This week at work, my "lunch group" somehow got on the topic of hypersensitivity to pain during childbirth. While I couldn't relate to the pain of childbirth, I could relate to hypersensitivity to pain. So, I mentioned something about understanding that feeling. This sparked the question from one co-worker as to what I was referring to. Sometimes I feel like I've shared enough of this story that everyone already knows it, so I guess I was thinking he kind of knew "my story", and said, "Oh, when I had my accident." I figured that would be the end of it, but more questions came. "What accident?" Apparently he didn't know.
I can't be the only one that is faced with these questions, because we all have "a story". Generally, everyone has something in their life that hits them hard, and changes the way they think, act, live. The more you get to know people, or share your life with them, the more questions come, and eventually you get to that question that hits your story. How much do you share with people, and will they look at you differently because of it?
One of two things generally happens after I answer questions like the one my co-worker presented to me. Either you receive pity, or you are put on a pedestal. You hope for that rare third option...understanding. Because if people can understand the thing that makes you you, that erases the vulnerable feeling you have in the pit of your stomach, and replaces it with respect and understanding.
So, here in front of 4 of my co-workers, people I care about, respect and spend the majority of my time with, I place myself in vulnerability, and share.
Preface: Drunk driver, escaping police, came across the grass median on the highway in his truck. I stopped him. Shattered pelvis and hip. 6 Weeks in the hospital, 6 weeks in the nursing home, another several months in a wheelchair. Had to learn to walk again, pretty much learn to do everything that would require the bottom half of my body, again. It's a miracle I survived. 5 years of full-time therapy, another two years of trying to figure out what my body would allow me to do, and then finally a year of slowly working my way back to being "me". Just a different version of me.
Tidbits:
I remember pins inserted in my toe to help set it after it was crushed. These long metal pins were inserted at some point when I was out of it, so I didn't feel them getting put in. One went in through the top of my big toe, straight down. The other from the ball of my foot, straight across. They were about 3-4 inches long, not that big around. The pins made it impossible for me to bend my toe, but just out of fear I had taken to not moving any of my other toes.One day, the bandages came off, and my foot was covered with dead skin, much like someone who just had a cast removed. My mom was trying to pull the dead skin off, and as it started to pull on my toe (still pinned) I would wince in pain. It was basically like pulling peeling skin off your arm after a bad sunburn. Not usually painful, but for some reason any pull this toe skin would send pain waves through my entire foot.
The worst pain I ever felt, of course, was during the first few days after my accident while they were waiting for the swelling to go down so they could do surgery. Because my leg (femur) bone had no socket to sit in, my leg was pretty much dangling free and clear. To keep my femur head from being damaged, my leg was put in traction. This consisted of three holes drilled through my knee, a rod placed through with pulleys attached that ran to the end of my hospital bed with weights hanging on the end.
Any time someone bumped my bed, even in the slightest, it was like shock waves all through my body. That happened a lot.
In order for my bedding to be changed, these pulleys needed to be disconnected. After that I was instructed to grab the opposite bar with right hand, and pull my top half towards it. Unfortunately, no matter how many signals I sent from my brain to my leg, I was unable to move it, so there it laid. Top half moved, bottom half didn't. Pain ensued, only made worse when they had to lift my leg onto my other one so they could change everything out. I have never felt such pain in my entire life.
The screams that came out of me were nothing short of blood-curdling, forcing my own mother to leave the room throwing up, when she saw this all for the first time. I was on the largest possible dosage of morphine I was allowed to legally have at one time, and still felt this king of pain.
Of course, this procedure was only half-done, as I would then have to have my leg taken down, turn my top half back, get moved into a straight line, and then have the pulleys and weights reattached to my rod in my knee. Every single touch of a hand, no matter where on my body was like shock waves. I know I used that reference before but it's the best way to describe how it felt. It's your entire body writhing in pain.
There was a very long period of time after this procedure that even the slightest touch, anywhere on my body was like falling into a pricker bush. Hypersensitivity to pain is horrible, because the smallest thing feels like the worst pain ever. Every sensor in your body is fired up.
This lunchtime conversation got really serious, really quick. I write in more detail than I shared at lunch, just to be clear. :)
"So you have metal parts? Do you set off metal detectors at the airport?"
