Are you strong enough to be my man?

I’m exhausted. And in pain. To be honest, the two feed each other. Pain drains my energy supply and when my energy supply is low, I am susceptible to more pain. It’s a veritable spin cycle of doom.

Looking back at my previous blog posts, I was sad to realize that one of the last posts I wrote was about surviving an awful flare up that started around August of 2017. As I sit here and write this, I’m almost in the exact same place [physically] as I was six months ago. This flare isn’t quite as bad, but it’s up there. Six months ago I was at a 9 or 10 on the pain scale. Right now I’m at about an 8.

If I’m being honest, I haven’t felt the same since August. Prior to that flare, my daily baseline was somewhere around a 3. I was doing great. My diet was on point, my gym routine was consistent, my stress level was manageable, and the positive effects were showing up in my daily life. I felt stronger, I felt more stable, and I was EXCEPTIONALLY regular (which is always a good sign and a true marker of health). Things were going well.

Since then, I feel like things have been on a steady decline. In the past six months I would say my daily baseline is somewhere around a 5 or 6, my diet has been sporadic, my stress level has been through the roof, my gym routine is non-existent and I haven’t taken a normal dump in months (the literal worst feeling).

So as I sit here and reflect, I have to wonder – what went wrong? There are a lot of things I think I can point to. The flares I experienced in August and October of last year were brought on primarily by physical overexertion. In August I spent an hour weeding my front gardens – a task I knew I should have taken on with caution, but was too proud to admit might be too much. Then in October I added deadlifts back into my routine at the gym and again let my pride convince me that I was being silly and a 30 lb kettlebell was not too much weight. Both events spurred seemingly cataclysmic pain flares, the latter of which lasted over 3 weeks and caused me to lose 10 lbs.

And yet here I am six months later dealing with the exact same problem. So, what went wrong?

And as per usual, the answer is that I made the choice to ignore my body’s warning signs and forgo the element of self-care. You would think after 5 years of living with chronic pain, I would have learned these lessons, but old habits die hard.

As has been the case at many other junctures in my journey with chronic pain rather than pause, refuse to accept the increase from a baseline of 3 to one of 5, and work to employ the self-care strategies needed to lower my baseline, I chose to ignore the problem and push through it.

Other people have it way worse than I do, I would tell myself. Yeah, I’m in a lot more pain, but at least I’m still getting things done at work, I’d say. If I can just get through the next weeks, I’ll take some time to myself, I would lie.

Rather, I chose to ignore my pain and accept this heightened baseline as my new reality. I tried to busy myself with work, my relationship, volunteering, etc. to stop myself from acknowledging that my body was crying out for help.

In a way I suppose I was afraid that if I did take time for self-care that it might not work - that I might deplete my resources (finances, time off from work, etc.) all for nothing. I was so afraid to try to take care of myself/risk failing to lower that pain baseline that I chose to just ignore things instead. And look where that got me.

I could go on and on about the things I should have done and the importance of self-care, and I will in other posts, but for now, I want to focus on some of the things I did do differently this time around. When I fall into old patterns of behavior, I think it’s important to look for and celebrate the things I did differently as these are proof that I am not as stuck in the pattern as I might think that I am. They represent the hope of breaking the cycle and moving forward in the process of adopting a new, healthier pattern of behaviors. In thinking about those things, I want to highlight one choice that felt extremely impactful: asking my boyfriend to come to an appointment with me.

Now you may be thinking, really? That’s it? But consider a few things, if you will. I have been dealing with chronic pain for over five years now. In those five years I have attended hundreds of appointments with almost 50 different medical providers. I have had multiple surgeries and dozens of procedures. I’ve had more injections, x-rays, scans, MRIs, and screenings than I can remember.

And here’s the thing: I have done them all alone.

Save for two friends who have picked me up after surgeries or taken me to the hospital, I have attended every doctor’s appointment and treatment by myself. In total, I’m sure I’ve had hundreds of visits, possibly even close to 1,000 after five years of this. And I attended each of them by myself.

