In Like a Lion and Out Like a Lamb

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I’ve neglected this blog for half of February and nearly all of March. I saw no point in broadcasting regular updates in my ongoing tale of woe. Of course, there have been happy times, such as seeing how our elder guinea pig has taught the younger one how to demand more hay. By the way, I’ve gathered that the secret to getting more feedings is to act as if one has never been fed since birth, that one’s girth has been attained solely through the act of respiration.

My daughter’s continuing troubles and my ongoing nerve pain have cast a pall over these bright moments. Meteorological winter has lingered far too long as well. We woke up Wednesday morning with a snowfall three inches deep covering the roads. Usually, I dread the prospect of driving during a winter storm, but I felt fearless and relieved at driving through that snow. School had been cancelled for the day, so the day was free of yet another attempt to evade attendance. Spared that struggle, I felt there was nothing I couldn’t face that day.

The next day I received the dreaded truancy letter informing me that my daughter has missed too much school. Nevermind that she has no unexcused absences. This is the last thing we need. I don’t want to relate this mess to the truancy officer. However, I will do so if necessary, just like I already did when I wrote a letter to her school for their records to summarize the crisis. I wrote that letter at the suggestion of her therapist. I think the exercise was therapeutic solely for me.

Last week I had a meeting at the school and learned some of the things Eileen has been doing. She is not inclined at all to tell me much about school, so of course, I was surprised at some of the things I heard. It sounds like she is torn between checking out in the style of Melville’s Bartleby (“I’d prefer not to.”) and protesting the curriculum in general. For instance, when English class starts and her classmates have their notebooks and The Plays of Sophocles ready on their desks, Eileen pulls out a book of her choosing and reads for pleasure for the rest of class. Two such books she read during English class were Susan Powter’s Stop the Insanity and Erma Bombeck’s The Cope Book. I didn’t know whether to hang my head in shame or applaud her campy reading choices. My inclination toward the great works of literature is also lacking.

I so wish that she would reveal her thoughts, hopes, and fears. It’s not like I’m a stranger to her struggle; I am only ignorant of the particulars. The difference is she is several years younger than I was when I had my “breakdown”. My troubles didn’t truly sink their tentacles into me until I went away to college. In a way, she has more to lose due to her age.

I feel like I’d have more luck cutting a diamond with my bare hands than getting her to tell me what is really going on in her mind. Whether or not she chooses to take me into her confidence, I need to find a way to let her know that madness is no refuge; take the help that is offered you to evade it. Madness is not a vacation full of cozy reading and just the right amount of sweet and salty to satisfy your hunger. It is a full force gale that can only be calmed through doing the very things you don’t want to do: listen to those who love you, follow your doctor’s advice, show up at the right time, do what needs to be done first and then bask in the glow of pleasure reading and the like later.

As for my issues, I’m still having problems with nerve pain. The partial relief I had from the L3/L4 epidural injection wore off six weeks after I received it. I also have nerve pain that doesn’t correspond to degeneration in my spine. It looks like it’s possible that I’ve developed fibromyalgia. I have a referral to a neurologist to eliminate other possible diagnoses.

Somehow this pain is easier to deal with than my daughter’s ongoing anxiety and attendance problems. I’d rather live with that than go back to high school.

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My vacation from blogging

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Our first snow of the season is falling outside, an inch-deep Alberta Clipper. I am long past the cozy enchantment of anticipating snow drifts and the like. I’d rather watch it through the safe distance of film or video than experience it firsthand.

I’ve refrained from writing posts for the past couple weeks because I thought that doing so would be akin to pouring salt on a wound. Now that the worst of the nerve pain that plagued me through late summer to mid-November seems to be behind me, I have been quite angry over what happened. I am mad that I waited so long for relief (which, by the way, came randomly with the pulling of a heavy drawer while bent over at an awkward angle).

I am not exaggerating when I say that this interlude of nerve pain was the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Maybe there is something in the nature of pain that inclines a person to believe that the latest acute episode is the worst one, sort of a photo negative of one’s love life, how often we hear that a person’s current lover is the best one ever. With that aside, I will tell that I really did feel worse than I ever had.

I am no stranger to pain. I had a radical mastoidectomy, wherein a damaged part of the skull that borders the ear is removed. I was in labor for 44 hours when I had my daughter, and I had no pain medication for 24 out of those 44 hours (and this was back labor). I would add this year’s spinal fusion surgery to this list, but the pain of that procedure and its recovery were nowhere near as bad the preceding two events in this paragraph.

I know that there are millions, if not billions, of people in this world who’ve lived through pain far worse than I have. I can only attest to my own pain, and I am mad when I think of all the effort I devoted to finding a resolution to my recent pain. I don’t think I was taken seriously because I could still walk on my own and keep a straight face while doing so.

It must be hard for orthopedic doctors to understand that the pain of a patient who can work and communicate as normal can be important. In any given day or week, they see patients who’ve been broken through traumatic accidents, people who arrive for their appointments in a wheelchair or on a stretcher. So when someone like me comes knocking, a patient who seems to walk with apparent ease and can report their symptoms in a near-clinical tone, they must be tempted to assume that such a patient is just worried but well. I was not.

After three months of asking for an explanation for why I suddenly felt so bad six months past my surgery, I learned a few things through an MRI and physical examinations. I am healing well from my L4/L5 fusion surgery. This does not surprise me because the pattern of my nerve pain was markedly different than what I experienced in the months leading up my surgery. Back then, I had numbness in my left knee and part of my foot, with flares of sciatic pain that struck at random. This time around, I had awful nerve pain in a band from my outer left hip to the inside of my left knee, only when I stood in place for more than a few minutes or walked more than a hundred yards or so.

It turns out that my L2/L3 and L3/L4 discs have degenerated more in the past year, but neither are in bad enough shape to qualify for more than conservative treatment measures. I also have bursitis in my hip and strain in a tendon that leads from my hip to my knee (ITBS, or iliotibial band syndrome). I’ve been doing physical therapy exercises for the bursitis and ITBS, but the aches and pains of those issues aren’t completely gone.

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I do not yet have clarity on what I can do to prevent further flare-ups of nerve pain. No one has offered me a prognosis or definitive reason for why my orthopedic problems continue. Last year, I heard that my lumbar degeneration is hereditary. This makes sense given that I have several close relatives with similar problems. However, there isn’t enough similarity between our symptoms and course of disease to model a course of action based on what has worked for the others.

I wish I knew if I there was something I am unwittingly doing that could be making things worse, that some qualified person could take me in hand and tell me that I should change my life in such-and-such ways because of my spinal stenosis. It seems I must draw that map myself.

I don’t think I have accurately conveyed how active I must be to lead the life that I do. Both my job and my life at home require all sorts of walking. Below is a chart of all the walking I’ve done since my surgery in March (from my Fitbit account, btw):

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I’ve discovered through long experience that the only sure thing that keeps my depression at bay is walking. I thank God that the chief prescription for my surgical recovery was walking. What would I do if my spinal stenosis progressed to the point when I couldn’t walk much at all? I’d practically need to remake myself.

I’ve watched far too many episodes of Agatha Christie’s Poirot lately. There was something Poirot said in the episode called “Appointment with Death” that is one of the most inspirational things I’ve ever heard:

“There is nothing in the world so damaged that it cannot be repaired by the hand of almighty God.”