Pain is temporary

“Pain is temporary. It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place. If I quit, however, it lasts forever.” --Lance Armstong

Sunday was a regular day for me. Mostly. I got up, did my usual Sunday morning chores, and decided to climb up on the roof.

Why oh why would I climb up on the roof? Well, I had to get the pine needles and miscellaneous tree shit off of my roof and out of my gutters. That shit doesn’t just dissipate on its own, no matter how hard you wish for it to.

Anyway, beautiful day, I felt productive and alive. There is nothing quite like sitting on the roof of a house to me. It’s very liberating. Possibly because no one can get to me up there. Who knows.

Later that evening it was time for my shot. You may recall I’ve come to really hate the shots because of the raised welts they’ve been leaving on my stomach and hips as of late.

But, the greater good. Means to an end. All that bullshit. You know. Anyway…

Did the shot (left side hip if you’re wondering) and headed to bed.

NOW, one of the most important things about the shot I do is the side effects. They can include “fever, chills, flu-like symptoms”. In general, if I do it before I go to bed, I sleep through the crap.

For some odd reason, I woke up around 1 am to pee. I got to the bathroom and the chills started. We’re talking muscle tensing, teeth chattering, uncontrollable chills. I high-tail it back to bed, snuggle under the covers and try to control my movement and breathing. No such luck. Teeth chattering more. I sneak my arm out of the side of the bed and reach my sweat pants and socks, manage to put them on under the covers, and I’m still freezing with massive chills.

When you have the chills, you know how your muscles tend to tense up, and the shaking doesn’t stop, and you just can’t seem to get warm? That’s what I had going on. All I could think about was if I could just get something with long sleeves on, I might warm up enough to stop it. Problem. I’d have to get out of bed** and I’m already warmer than I was 10 minutes ago. And so, I do what any self-respecting person would do. I pulled my arms inside my shirt and hugged myself. Still shivering, still miserable, but one step closer to warm.

An hour in, my neck and shoulders start aching like nobody’s business. I can’t even describe how it felt. It was the worst muscular pain I have ever felt. 30 minutes later, my back and legs start to hurt the same way. 30 minutes later, my arms are hurting. For those of you keeping score, at this point it is now 3:00 AM and I’m still chattering and tensing and, shaking.

Around 4 AM, sleep finally found me. When the alarm went off at 5:45, I tried to lean over to turn it off, but my arms were tangled up in my shirt. My boobs were free, and I was covered in sweat.

I tried to get out of bed and the pain that shot through my body was horrendous. I wanted to just hide under the covers. I managed to get up – at about 6:40. Nearly an hour later. I got Josh up, got him ready and took him to Kathy’s. I called in sick and returned to bed. I slept until 1:00 PM.

This morning, I got up and while it only took me until 6:30 to get out of bed, the pain isn’t nearly as bad. However, I’m due to take another shot tonight and I just don’t think I can do it.

Generally, when I get a little bit of pain, some yoga or some exercise fixes the problem. But what am I supposed to do when just doing those things makes the pain so strong that I actually cry?

Chin up, chest out. This too shall pass.

Here’s what’s important. I don’t want your sympathy. I don’t tell you because I want you to feel bad for me. I don’t want a “poor Kim” or “wish there were something I could do”. Know why? Because there is nothing anyone can do, and I’m not poor. I have the greatest family in the world, including a great 5 year old boy who helped mom put on her shoes this morning.

So then why tell you all? Because. I want people to see that you don’t have to give up. As shitty as it can be at times, it’s all temporary. You have two choices. You can sit back and let it win, be horribly miserable and waste your life away wishing it could be better. OR you can view it as a set back, even if it’s the most scary one ever. You can learn from it, make changes to try and avoid the same situation in the future and just be grateful for the good things in your life. I have a family that needs me just as much as I need them. I’ll be damned if something like this is going to get in my way.

Here’s to a better tomorrow. And a better day after that, and day after that. I’ll be changing my shots to a 7-day a week variety without so many side effects.

Jerry has his second surgery (and hopefully the last) tomorrow to put the battery pack inside of his body so he won’t have wires sticking out. If you’re wondering how that’s all working – he’s been able to reduce his pain meds by 50% and they say it should get even better with time. There have been some small issues with the device and the feeling it evokes, but we’re working on those.

I’ll end this the way I started it. Because it’s an incredible statement from an incredible athlete.

“Pain is temporary.

It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place.

If I quit, however, it lasts forever.”

I refuse to quit.

**Many people are probably wondering where Jerry is. Jerry has found that it’s actually more comfortable for him to sleep on the couch. And so, he was asleep – on the couch. Where all good husbands belong.

