It sneaks up on me… just a twinge, slight pressure rumbling just beneath the surface. Realization hits me on a subconscious level, not quite aware of what some part of me already knows is on the way.
The clock opens up a doorway into crip time. Everything is slower, forced into being present in this moment with this pain. The vice grip tightens, and my breathing becomes shallower. My eyes clenched shut in agony with the first electrical impulses pumping through my nervous system to my brain.
I am caught between waiting and enduring. An odd clarity arises from being so mindful of the present moment, no matter how unpleasant. There is only here and now and pain. Everything slows down, the clock decelerates to imperceptible speeds, movement so unnoticeable that I begin to doubt it’s moving at all.
My body becomes a room with no corners in which to hide. The pain fills the room like a gas, each atom finding its place so that the space is filled completely and evenly. They say to focus on a part of the body that doesn’t hurt. But my pain has greedily sucked all my attention away—no leftovers on this plate.
Hard to form sentences, hold thoughts, retrieve words. Fragmented ideas, full of sensation, pulsing. New grammar rules invented for this alternative reality.
I shift slightly, body begging for relief. Maybe if I switch that leg out for this one, or straighten my back, or maybe, maybe, maybe… it doesn’t matter. Every choice eats up more energy I could be using to breathe through this moment. Nobody teaches this kind of calculus.
Irritability sneaks in, grief rising like a tide. Quiet shame of needing help/meds/love/tears. I don’t know if I can do this.
The pain plays hide-and-seek.. sometimes here, sometimes quieter. I’m excited at the prospect of this flare ending only to be sucked back in by another crescendo of sensation. This pain is mischievous, almost cruel.
The rituals take place: medication, heating pad, ice, breathing, blanket, pillows. Slowly, I assemble the tools to soften the blows that just keep coming. I’m building scaffolding to keep this body of mine from collapsing under the weight of it all.
Connection to the outside world begins to falter. Messages go unanswered. Focusing inward, not by choice. There is a paradox between needing comfort and craving solitude.
I allow myself to stop fighting and lie down inside the pain and pull it over me like a comforter. This is different from defeat, just temporary cohabitation. It’s so strange, the softening that occurs when I finally let go. A sweet surrender.
The pain isn’t gone. We’re just learning to be hesitant friends. For now, anyway. It’s an uninvited guest, but I might as well grab the extra linen and pull out the couch bed. I invite it to have tea with me.
There is an easing of the intensity as my medication kicks in and the acceptance widens. My breathing is more natural, and my hope for an end to this flare feels slightly more attainable. Maybe less like a trick to catch me off guard.
Time begins to speed back up to normative expectations. Words reintroduce themselves, and fragmented thoughts get glued back together. Now, there is exhaustion and drowsiness. But at least it’s not pain. The next moment is here.
Leave a Reply