On Being Injured

On Being Injured, or Hurt, or Sick

I injured my back in August trying to pull Timber away from a stray dog that had attacked him. Timber is a good sized dog…86lbs and is tall. When he leans against me, his head it at my rib cage. So, when he got attacked and started pulling, I pulled, he pulled, I pulled and a displaced rib and raised hip later, I have been in a good amount of pain ever since.

And this is just the latest in a long line of injuries and sicknesses that I have endured for most of my life. Right off the bat, I was sick. When I was born, three weeks early, I almost died from RH poisoning. Basically, my parent’s blood did not mix right in me and I had to have a transfusion to keep me alive. I guess I wasn’t supposed to make it…between being a premie and an RH, my time was almost up before it started. But, make it I did and it seems since then, I have gotten more than my fair share of illnesses or injuries.

Let’s see, there was scoliosis in grade school, which I obviously still have; mono in high school; a wrist injury that ended my gymnastic career because I didn’t tell anyone about it until it gave way on the bars during a routine; my big honkin calves started when I ran track in college, swelling so much and into such rocks that I used to have to go to the trainer before and after (sometimes during) practice to get icy hot massaged into them; debilitating migraines; Fifth Disease in my mid 30’s, which is basically a childhood disease but when you get it as an adult it knocks you out for 3-6 years. And it took them 3 years to diagnose me; severe tendinitis in my rt elbow, which I still deal with; plantar fasciitis; a stress induced rash on my hands that was so bad I had swollen bubbles on my hands and fingers; injuries from my 70.3 crash; various pulled muscles, strains, and the like just from running and being active; pneumonia; and now this back injury that just won’t go away.

And, this being my 50^th year, I’m getting tired of it. All of it. It is hard for me to remember a time when I haven’t been in pain in some way or another; a time when I haven’t had to endure something to just freakin exercise. For years I’ve had no sustainable fitness and that is majorly frustrating for me. I barely train for races because, let’s face it, the odds of me getting hurt in some way is so high, I really just can’t stand the disappointment anymore. So, for the past few years, I train just enough to get me through the race and always wonder what I could do if I could actually train to my full potential. I wonder if I’ll ever know.

It’s not just the physical pain; it is the emotional pain, the shame, the embarrassment, and the enduring of what people think of you. Because people think less of you when you are hurt. Maybe not at first, but eventually they do. They believe somehow that you aren’t doing all you should, or you are milking it for attention, or you are weak. Their actions and attitude toward you shows you exactly what they think of your little injury or sickness…and sometimes that judgment hurts worse than the injury itself. If I come to your house and my back hurts to the point where I can’t get off your couch, and you go and leave me, well, that speaks volumes. And I wonder…do you want to shame me into getting better? Do you honestly think I’m doing this on purpose? The actions would say yes to those questions. You think it is my fault and if you are just mean enough, in a nice sort of way, I’ll understand you don’t like me injured and bounce off the couch healed.

Or, I’ll grab the next plane out of there and now have the added pain of broken trust to deal with as well as an aching back.

And I wonder why we are like this? Why do we look down on people who are hurting? Be it emotional or physical, our noses get really long when looking at people with either of these maladies. Unless you break your leg spectacularly on national television and get the support of a nation, you will have to go it alone and endure the judgment that comes with it. My yard is a mess and the neighbors judge; my house is a mess and people judge; my body is expanding and people judge; I am not as happy go lucky as usual and people judge. I complain about my circumstance and people judge. I’m cranky and people judge.

So, what I do is push. I push too hard too soon because I have been taught since childhood that no one likes you when you are a less than. And if you are injured, you are a less than. The second I start to feel better I walk farther. I add in some sprints. I’ll do burpees, pull ups, and hold a plank for two minutes. I’ll start planning how long it will be until I can run and calculate when I’ll be able to race again. I’ll start to feel like I belong again, only to have my body tell me otherwise and I’ll be back on the couch resting and dreading the coming judgments. Because the other side of all this is how isolating being injured or sick can be. And this is just one more thing you have to deal with. No wonder I push.

This being my 50^th year, I just have to say, all this is not in my plans. How can I accomplish anything I wanted to do this year if I can’t get off the couch and am seemingly losing friends who are annoyed with my circumstance along the way? Because, as I’ve learned, no one is going to come sit on the couch with me. My visions of being somewhere fabulous as I turn 50 (NYC or Disneyland or the beach) with my friends and family around me are slowing fading away. The 15lbs I want to lose by my 50^th is also getting further and further from reach. Let me tell you it’s quite difficult to lose weight when you can’t do any sustainable cardio…and I’m going on six months without now. What makes turning 50 better is the great things you wanted to do throughout the year; and really, those things aren’t possible from the couch. And I really, really, really don’t want to be in pain anymore. Any. More.

But, short of a miracle, and I’ve prayed diligently for one, the pain is here to stay. I’ll try another doctor for another opinion, I’ll try more physical therapy, but I am starting to lose hope. Because this is all very hard. Being alone, enduring all this alone with no support, is very, very hard.

Luckily, the Bible is filled with people who were cranky and complained or lamented; Moses crabbed about the Israelites, David wailed his sorrows to the heavens, Solomon wrote a whole book bemoaning how meaningless life is, and I actually wondered if maybe he wasn’t suffering from a back ache at the time. Job, well, Job lamented his circumstance and then had three wonderful friends who blamed him for his predicament. Oh, and then there was his wife who told him to just curse God and die. Yowza.

All this to say, I know I am in good company.

I know God is big enough to take what I’m giving Him right now. I’m still praising Him in this storm, but, man, some days it is hard to sing of joy when I’m going on month six of almost daily pain and the curtailed life that goes along with it. And I’m talking PAIN here people. I can take a lot of it, but, I may have reached my limit. It's exhausting, really.

So, what do I do? Where do I go from here? It is the same old thing; I just keep getting up every day. When I get knocked down by all this, I have a good cry and just get back up. Again. Because as hard as this is, I don’t know what it looks like to stay down.

 

And I want it to stay that way.