I had the chance last week to visit a friend who is 3 months post-op on her third back surgery. As she greeted us at the door, out of my mouth slipped words I immediately regretted. Yep, I said with enthusiasm, “ WOW! You look great!” Oops.
Understand, my friend in no way indicated that I had misspoken. In fact, she smiled and said thank you. It is simply because I have been in her incredibly-pained-but-trying-to-ignore-it shoes…and she and I have even commiserated about such…that I knew I had made a mistake.
But the truth was, aside from a small gadgety piece of electronica sticking out of her jeans’ pocket (it was a bone growth stimulator connected to two hidden patches on her back), there was absolutely nothing to indicate that my friend was anything but healthy, vibrant, and ready to take on the day. She indeed looked great. Great and on multiple pain meds, battling insomnia, unable to sit for more than about 20 minutes, and no doubt had to rev up to get herself showered and dressed and able to answer the door by lunch time. But her cute outfit, light make-up, and warm smile hid all of this with expertise.
And this is the trouble with living with a chronically painful yet largely invisible condition. You do your damndest to hide the pain and pretend you are normal and yet, when someone says you look great, you want to burst into tears. In reality, you are holding on by a thread; you feel anything but great and now suddenly you feel like a lonely fraud with acting skills that are practically Oscar worthy. You desperately want to hide how much pain you are in yet you are sad you've become so good at it. Yes, it makes no sense.
And then there’s the flip-side.
Also last week I got to have dinner with a friend who has known me since we were dissecting frogs in 7th grade science. We’ve kept in pretty good touch but we only get to see each other every few years or so. A couple of days after our visit, we were chatting on the phone.
“How was your pain while we were at dinner?” she asked.
“You know what? It wasn't bad! I was doing a lot better than I anticipated I would be [we had had a long drive to get there]. Why?”
“You just looked like you were in a lot of pain.”
Fabulous. There I had been, feeling pretty good, happy, not thinking about pain, enjoying a treasured “good day” and…I looked like I hurt.
It’s just wacky. It happens often, too. I feel like crap and the world smiles at me and tells me I look fantastic. I feel good and the world sympathizes with the pain I must be in. All I can figure is that my mask is very sturdy…the mask that hides the pain and the running tally of how few spoons I have left for the day. When I am determined to wear my mask, I apparently wear it fabulously. When I don’t feel like I need to wear it quite so snugly, people get to see more of the real me and it must not look so good.
I don’t know what the answer is. Wearing a mask takes a lot of energy. But getting sympathetic hugs and pats on the hand when I am having a great day saps energy, too. The thing I DO know, though, is that this is mine to figure out. At one point earlier on this path, I got mad at the world for reacting to me exactly opposite of how I felt. But that’s my deal, not the world’s. I know that the compliments and concern…however timed…come from the same place: love. Which is exactly what I felt when greeting my post-op friend and sharing pot stickers with my pal from jr. high.
2 comments:
Wow, powerful stuff! You continue to hit them out of the park, writing-wise. Thank you for sharing: I only wish you'd written it for me to read years ago! :-)
Thank you, Steve. Sometimes I question if I want to share some of this more private stuff publicly. But then I think maybe there's something to learn in sharing. Your encouragement is much appreciated.
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