To truly laugh, you must be able to take your pain and play with it. (Charlie Chaplin)
Find a place inside where there’s joy, and the joy will burn out the pain. (Joseph Campbell)
Bad things do happen; how I respond to them defines my character and the quality of my life. I can choose to sit in perpetual sadness, immobilized by the gravity of my loss, or I can choose to rise from the pain and treasure the most precious gift I have — life itself. (Walter Anderson)
I was at the doctor’s office. There was a woman with her young son sitting across from me in the waiting room. The poor little fellow was not happy and he made sure everyone knew about his distress. That got me thinking.
As adults, we often hide our pain and our true emotions. We say we are fine, even if we are in great distress. We are often afraid to ask for help, because we might appear to be week or needy. We will suffer in silence, instead of asking for help.
However when children are hurting, physically or emotionally, they will seek out help. Children will immediately look for the people that love them and express their discomfort. Children are honest about their feelings and I admire them for that.
Last week, I had a migraine for the first time.
It felt like a vice grip was squeezing the back of my head. The pain was intense. I actually screamed and tears were flowing down my face. I could barley walk, because the slightest movement intensified the pain. Also, lights and sounds made the pain worse.
As a side note: I don’t tend to react to pain by screaming. Last year, I fell and fractured two ribs. I grumbled a bit when it happened, but there were no tears or screams. The migraine pain was exponentially worse than fracturing ribs.
I went to the ER twice that day. During the first visit, the nurse checked my blood pressure and it was normal. The doctor prescribed muscle relaxers and pain medication. I was also given three injections, an anti-inflammatory, Benadryl, and a muscle relaxer.
Twelve hours later, I had another migraine. The second one was even more painful than the first one.
Mom and Gwen took me to the hospital. When they checked my blood pressure it was 178/81. Mom asked the nurse about it, because I don’t have a history of high blood pressure. The nurse explained that extreme pain can result in elevated blood pressure.
I was given intravenous medications to knock out the migraine and sent home with strict instructions to rest.
I never truly understood the devastation caused by migraines.
To migraine suffers, you have my empathy and respect. You have to be a strong person to live with migraines.
I also want to say thanks to my family. They have been a great help. Mom and Gwen made sure I was able to rest by taking over my household chores. They also spent hours with me at the ER. Without them, I am sure my recovery would have taken a lot longer.
Today is Aaron’s birthday. It should be spent having fun, singing, and laughing. However, Aaron died three years ago. There will be no signing or laughing today.
When Aaron died, I lost my brother, Gwen lost her father, and Mom lost her son. His death created a black hole in our family. This black hole creates a suction that drags feelings of joy and happiness into it’s abyss. It only leaves feelings of despair and grief.
Our family will never be the same without Aaron. His death will impact all of us for the rest of our lives. I just wish we could somehow banish the black hole from our mist. That we could learn to laugh and sing again.
This morning, I woke up with crusty junk caked on my left eyelid and my eye was itching like crazy. Unfortunitly, I have conjunctivitis (aka: pink eye).
Conjunctivitis is highly contagious, so my family and friends immediately started to distance themselves from me. Basically, they would prefer to have no contact with me while I am infectious.
I don’t really blame them. After all, I am a walking biohazard at the moment.