mostly at rest.

I'm thankful for a good, succesful operation and hospital stay and for all the lovely, helpful, positive medical professionals who have helped me along the way.

I'm thankful that the ankle bone has set pretty well already, so I can walk at home without a cast.

I'm thankful to be at home now.

So, rehab time again. Some steps forward, some steps back. There are no shortcuts to reach the goal without effort. There may still be setbacks (I hope not).

But I'm at peace.

Let's walk.

Return to your rest, O my soul,

For the Lord has dealt bountifully with you.

For You have rescued my soul from death,

My eyes from tears,

My feet from stumbling.

I shall walk before the Lord

In the land of the living.

Psalm 116: 7-9

One Day at a Time

I was sent back from the hospital. I'll be going back on Tuesday to show the ankle again, and I am to be prepared for a possible operation. Or maybe they won't operate.

So this is what it's like to live in Limbo Land. I don't know what to think, what to plan. 

Get housework done. Get various little jobs done. Don't plan meetings, don't take on new responsibilities, don't make promises beyond Tuesday.

I keep doing the rehab exercises. Telling myself to walk normally - because it really does not hurt worse than limping.

I'm grateful for the time I have.

I'm grateful for every little thing I get done, now that I am walking on two feet and no crutches.

Walk while you can.

Work while you can.

Pray all the while.

Pain and discomfort.

Joy and sharing.

One day, one step at a time.

So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. 

Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Matthew 6:34

Adventure I didn't choose

I'm writing this at 7 AM, on a dark morning. Soon, I'll be heading to the hospital.

Another twist came up in the tale of the broken ankle. The infection is back, and it's worse.

The infection was diagnosed at another town, where we were staying for Christmas. I've been eating antibiotics and painkillers, as well as traditional Christmas delicacies, and relaxing with relatives with my foot up as much as possible.

All with the knowledge that after Christmas, the ankle needs to be operated, again.

I'm thankful that we got the holiday.
I'm thankful that I have had some time to prepare.
I'm thankful that I'm not walking this valley alone.
I'm thankful for the pretty good (and affordable) medical care system in my country.

I didn't choose this adventure. I can't control it.

God, You're in control, aren't You? I'm relying on you.

In the meanwhile, this blog will be quiet for a while, again. I'm not going to update from the hospital, and if they send me home for the weekend and schedule the op for next week, I'm going to be here with and for my family.


And now I'll go wake up my son, who wanted me to wake him up for his morning cuddle before I go.

Learning to walk

Ankle update: the cast came off on Wednesday. I can put my entire body weight on the healing ankle. In fact, I have had the permission to do that for the past fortnight, but last week's infection and pain that came with it messed with my walking practice. I'm not quite 'on schedule' with the healing process yet.

Oh, it's hard to walk. The joints are stiff, the muscles weakened. I really need to work on getting my ankle's normal mobility back. I have the instructions, and with common sense and perseverance, I should be able to rehab my ankle. All in good time. I was allowed to keep the crutches for another two weeks, for walking outdoors, where surfaces are uneven and also pretty slippery at this time of year. At home, I should walk without support.

So I do. I walk like a geriatric penguin.

It's hard to believe that only two months ago I walked a marathon in challenging terrain. Yes. An entire marathon plus some: 43K (26.7 miles). The last third of it was quite hard, as my muscles were getting tired, knees and legs aching, a sharp pain in my right heel... but I did it.

I loved the challenge of that marathon, despite the pain and hardship. I did not do it to impress anyone else. I did it to go right out of my comfort zone and to see how I would handle it. My main goal was to endure hardship and persevere until the finish line - and enjoy it as much as I could. A lot of it was very enjoyable, too: the lovely autumnal nature, fantastic views from the hilltops, other participants (the trail runners) to cheer on the way as they passed me - and some even cheered and encouraged me as they went. The Marathon of Dangers is a great event.

Now, a couple of stairs to go up or down is a challenging terrain. I need to love this challenge, too. This will take longer than a day. No one will stand next to me and say "good job stretching, way to go, keep going"...The Marathon of Dangers was one kind of an adventure. This is different - more mundane, less extreme. Still, it takes the same sort of grit to get through.

