It would have been around a quarter past 3PM. The date I am sure of. January 13 1986.
It was a stressful day at the pre school where I was a teacher. My colleagues were sick and I was alone with a sub who's was doing her first day. Carpenters did some work in the kitchen and the place was a mess. We had just cleaned the tables efter the afternoon snack. I was seven months pregnant and that morning I was informed of some labs, it turned out I had developed diabetes. Hopefully that would go away after the pregnancy, it still was bad news though.
The children were running around as they always did that time of day, afternoon tired and all. In the midst of all that I had a contraction. A cramp that didn’t want to ease out. It just stayed there. And the contraction sort of moved further, to the left side of my upper back. The stomach contraction eased out after a while but not the one in the back. Stuck.
I remember thinking that I would lie down on the couch when most of the children had been picked up, certain that the cramp would let go. But it didn’t. Home in the evening, sure a night’s sleep would solve the problem. It did not. The upper back cramp was still there in the morning. Every morning. I never returned to work before my first child was born. And that was the start of my career as a back pain patient and a very different life.
I am often thinking it is a blessing how we don’t know anything about the future. “If I just lie down and rest this will ease out (and I will be as I am used to being, back to normal)”. Was my ignorant thought, and why would I think something else? If someone had told me in that moment:
“No my dear, this will never ease out. This is the start of a pain that will be your companion for the rest of your life. It will grow worse and finally cripple you so you won’t be able to take care of yourself. You will not be able to carry that little baby you are waiting for, nor his brother. And you will be constantly tired, having very little patience and always feeling like a bad mother”.
If someone had told me that.
It’s been 30 years now. Exactly half my life. Do I want to call that an anniversary?
Half my life. Although it feels like all my life. I don’t remember what it was like being pain free. I know I was. I had a life where I did everything people do. A normal life. Including loving dancing and going downhill black slopes in the Alps. I know I did. Watching downhill competitions on TV I can feel the movements in my body. I feel my thighs burn at the end of the slope. As I can feel the floating freedom watching people dance.
But, it’s like there is a gorge. Where my before-pain-life ended and the next part of my life started. They are not connected. It’s like the before-life was someone else's life. And my guess is that’s why I feel there was nothing before the pain. Like the pain has been there all my life.
How am I doing today, on this 30-year anniversary, what’s my status? Well, I have been in one of my better periods for a while, for which I am very grateful. A little bit more moveable and my body less scared. These last days I have been able to extend my (accompanied) walks all the way to the creek. It has been fantastic. Last time that happened was exactly a year ago. Four walks at that time. Four walks now. But today I got worse. So we’ll see if four January walks is a pattern.
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