Counting Blessings

It's my birthday. Yep, the same week as Shakespeare and Carol Burnett and Barbra Streisand. It's a lot to live up to. And I'm now closer to 50 than 40, but I managed to get this far relatively unscathed. I've got four scars from surgery, nothing life threatening and no organs gone I can't live happily without. My bones are strong but I need bifocals. My skin is acting like it did when I was sixteen again - not a good thing. My knees creak and it's costs me an average of $40.00 a month to remain a natural blond.

But there is nothing wrong with me that a little primrose oil or Advil won't fix. And now that I have started doing research interviews for the play, I am incredibly thankful for that. I could have woken up from any of my surgeries with permanent pain, many have. My mom has migraines, I could have inherited that, most do. My knees creak but they still hold me up and take me through life one step at a time, and I can flex my neck and look up into the sky to make a wish on the first star of the night. Not everyone can still do that.

So I am thankful for everything I have. And I am amazed at the courage that people with chronic pain conditions show us. They have pain all the time, but they get up every morning, they face the day and they, too, put one foot in front of the other. And I'm sure they do it with less complaining than I do, most mornings.

I remember reading The Shell Seekers, and one of the children asked their mother how she was. She replied that she was breathing when she woke up that morning, so it was a good day. It's hard to be grateful for the little things, but I think we should all try hard to do so and let the people who are struggling with pain know how much we admire their courage.

And that we believe them.

Well, the pencils are sharpened and the project is underway. I'm pleased to announce that we are now well underway with interviews of both medical personnel and patients. And man have I learned a lot! It is astounding to hear the stories, from both sides of the fence, of these people who wake up one morning and their lives are changed.

Arlene Cox, a psychologist at the CPC, said "Imagine one morning you woke up with the worst pain you have ever had, and then imagine it never goes away." Doesn't that make you think? We think that pain is finite. That we injure oruselves or get sick, that we suffer pain, and then it goes away and life returns to normal. But what if it didn't go away? How would you get out of bed in the morning, day after day after day? And to top it off what if no one believed you?

So, when I ask the medical people I'm interviewing what they admire about this patient population, do you know what they say? Their courage and their strength.

Or what about a patient going through yet another medical exam, ten years later, because her insurance company still wants her to go back to work, even though all her doctors have said no? What about the patient whose coworkers say things like "well I had a headache yesterday but I came to work" or "you must have a low pain threshold"?

When I ask the patients what the one message is that they would like to see the play deliver, do you know what they say? Believe me.

Not cure me, or help me, or treat me or prescribe for me. Believe me.

Just imagine.

I have already laughed and cried over these stories, and I've barely scratched the surface. I just hope I can do these stories justice as we start writing the play. Hopefully, with the input of our great advisory committee, we can get there.

So - do you have a great pain slogan? (like instead of no pain, no gain; how about "no pain is the gain"). If so, put it in the comments. We're looking for some catchy ones.

Deb