“I can choose to live in perpetual sadness immobilized by my loss,
or I can choose to rise from the pain and treasure the most precious gift I have – life itself”.
Back is burning, boring – and it doesn't let up. It is fiercely concentrated – I would admire its determination if it were a person.
I am used to it – is that better or worse? The fact I had hope when starting the marijuana makes it harder. The doors started opening and I could see light through the crack: see the grandchildren, go to the theatre.
But if I am going to get through this night, I must change the story I am telling myself. I need to sleep to have a chance tomorrow – and I want that chance for Bill.
So what is my new story? After all life isn't what happens, but how I perceive it. And I don't want my story to be a victim, or bravely courageous. I just want to be normal. I don't want to build my morale by grabbing points over some other poor wretch. I don't want you bereaved, so I can say “at least I am not you.”
I am loved – and that is so huge. I can afford the help I need. I have loving friends, in whose happiness I rejoice.
I have sight – and the joy of watching clouds. I have an active mind and zest for life.
For what life, when I can do so little? For reaching towards understanding what it is to be human. And where better to start than from pain?
Now to sleep. Thank God for a sleeping pill and warmth on my back – and the purring of Thea, who snuggles so close each night and her paw creeps into my hand.
So now I hand over my pain to God and play one last game of 100! on my itouch. Placing each piece as carefully as I can.
So that one thing is perfect.
I wrote this late last night after a bad pain day, while trying not to let myself feel despair. Last week, I was tried on medical marijuana. It switched off the pain within an hour – and lasted for over 12. The doors started opening again – possibilities, perhaps see my grandchildren or go to the theatre, which I used to love. Galleries, nights out with friends – dizzying choice. And no longer trying not to mind being left out. Then as the marijuana built up in my system, the side effects came in, stomach cramps, and worse, a lost sense of self. Where was the love of life that never deserted me even through years of pain? I was pain-free but dulled and so tired, because I couldn't sleep. I tried splitting the dose, and using it topically in a cream, but nothing gave me back my self. So I came to last night. This is what I wrote to calm myself, to try to sleep. I wanted to be OK today, because Bill has an evening arranged with friends and I want him to be able to enjoy it. I haven't edited at all. This is what pain is like,