Sleepless

It's pure, unadulterated pain. I spend my nights dozing, unable to fully sleep because of the pain that prevents me from finding a comfortable position. It aches, burns and stabs through my knees, legs and back. The muscles in my legs aching with a pain that no stretch, no exercise, no technique will mitigate. The night is when I pay for the sins of my vanity, the sin of knowing that I can carry more with both hands, I can walk faster without relying on the cane, the crutches. I can will myself to be almost normal, but there is a price for that willfulness.

The stab of pain that slices raggedly through my knee causes me to draw my breath in as though its the first time I've ever felt it. Except it manages to continually surprise me. How, after so long can it surprise me? How, when I feel pain day by day, moment by moment, does it catch me off guard? I weather the storm, tensed and fearful of the next one. Hoping I feel nothing but reliable aching, knowing that the cutting pain will come in moments, always, forever. When I am weak it reduces me to tears.

I work so hard to hide the worst of the pain during the day. I work so hard to hide it during the week. And I pay for it. I pay. Nights are rendered sleepless, pointless in pain. Weekends are nothing more than days to suffer the fullest extent of my efforts to hide from the world. The pain contorts me into the old hag of stories, crooked and hunched, shuffling along the walls and furniture grasping for support.

I'm ashamed at how aged I feel. I'm ashamed of the pain that steals my life from me. I'm ashamed of how it steals the life from my family, leaving them to take care of each other and me.

My patience and willpower wear thin after a while. There isn't a reprieve.  There is never relief.

Acceptance

It's taken me a long time to begin to accept that I will always be struggling. Struggling to make enough money to cover the bills, struggling to walk and struggling to accept my life.

I'm coming up on two years since I got hurt. A lot has changed in those two years, and its been hard. The axiom is change is hard.  The reality is that some change is incredibly harder than other.  The struggle to protect my children, the struggle to provide, the struggle to find my way are so much harder than I ever thought. I don't wish it on anyone.

I've yet to see the silver lining of the overall situation.  Do I understand being disabled better?  Yep, but did I ever not feel compassion for the disabled?  Did I ever forget being poor as a child? No, not ever. I can't say that I ever harassed or persecuted the poor, homeless or disabled.

So I've learned to accept the struggle. I've learned that the mark of a successful weekend is intense pain of bones grinding against bones like a century-old person. I wish for nothing more than to curl up and not exist. Tear-inducing pain is my measure of physical success.  My week is for recovery.  Its a crippled take on the weekend warrior.

I miss a lot of my old life. I miss the everyday adventure of finding the world with my children. I miss filling the boredom with little trips and explorations. Its only been two years, and yet they've already forgotten many of the places we went and things we did. I miss the opportunities. I mourn the lost memories. I mourn the lost opportunities.

Part of mourning is acceptance. Accepting doesn't mean that we forget. It just means that we realize that we can't change how things happened. And its hard.