The Back Pain Chapter That Won't End
I'll never take a pain-free day for granted again
This essay is part of the Between Chapters project, inspired by the book. What chapters are you between? How did you get from one chapter to another? Share your story here.
What Chapter Are You….
Leaving:
I’ve been in pain for nearly a year. I no longer remember what the “pain free” chapter felt like.
In:
Impatiently healing from a spine fusion.
Entering:
Begging and pleading with God to help me reach a pain-free existence.
I am in a dark space. I spend my days in bed or hobbling around our small home, constantly watching the clock to be able to take my next dose of pain medicine, then glaring at the clock while I wait for the meds to kick in — not always a sure thing. And it sucks. I’m amid a pity party I definitely didn’t want to be invited to.
Last summer, we took a road trip and my spine took it personally. By the time we returned home, I was in agony. I’d felt that pain before. I’ve had three spine surgeries and only the first two were successful. I’ve battled chronic pain before, but this was different — and excruciating. I didn’t need a medical degree to know I needed surgery. But the healthcare system doesn’t operate on hunches, so it took ten grueling months to get to the OR.
The procedure was major: entry through my abdomen to access the spine more easily, then, two entries in my back to wrap things up. Ultimately, the surgeon bolted together three vertebrae and inserted spacers between them to open up areas that had been compressed for years. You’d think the many nerves crunched for so long would throw a party to be set free. You’d be wrong. The burning, throbbing pain still wanders from my hips to my thighs to my calves to my Achilles. No two days have been the same. No windows of pain or response to pain meds have been the same.
Okay, you’re thinking, be patient. Surely things will look up.
But it’s the mental side of this journey that’s really weighing me down. My son just finished his freshman year in high school in what has felt like the most successful year he’s had. At sixteen, he has Down syndrome and really struggled to be supported successfully during elementary school. The Covid lockdown turned out to be the reset he needed. But this year, as I juggled a full time job and increasing pain, my husband became The Parent the School Knows. That was a mental hit. I already felt like I was failing.
Our daughter is about to transition from middle school to high school. She’s figuring it out —from what true friendship feels like to what fashion means to her and how she wants to show up in the world. And she’s got a mama who has spent more time in bed over the past year than as a functioning parent. We have long talks (late-night talks — do teens ever want to bond during daylight hours?!) and I do what I can verbally, emotionally… but it doesn’t feel right. My heart sinks as they all bounce out of the house in the morning, tossing me a wave from the doorway.
Our youngest has his promotion ceremony from elementary school to middle school this week. I’m praying I can walk in without a cane and sit like a normal person to enjoy the event.
But I know I’ll be battling pain and the urge to cry for so many reasons.
All three kids have been touchingly supportive. My husband has been a saint. He knows what this pain is like, and he’s done everything to help me. He’s taken the brunt of my fury when the pain sears through my body and decimates my patience and ability to answer a simple question without biting at the air like a rabid, chained animal.
Somehow, I’ve allowed his kindness and compassion to push me to a darker depth because I am so grateful yet feel so utterly useless. So, I take another deep breath and imagine future mornings when I again race around like a headless chicken, feeling stressed by the ticking clock instead of the pulsating pain in my body.
I hope when that chapter begins, I remember what today felt like. I hope I never again take a pain-free day for granted. I hope I dive back into being a functional parent and wife. I hope I leave this chapter far behind but reflect on it with gratitude for a morning punctuated by the usual gentle urges rather than piercing pain.
I’m so ready for that next chapter. So, so ready.
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