The impact of this has only recently started to hit me. As this most recent flare started to come on, I knew I would need to call one of my medical providers who does dry needle therapy – which is when the provider looks for tense muscles/trigger points, inserts an acupuncture needle, and (for lack of a better phrase), needle-bangs the fuck out of your muscle until it catches and releases. Yes, it is as painful as it sounds, but it’s also very effective at reducing my pain and muscle tension.

When I was on my parent’s insurance policy, this treatment was free (once authorized). Now that I am on my own insurance, a session can cost up to $100. So while it is an effective treatment, it’s one I avoid as long as possible.

So I knew it was time to go in for a session and the thought crossed my mind that I would ask my boyfriend if he would come with me. He is a wonderfully sweet and understanding man and while I still guard myself and how much I divulge about my condition, I find that disclosing the less-than-attractive parts of my life with chronic pain is easier with him. He listens and receives what I tell him with compassion and empathy and he is constantly seeking to understand my needs better so he can support me. And so, I thought I would like for him to see a more extreme measure that I have to take in my healthcare to get myself out of a flare cycle. After all, a session consists of me lying naked from the waist down (Winnie the Pooh style) on a table sweating and cussing while someone stabs 15 needles in my back that is teeming with overactive nerves. It’s not a pretty sight. And I pay for this, let's keep that in mind.

Much to my delight, he agreed immediately. He met me early in the morning, despite having worked late the night before. My provider, Dawn, who is a lovely and gentle woman had no problem with him joining us in the session. Throughout the session, she walked him through her process, showed him how to measure the alignment of my hips, and taught him how to tape my back. The session itself was moderately grueling. We didn’t do as many needles as usual, but it had been a while and my back was tight so I was sufficiently spent by the time it was over.

When it was all said and done, he stood next to me and rubbed my leg while the heat and e-stim machine ran to end our session. I fought back tears as I realized how fucking incredible it felt to not be alone in this situation. I know that on this journey with chronic pain, I am never truly alone, I have a great support system, but to not be physically alone, laying in yet another doctor’s office, praying that the money I just spent would provide the relief I needed…it was incredible. I wish I could explain it in words, but to have someone I know and trust there, holding my hand, supporting me with their presence…it allowed me to let go of the idea that I need to handle this on my own, the idea that no one will ever be willing to walk through this with me. It allowed me be vulnerable and to allow someone else’s strength to carry me through rather than trying to call on my own when I knew it was dwindling.

And to have that person be my boyfriend...it's huge. I have struggled, as so many of us have, for years with the idea that I am flawed in some way that makes me unloveable, unworthy. And in many ways, my chronic pain is the manifestation of that fear. Who would ever want to date someone who is sick all the time, who can't sit down for more than 20 minutes, whose body is a war zone? In fact, almost all of my previous relationships ended because the other person ultimately realized that my condition was something they weren't prepared to deal with. They realized that the limitations set by my condition were deal breakers. It's a hard reality to swallow because it's no one's fault, this life isn't for everyone and this isn't the life I chose for myself. And so to have found someone who not only cares about my well-being, but who is willing to show up and learn so he can be more supportive? That takes a strong man and guuuurl, I done lucked the fuck out.

I have always thought that because I am open about my condition and share my experiences with others that I was truly doing the work of letting others in. In realizing that I had never once asked someone to attend an appointment with me, I realized that I was choosing to isolate myself rather than run the risk of scaring people off with the realities of my situation. I have kept the treatment portion of my journey secret for almost 5 years. So while this was just one small step, it represents a huge milestone and marks a major epiphany for me in terms of what it looks like to truly let others in, and I hope that the lesson I learned in this experience carries over as I look for more ways to be vulnerable and allow those who care about me into the process of my receiving of care.

Until next time…

Peace and love,

Adam