Beyond the Pain

I recently met with my new Pain Management Specialist.

It was 1 of those “good news, bad news’ sessions.

The good news?

After reviewing 30 years of my medical history, he discovered that there was “nothing wrong with me physically”.

YES, you heard that correctly!

YES, I have been diagnosed with Fibromyalgia Syndrome and Chronic Fatigue (CFIDS). So, how is possible that with so much muscle pain, so much exhaustion, there could be nothing wrong with my body?

It’s simple really.

Very recent research into the mechanism by which Fibromyalgia operates suggest that it is due to a dysfunction of the Central Nervous System (CNS). That means the problem is in the brain, not the body.

Therefore, as I understand it, the myriad of symptoms experienced by Fibromites are the result of CNS problems.

Here’s how that news has freed me up.

If there’s nothing wrong with my muscles — well, other than the fact that 14 months in bed have atrophied them to some degree — then there’s really nothing preventing me from doing stuff. Stuff like walking, hiking, running (except I don’t DO jogging), making love (except I don’t have a lover).

So, for the past 2 weeks, I’ve hiked my butt out of bed first thing in the morning. And, gone for a walk.

When I first started I could walk  for 1/2 an hour and travel 6 blocks. Now, I walk for an hour and travel 30 or more blocks. YIPPEE!

I’m pumped!

Morning walks have been an integral part of my Spiritual / Creative Practice. For it’s on these walks that I have the alone time I need to ponder, mull, and compost ideas. And, to dialogue with God Within Me.

Starting my day this way is critical because it gets me calm, centered, and focused on what’s important. And, because it connects me to Spirit.

I’ve noticed important improvements in my life. For example, on the weekend I drove to the foothills west of Calgary and hiked in the wind.  Why is that a big deal? Because normally — whatever normal is — wind provokes massive pain. And, it didn’t! YIPPEE!

What’s the bad news?

Tune in to the next post to see why the bad news is really good news.

I often wonder what it would be like to not be moody.

I’ve tried to remember what life was like before my Manic Depressive Illness kicked in. I remember times, or at least I think I remember times, when I felt joy. For instance when my daughter was born. I remember the sheer terror of her breech birth and the flush of happiness when she was actually born, whole and sound, with a very bruised bottom.

But, today, some 28 years after my mood disorder was triggered I wonder what it would be like to be normal. To not experience the ebb and flow of moods. In particular, to not experience the painful embrace of depression. To not shuffle through the morning feeling gray and dull. To not have a part of me that wants to drown itself in the searing pain of sadness.

I have a friend who claims to have never been depressed. And, I believe that to be so. She seems possessed of an eternal perkiness, as if equipped with some special force field that repels badness, sadness, and meaness.

I wonder what it would be like to be her. To not be downed by the challenges of life. To not be sadened by the shitty, evil things we humans do to each other. To not feel dispair at the cruelness we perpetrate on each other.

I know she cares about others. It is clear from what she says and does. Yet somehow that caring never seems to drag her down; as it does me.

Part of me seems to live off the side somehow, an interested observer. “He” listens to the melancholy stories of my sad self and seems bemused; if not downright disgusted by the seemingly constant whining and complaining.

And, yet that sad part of me seems to take control on these cloudy days. She, for it seems that part is a she, feels such exquiste pain. Such deep acrid sadness that permeats every cell and molecule of my being.

The observer raises a bemused eyebrow and thinks, “Fuck. Here we go again! How long must I put up with this shit?”

And, yet somehow this sad pain seems so much a part of who I am, of who I have become.

The observer wonders, why do poets, songwriters, and artists wallow so much in pain?

And, yet somehow I welcome the sadness and pain. Not so much that it proves that I can feel. Nor so much that it proves that I am alive. Yet it is a welcome friend.

I want to drown in melancholy. I want the sadness to permeate every crevice and crack of my being. I want to take a razor and cut open my skin, slice my veins and bleed out the dark crimson sadness.

What will that accomplish? I don’t know. All I know is that somehow if I absorb all my sadness; somehow if I suck it deeply, wholely into my being; somehow if it become all of me, it will transform me.

Into what I know not.

Copyright 2010 Lyle T. Lachmuth All Rights Reserved