Don't mind me, just felt like whining
Pain. I had lower back surgery in 1999. I put it off for years. I simply put up with the pain and went about my business. In 1999 my right leg stopped working. The stupid thing simply refused to do anything I asked of it. All it did was hurt.
I was driving my rig into Louisville, KY during rush hour and traffic suddenly decided to stop in front of me as traffic has the annoying habit of doing for no apparent reason. I went to step on the brake to bring my rig to a halt, but nothing happened. My right leg just refused to cooperate and move over to the brake pedal as needed. Well, needless to say (so why are you saying it?) this was a rather nasty turn of events.
I managed to get the rig pulled off onto the shoulder of the highway and stopped using just my right arm on the shifter and trolley brake and my left leg busy with the clutch and brake in turns. Took me a good five minutes to pry the seat out of my backside after that.
Well, after being transported home and having surgery to remove two blown-out disks in my lower back and a couple of months of physical therapy, my leg was functional and cooperative once again. From that perspective the operation was a sucess. But, as the neurosurgeon warned me might happen, the nerve damage was extensive and the pain was far worse than before.
My back and right leg hurt like blazes all of the time. On some days, like today, the pain is quite unbearable and I have a difficult time walking. At these times the right leg hurts tremendously and becomes weak and uncooperative. It still works, but only with a great deal of pain as the price for function. These are the days when I must use my cane to hobble around like a 90 year old. These are the days when I must call upon all of my strength to bear up and keep going in spite of it all. These are the days when the depression comes a-calling in all it's grey glory.
Depression. Since I was a teenager I have suffered a chemical imbalance in my brain which causes neural receptors to malfunction and a deep, chronic depression seeps into my being. Long boughts of extreme pain hastens the process and the depression gallops in on a black steed to trample my very being.
I underwent drug treatment for about two years when the dark depression was at it's worst. I had been blinded by a lightening strike and was sighless for over two months. During the time of my journey in darkness I summoned all my strength and resolve to get by. At first the doctors weren't sure if my sight would return, and I steeled myself for this possibility.
Later, there were signs that the retinas were healing and there were flickers of light around the periphery of my vision. Hope set in, and I was more determined to maintain strength and dignity through the ordeal. Eventually my site returned. Well, most of it anyway. To this day I have a small grey blind spot in the center of my vision. This spot, they say, will be there the rest of my life. But, compared to total blackness, it's a good trade.
It was after I had finally recovered my sight that the severe depression attacked with a vengance. The doctors said it was something akin to post tramatic stress combined with the chemical problems in my brain. I doubt I would have survived except for my strong will to overcome. I found myself sitting on the couch holding a .357 in my hand. I don't even remember going into the gun safe and drawing it out.
Something inside of me looked down at it and cried out within me to live. I immediately went to my doctor to seek help. I also prayed a great deal during this dark time.
Eventually, after two years, the grey fog lifted and I once again walked in the daylight. I was weaned off the pills and have never taken them again. But there are days, like today, when the onslaught of terrible, unbearable pain brings that fog close. It seeps in from the edges of perception in an attempt to blanket me in it's dark, clammy embrace.
It is these days that I am forced to summon up all that is good, and bright, and strong within me to beat back the fog with a fury. I cry out and rail against it. I use the pain to fire my fury against the blackness and summon the light back in.
But I get tired, too. It is a battle which saps the strength and wearies the will. And the pain continues relentlessly. No pain killers. They do little good against the nerve pain and serve only to encourage the fog by decreasing the will. The pain is my enemy. It is also my friend. It fires the will. Something tangible to fight against. As long as there is pain, I am alive.
I usually try to keep my articles upbeat and interesting, but at this time I felt the need to express a bit of angst. To any unfortunate enough to stumble upon this, I apologize. I never intend to bring down a reader of my mind. Today is just one of those 'bad' days and I felt the need to purge all this from my system. A catharsis of sorts.