Avoiding pain

This morning I got a text from a friend I hadn’t heard from in a few weeks, and it read like this: “I’m sorry I haven’t contacted you in a while, I’ve been really sad over the weight I’ve felt about losing Bob. I didn’t notice just how much he had a place in my life, and I didn’t want to bring you down with my sadness.” That wasn’t exactly what was said, but it was the idea. And truth be told, I wasn’t upset we hadn’t really talked. Life with kids- my kids, other people’s kids. Good luck having any phone conversations with me before 8 p.m. and if it’s like Skype or Facetime just give up now. Honestly, I was more sad I couldn’t help her with her own pain. And it got me thinking about all the things we do to avoid pain.

There are all kinds of pain, but we as humans (and really animals everywhere) try to avoid it as much as possible. But mental pain isn’t something you can fix with stitches or some antibiotics. There are just lots of “coping mechanisms.” My tactic is still writing a lot. (I have the blog, and 2 journals. One is in my purse for “spur of the moment” things I just need to get out. One is my journal and I write a letter every night before bed.) Some people use video games or TV. Some people obsess into books. And for some people drugs are the answer. (And if you’re wondering how a person can choose drugs over so many other options I am happy to know you have never had a pain so deep that you would do anything to make it go away , with no other option in your mind to think of.)

I remember watching those new drug commercials on TV with my sister, and she asked when they listed the symptoms “that may include death, do not take if you’re allergic to the ingredients.” She was wondering why anyone would take something you are allergic too, and the answer is pain. If you are in enough pain, or if you’re looking for hope somewhere, you will try anything. I am glad Bob and I were on the same page when he said he would do anything needed to get rid of his cancer. He did chemo. He did radiation. He did immunotherapy (but had to stop because of the radiation). He even started chemo again. He did blood transfusions. He did everything to stop his physical pain and slow the mental pain around him. He wanted to beat it. And everything offered to him he read up on and tried. Side effects are a scary thing, but taking whatever risk is more important if it’s a matter of living or dying.

Someone very close to me went from hydrocodone to oxycodone to heroin (or some combination like that, that led to heroin). It was because of physical pain. We were all taught as kids that heroin was bad, but it made the terrible pain go away. Bob took oxycodone every day (and dealt with the side effects of it) because it made him care less about his own pain. He had tumors and compression fractures on his spine. There was no healing about it, the tumors just lessened for a while but the damage had been done.

But for everything that can be said about the harm of physical pain, mental pain is far worse. It can take much longer to heal, and honestly it might never heal. It can make you feel like half a person, or it can make your whole body just refuse to get up. When Bob was going through all these treatments I had the realization that I could no longer talk to his family about his treatments. It wasn’t because they had done something wrong, or thought we were doing the wrong thing. It was because the pain that they felt was so intense that I couldn’t add to it by telling them more of what I knew, because I didn’t want to cause them more pain. And I didn’t want to add to my own, that I was hiding deep under the hope & positivity we kept showing. Bob would talk to them about some of the procedures or test results, but I couldn’t. I could talk to friends or my own family, but I couldn’t talk to his parents about it.

So I don’t mind that my friend hadn’t reached out to me. I knew she would on her own time. This shitty journey is one we all have to face in our own way, and there is no running from it. Drinking more won’t make you feel better. Using drugs won’t make you feel better. Talking to someone WILL make you feel better. Writing might make you feel better, it does for me.

So if you think you can’t talk to me- you can. If you think your problems “are nothing compared to mine”- they are. If I can’t answer I won’t, and honestly if I’m having a hard time I’ll tell you. I will give you some Bob wisdom I have finally adopted- if I have a problem I will tell you. Funny story- years and years ago I came home to the apartment from a terrible day at work in pharmacy and punched a wall like as soon as I got in the door. Bob told me to stop, but not the way you’re thinking. He got a beer (possibly 2) and took me upstairs. He wrapped up my hands with boxing glove wraps, and then let me have at it on my very sturdy bed head board. I punched, yelled, and screamed out my frustration. And I remember looking over at Bob standing in the doorway, looking actually a little frightened and worried, but he just stood there drinking his beer, waiting for me to be done. He had made sure I was safe first, and then just watched over me. And when I asked him about it later, he told me that if he’d wanted to leave, he would have. But he was there for me in the way I needed.

You don’t need someone telling you to move on from this, or telling you “it will get better someday.” Truth is, the truth might be easier to handle someday (I hope), but it’s never “better.” Look at this badass I have become in the last 3 months. Who would have thought this level of confidence was hiding underneath my crazy? Bob knew it was there, he watched me for far longer than I realized. He knew I would raise his girls and not hide away from all this pain. I wish to God I could most days, but that’s not who I am. It’s never who I was, and he just had to show me. Granted, I would have taken a different way to show me….