Ask me if you want to donate to my MS Challenge Walk Team.

You want fries with that?

Josh LOVES to order his own food. So why is it when he smiles at the waitress and orders his own food do they NOT believe that he knows what he wants? Why do they always try and “fix” what he orders?

We went out to lunch today. When the waitress came over, Josh said, “I’d like a hot dog, with stripes, but no bun. I would also like applesauce. And to drink? Mom? May I have a Diet Coke?”

“You may.”

He smiles at the waitress and says, “and a Diet Coke. My mom wants one of those too.”

Now, this is the point where she should turn to ME and ask me what I would like. But no. Not Angela. She can’t be expected to leave well enough alone. “Wouldn’t you rather have fries with your hot dog?”

“No, Angela, he wouldn’t. He would like the apple sauce.”
“And milk to drink for him?”

“Um, no. He asked for my permission in front of you, got it and ordered Diet Coke.”

So, Angela goes away to submit our order. We’re busy planning our ice cream sundae desserts. Here comes our food.

Hot dog, on a bun. Strike one. And a big freakin’ plate of fries.

Josh looks at her and says, “But I wanted applesauce, not fries. Mom, I wanted apple sauce. Why can’t I have apple sauce? Are they out of apple sauce?”

Angela rolled her eyes.

Now, the angry, bitter bitch in me wanted to stand up, put my hands around Angela’s throat and choke the shit out of her. Let her know that this is MY child she is rolling her eyes at. My child who very clearly ordered a mother fuckin’ hot dog with NO BUN, and APPLE SAUCE. How dare she roll her eyes at my kid questioning her ability to do her job.

The mom in me, wanted my kid to have what he ordered, what he wanted. I smiled, and was about to open my mouth when Josh decided that he could handle this one on his own.

“Excuse me. I would like my apple sauce. When you go get it, take this bun with you, because I really didn’t want it.” And with that, he picked up his hot dog and set it on the plate. He picked up the bun, and held it in between his forefinger and thumb and presented it to her. She stared at him, he gave it a shake. She continued to stare. He dropped the bun on the floor.

The mom in me wanted to correct him, make him pick it up and apologize to her. The angry, bitter bitch in me thought the douchebag could pick it up her own damn self, when she brings back the applesauce. I just said half-heartedly, “Josh. You don’t drop food on the floor. Do you think you want M&M’s on your sundae or are you going for chocolate sauce as your third topping?”

In the end, the little slutbag tried to charge us for the fries she brought in error by adding “extra side” to our bill. I very kindly asked her to take the “extra side” off of the bill. She suggested that she saw my child eating a french fry and so, we would need to pay for it. I let her know that if she was concerned about people eating the erroneous fries, then perhaps the shouldn’t have sat on our table for the entire meal. I then suggested that I would happily pay the money for the fries, but that would mean that she would not receive much of a tip. You see, I know that when Josh and I go to Friendly’s for lunch, a $20 covers our meal and the tip. Knowing this, I had – you guessed it - a $20.

She didn’t make a move. I called her bluff. I left the bill as is, tucked the $20 inside and figured she could figure it out all on her own. She either has a $1.12 tip or she took off the charge for the fries and got her 20%. I don’t really give a shit either way. I know what lunch and a 20% tip our $16 bill is easily covered by a $20. Sure, I had some singles in my purse, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before the 19-year-old rude ass bitch gets any more out of me.

I was so irritated with Angela, that I was able to totally ignore the annoying 12-year-old girl having lunch with either a distant family member or a family friend, who spoke in run on sentences with that “I’m ALMOST a teenager” air about her. I got to hear all about how this year, she would be a Timberwolf AND a Star. Because she would cheer for her school as well as a local competition squad. You know, she just couldn’t understand why her mom would be irritated at the cost of the uniforms. It’s not like my dad doesn’t make enough money. And they pay for Alan to play ball in the spring and take karate in the fall. And they just got a new dog, but she doesn’t think she should have to ever walk the dog. I mean why would you get a dog if you were just going to make your children take care of it? She didn’t even want a dog. If she had chosen a dog it wouldn’t be one that looked like “a rat.” She would have gotten a big dog. One that would say that their family was important and could handle a big dog. OH JUST FUCKING SHOOT ME.

On the ride home, Josh informed me that his imaginary friend, Harold, doesn’t have clothes. He’s always naked. It’s ok though because he’s just imaginary and no one can see him, so he doesn’t have to wear clothes. I told Josh that was a pretty sweet deal – if no one could see me, I likely wouldn’t wear clothes either. That shut him up.

I wonder if the bun is still on the floor.