The Journey of Pain
By: Jedi Gorilla
Tags: Back Pain, Chronic Pain, Pain

The Journey of Pain

How chronic pain can change who you are

At age 39, a disc blew out in my back and I descended into a world of pain. Twice since then, surgeons have opened my spinal cord to the light of day and cut pieces of my lumbar discs away. The surgeries have eased much of the pain, but left me permanently scared, in a mostly mental way.

For most people, pain is a useful signal that something is wrong. It hurts, and the disruption it causes is necessary because without it we wouldn’t take the time to fix ourselves.

But pain is a curious thing when it’s present for weeks or months on end. It stops being a necessary signal and it begins to alter your reality. Pain can begin to mediate your experience of the world, so that everything you do is within the context of the pain.

Pain is a Lens

Your brain presents pain as a task. It doesn’t care what you are doing at that moment. You could be enjoying a hobby, having sex, working, or anything. Regardless, the pain demands attention and it’s ability to interrupt is what makes it such an effective teacher.

The problem is that flow states, central to the practice of any craft, require you to get lost in your activity. Flow blurs the line between you and what you’re doing. Getting lost in your activity is a joy in itself. But pain constantly short circuits this process.

Let’s say you are trying to write an story and you’re thinking about words. Suddenly you feel pain. Your brain disengages from writing and thinks, “Oww. That hurts.” but you wrench your focus back to the words. Then “Oww, I need to stand up.” Then back to writing, but “maybe a stretch will help.” And it goes on like this. It adds a constant activity to your brain. Sure you can do other things. But you have to do them as you manage your pain. Suddenly, every single task is multitasking.

When this goes on for weeks, pain becomes a lens that you see the world through. It’s a filter that can temper joy. It can muffle love. Steal the crispness of beauty. It’s like a slow leak that can empty you out and leave you a shell.

Bliss

As I began to recover, I remember a specific morning. I had just woken and was lying in bed. I had not yet moved a muscle. I thought about my body and my back, and I realized that I wasn’t in pain for the first time in months.

It was… bliss. A wave of joy washed over me. It was delicious experience and I savored it. I let it fill me up. In that moment, I remembered life, unsullied by pain. I’ve never been so aware and happy about the lack of feeling.

Shane Koyczan said “We’re meant to endure difficulty, if for no other reason than it gives us a reference point that allows us to navigate to something better.”

That morning, in bed, the pain returned upon moving. But in that moment of bliss, I remembered what life is supposed to be. I got my bearing back.

Pain is a Thief

Once you begin to get better you start to have more moments pain free. But you’re constantly making sure that you don’t do anything that might put you back in pain. Chronic pain adds up to such a brutal experience, that you find yourself willing to trade just about anything for simple, pain free life.

It goes like this:

Last week, I bent down awkwardly to pet the cat. The mistake cost me a two week set back. Is petting the cat worth two weeks of pain? Absolutely not.

But this line of thinking escalates. Suddenly all the things you want to do are out of reach and the dreams you have start to fade away. Going out on the boat? No. A motorcycle trip in Norway? Not going to happen. Backpacking the Appalachian Trail? No fucking way.

Relief from pain is a powerful feeling, and it’s addictive. But how do you balance the pleasure of being pain free with the pain of letting go of the things that make life worth living. What we do defines who we are and who we want to be.

Risking pain

I’ve always considered myself a rugged person. I’ve backpacked, built furniture, rode a skateboard and a motorcycle. But I now balance the risk of doing those things against the horror of the chronic pain I felt. It’s gone on so long that I have begun to wonder if I am even the same person anymore.

I constantly think about this risk as a cost / benefit analysis. “How much do I really want to do this ? How risky is it? Is it worth risking pain? How much pain?”

But I remind myself that I must push to do the things I really want in life, because the moment I let pain stop me from pursuing joy, is the moment that life stops being worth living.