Will I endure hardship and persevere until the finish line?

Yes. I have a goal, but I'm not going to rely on my own strength to get there. God is my strength and support.

And even if I never heal completely, I can still trust God. The ultimate finish line is not 'walking normally'. It's walking in His path, wherever it takes me, and even if I'm waddling like a penguin.

Psalm 94:18-19

If I should say, “My foot has slipped,”

Your lovingkindness, O Lord, will hold me up.

When my anxious thoughts multiply within me,

Your consolations delight my soul.

Lessons in Thankfulness

Just after hitting Publish for the previous post, I got a phone call. My husband had been in a car accident.

He's OK. The car is totalled.

It could have been so much worse. No one else was involved in the accident. My husband could have been hurt pretty badly. Now, all we have lost is the car. Thank God for His grace and mercy.

At some point last night, between the phone calls and arrangements, waiting for my husband to get home, I lay down on the bed and put my sore foot up. And I thought how blessed and thankful I am that I am waiting for him to come home. We had been so close to losing him.

Or he could have been in an ambulance, or in the hospital. At the same emergency ward where I had spent the previous evening.

I was actually twice at the emergency ward last week: I got an infection in my operated ankle. First round, on Thursday, the infection was diagnosed and I got antibiotics. Second round, on Saturday, I went there again because I got a fever. They had told me to come back if I got a fever, because it might indicate the infection has gone deeper, into the bone and the metal plate, and that would require surgery.

I don't know what the fever was. According to the blood tests, the infection was beginning to go away. The surgeon reassured me that the ankle looked better. So, no need for another surgery. No need to stay at the hospital. Thankfulness. Thankfulness in the middle of waiting at the ward, praying for the people there. Thankfulness for the friends whom I knew were praying for me.

Thank God for antibiotics and the prayers of friends.

We don't celebrate the holiday of Thanksgiving in Finland. But I can't help reflecting that this has been a Thanksgiving weekend indeed.

Unexpected things happen. Bad things happen. 

But, thanksgiving.

I'll just quote from Ann Voskamp: "...if you let something steal your thanksgiving, you let something steal your joy, and if you let something steal your joy, you let something steal your strength. "  (Go read the rest of her beautiful parable at her website.)

I'm not as joyful and as strong in thanksgiving as I might be. I'm still learning. Could I have been thankful if my husband had got hurt? Or worse? I'm glad I did not have to find out.

Nothing, no day together, can be taken for granted.

It's Thanksgiving every day.

Thankfulness, Unexpected

I broke my left ankle four weeks ago. Trimalleolar fracture, surgery required. Apparently, I have quite a collection of metal in the ankle now. I've got a nice blue cast, and the ankle has been healing very well this far. In just a couple of weeks, the cast will come off and I should be able to walk without crutches.

I am thankful that I am healing pretty well. That's a 'reasonable' reason for thankfulness.

I am, of course, thankful for my supportive family members and friends, their prayers and their practical help. That's another understandable reason for thankfulness.

I am thankful that God has been with me throughout this time.

And on this journey, I've also found some reasons to be thankful that I would have never guessed. Such as:

1. The smallness of our home

Our home is very compact. I don't have a long way to go from bedroom to bathroom to kitchen. No stairs to navigate. There's not that much of floor area to clean, either.

I can stand in one point in the kitchen and reach both the counter and the dining table. I'm so glad for that: how else could I get a hot cup of coffee to the table? I need both my hands for crutches when I take steps...

2. Seeing life from the slow lane

It does me good to have to slow down and be the person with reduced mobility. The one who needs rest every fifty meters or so. The one who is looking for places to sit down.

I really need to think things through before I do them. I can do only so many things in a day: what will they be? Cannot just dash off to what I feel like doing.

3. Flabby tummy

The roll of fat on my tummy makes it easier to (self-)administer injectable medicines. Those daily injections are NOT fun, but preferable to a blood clot. I certainly never thought I'd be thankful for that tummy fat!

It's sort of interesting to see what other lessons there still are for me to learn through this experience...

This is not an adventure that I would have chosen for myself.

It's still an adventure. Every day.