"Yes, I do, and yes, all the time. This area (pointing to my pelvis/hip area) is pretty much like a kitchen sink."
Learning to walk again was the scariest thing I've ever done. You would think it would be hard, not scary. For me it was terrifying. Here I am with a boot on one foot that only allows me to put weight on the back half of my foot, the other leg completely non-weight bearing, and a walker...with wheels. The plan was to use my arms to bear my weight while I used my "good leg" to hop a step. Then swing the bad leg forward to meet the other, and continue the process.
But this walker had wheels!! Because I had been laying flat for the last six weeks my muscles had atrophied. My arms were weak, my legs even weaker. Grabbing onto a walker and trying to lift your entire body (dead weight) and hop felt impossible. The scary part were the wheels because as I grabbed onto it, it moved. Slid forward with the slightest effort. Great for people who are already walking and just need stability. Not so great for people who can't even hold themselves up.
I freaked out. I cried. I practically hyperventilated. My therapist tried to play drill instructor to motivate me. I almost threw up.
Day 2 - take the wheels off the walker, and put on the rubber stoppers. This day I actually took one "step", maybe two. Remember the shock waves? Every hop was a jolt of pain, that just kept on reverberating through my body. I used every inch of brain power to try and send signals to my bad leg, trying to get it to swing forward. Still not luck. It was like trying to take a step with an 100-pound person attached to your ankle. It just wasn't happening. So I used the rest of my body to try and swing it forward...more like drag it forward.
I wish I could say that things got easier from that day forward, with a miraculous recovery and everything was great from then on. While things did get "better", it sure didn't feel like any of my hard work was making any difference. Things were moving at a snail's pace. I eventually moved back to Michigan and began water therapy at 6 months post-accident. I was still non-weight bearing on my one leg, and still in a wheelchair, only able to sit at a 60-degree angle.
I slid onto a special machine, which lowered me into the water for the first time. What a trip! The warm water felt great, and I hopped on my good leg out into deeper water, probably 4.5 feet. The deeper you go, the less strain on your body. Perfect for my first attempt at taking a step on my bad leg. "Are you ready Marci? I want you to move your leg forward, step quickly and then shift your weight back to your other leg."
Go time. Time for this leg to move. If it's going to happen, it's going to happen here, in the deep water, with no pressure on my leg. I sent the signals from my brain to my leg, which wasn't hard to get it lifted as it was pretty buoyant in the water. I straightened it out, pushed it down, felt my foot hit the ground for the first time in 6 months, and then it was done. First step taken...success!
From this point on success was evident and gradual, but still long, difficult and painful. Sometimes I wonder how I was able to handle so much pain. So, I'll refer back to the birthing experience my co-workers starting out talking about. What makes a woman go through this once, and then agree to it again? The body has an amazing way of forgetting the pain you were in. Pain is relative, and while you feel something one time that makes you writhe in pain, you may experience something more severe later. But both times you will only remember that you were in horrible pain, and that it was horrible. Thankfully you don't usually relive the actual pain itself. The human body is incredible!
People deal with all sorts of pain, whether physical or emotional. While my references here are about physical pain, I believe hypersensitivity can also be experienced with emotional pain. The body is experiencing an overload of emotion, and the mention of something small can trigger those extreme reactions, when normally they would not.
The goal is to move past the pain. But sometimes in order to move past it you have to sit in it for a while. Like trying to walk again, or trying to recover from something like depression, both require an amount of determination similar to trying to walk out of a mud pit. The snail pace that I felt was frustrating beyond belief, but necessary for me to go through to come out the other side. Pain is unpleasant in every form, so our natural instinct is to get out of it as soon as possible. Taking a bigger leap than your heart, mind or body is ready for will only land you back in the very same position you started in, usually more hurt and frustrated than before.
The hard part of all of this is that you can't always see the end result. At least then you have something to go towards. But when you can't see the end because it's so far down the road, the tiny victories are almost unrecognizable. Set realistic, achievable goals. Set your mind to realizing the smallest of goals and celebrating them. The celebration is worth every inch of effort you put in to achieve it!!
