Patience Will Grant Me My Freedom

March 3, 2003

I'll be in my bucket through May or possibly through the summer. The chronic pain is not intense as it was in the past, but it fatigues me, as do my required exercises and the daily use of my wheelchair. This places caution in my thoughts as I make plans to walk again.

I wrote the following early this morning - around 3 am. I'm reading it while I drink my last cup of coffee. It's my affirmation of life.

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I Hate The Pain

I hate the pain and what it does to my life and my love.

I hate how I can't stop it from hurting me, even when I do its bidding.

I hate how it awakens me every morning to cry and promises the same for tomorrow.

I hate how I become a timeless blur as the world and my children swirl around me.

I hate how I have to disappear into the pain, so I can survive.

I hate it and I disappeared into its maelstrom last Friday.

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It owns me - my hopes, my dreams, my love and my life.

It shrinks me to the size of a small boy's handful of hope.

It says I can stay here forever with little pain, if I don't move...

If I stay very still...

If I give in.

It's my life, my pain, my decision and my pact with the devil.

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I will sleep in the bowels of this f**king beast and daily measure my strength against its own.

I will ride with it across my broad, cloudless skies as it colors my days.

I will succumb to its painful, contorting spasms as my body heals.

I will remember nothing as it robs me of my remaining memories.

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I will wait for its end, because patience will grant me my freedom.

I will endure, because I can.

I will awaken and embrace the world, because I have a life and love to share with others.

I will start my life again.

I always will.

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4/16/03

The chronic pain might win this time. I remember walking for six months last year, but my condition is getting worse. I've resigned myself to a life in the wheelchair. It's not much of a life, but I'm living.

The pain medication allows me to work, but the pain keeps me in the house after work. I'm deteriorating to the point of considering the doc's offer of a morphine drip in a convalescent home. I know if I go in, I'll disappear into a pain-free cloud and never wanna come back.

But I never will come back. I'll die in there. My doc only gives me two more years to live. My body is starting to shut down because of the pain. My heart is starting to go. Either way, I'm investigating some convalescent homes in the nearby neighborhoods.

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5/6/03

The doc sez he can operate, but the outcome is iffy. It's the same offer from 2002, 2001 and the original Mayo Clinic offer in 1995. Nothing has changed from his perspective. I have to change mine.

There's a 30% chance of reducing the pain. There's a 30% chance of dramatically increasing the pain. The remaining 40% is no change at all, but I'll have six months of even worse chronic pain as my foot heals.

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6/20/03

Last night in my dreams, I was running again along the ridge of South Mountain. It was wintertime and I was completing my favorite 36-mile trail run. It was a good run.

I have nothing to lose. If the surgery is a success, I'll walk again. If it's a failure, I'm still in the wheelchair. I'll ride it for as long as I can.

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9/20/03

The foot surgery last month appears to be a success. My doc is optimistic. He's a Texas orthopedist with a friendly, blunt manner. I appreciate his honesty.

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8/2/04

It's almost been a year since my successful surgery. I started walking AGAIN, albeit very, very slowly, in October 2003. The pain is greatly diminished and made tolerable, somewhat, with OTC acetaminophen. I pretend the pain doesn't exist and acetaminophen pretends to work (grin).

I'm officially a gimp. I limp with my right foot, which worsens by late afternoon. (Frankly, so does the pain.) I know people stare at me when I walk. Heck, I'd be curious too. They were curious about me being in a wheelchair. I'm used to it... not really.

I haven't donated my wheelchair yet. I see it every day in my walk-in closet. It's a reminder of those days when I rode with it, except now I color my own days.

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