I finally got some sleep last night. Hallelujah. I also took some nice prescription pills and my back is feeling much better. I’m still achy and I still need to rest, but I am now certain that the lingering pain from Wednesday’s Dog Experience is just par for the course and not the sign of anything permanent. Again we say, “Hallelujah!”
I hesitated a bit about posting the story about the dog. Even as I was writing it – intended as therapeutic writing, not necessarily for public viewing – I knew I was filled with emotion. I knew that there was a possibility that with some sleep, eventually, my perspective might be different. But I decided to post it because that emotion, that self-flogging, that disappointment, that fear, that roller coaster of acceptance of the situation, is all a part of this ride -- this learning-to-live-with-chronic-pain ride that wasn’t in any of my plans or spreadsheets.
With some sleep, some meds, and some very comforting words from extraordinarily kind friends and family (I am truly blessed by the people that surround my life), I have stopped beating myself up. My propensity to see the glass as half-full has returned and I am seeing the Dog Experience as a sign of progress and an opportunity for insight.
The fact that Rosie didn’t scare me is huge. The fact that I actually assessed the situation before jumping right in it is big. The fact that I acknowledged in the moment, instead of afterwards, that I was doing something unsafe is progress.
How could I have handled it better and more safely? I still don’t know. “Blind woman with her dog meets a llama on a city street corner and asks you to handle her dog” is just not one of those scenarios they illustrate in those “Your Back and You” brochures in the doctor’s office. I suspect with knowledge that the pain would be temporary, I might react just the same way. Minus the self-reproach. Or not. Hard to say.
2 comments:
Hello! Are you reading your own words? From the last post…
“it was clear that this blind woman was having a transforming experience”
“But I didn’t want to take the moment, the experience away from the blind woman.”
You went way out of your comfort zone (on many different levels) so a complete stranger could have a wonderful experience. How many of us would do that for a friend, much less a stranger? YOU DID THE RIGHT THING! Even though it may have been scary or unsafe, you let “right” win out over the fear and pain. That is so awesome! I’m inspired and I hope that others are, too.
- Tony Gnecco
Thank you, Tony. I read your comment a few days ago and I'm still not sure how to respond. Your words are very kind and humbling. Yet I'm still conflicted about what is the right way to take care of my back and when, if any, there are times when my back just shouldn't matter. I've been at this for over 8 years now and I still don't have many answers. But truly, thank you for your very kind words and support. You've given me a lot to think about.
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