In the Good Times

"I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship" - Louisa May Alcott, Little Women

It’s strange how complicated yet obvious life gets when there are no answers. When you’ve dealt with chronic pain for years, it’s like you develop two sides. Obviously when I’m not in pain, I am strong – the favorable kind of strong. The daughter who feels an immense amount of gratitude for her parents and their struggles to bring her here. The friend who laughs a lot and gives the best presents. The girlfriend who loves tucking her partner in every night. A reliable student with straight A’s and every email answered. An adventurer who regularly looks for something new. 

Until she eats that something new on her plate (oh don’t get me started if it happens during that time of month). She puts the food in her mouth and is overcome with a feeling of dread, pleasure, and temptation all at once. 

“This wrap is so scrumptious! The chicken is well marinated and seasoned. Who can go wrong with spinach? And this spicy cilantro sauce is mouth watering! But it’s spicy and this romaine lettuce might be a mistake. It’s just, this wrap looks so good, but oh my tummy hurts. I bought this wrap and I am so hungry. At least the ingredients are healthy so in a way they can only improve my faulty digestion. 

“Jeez, my stomach hurts so bad. It’s swelling.  Already? Shit, I love this crop top. I looked so wonderful in it this morning . Now is not the time to puff up!” 

A sharp ache in her right ovary hits. She can’t help but place her right hand there. 

“I’m so tired. How did I even get to class today? Oof it’s painful to walk.” 

Her right pelvic region begins to throb harder as her right hand clutches tighter. The room starts spinning. Here we go again. 

It’s complicated when I am in pain. The ceiling is dark and immense spasms shoot up my back and down my leg. I cramp even when I am not on my period. Time to take a hefty checklist of medications. They don’t help. But I do it because it’s “the least I can do”  

There is always something I can do, even though I will look 6 months pregnant and be on a liquid diet for the next few days – or weeks, or months, or years. Decades? Hopefully I don’t live a century. 

My phone shows 30 unanswered emails and 5 unopened assignments. Time to cancel this week’s meetings as a tear begins to shed. Forget meetings – I am on crutches. I can’t feel my limbs. I can play catch up when I begin to feel again, when I’m normal again. But so far that hasn’t happened. In fact, the wheel spun in the opposite direction as the majority of my life took a pause. Life paused because I am feeling so much. I am  connected to all my emotions, senses, and inner storm more than ever. It’s almost an awakening of some sort. I am strong – the unfavorable kind of strong. Is this what it means to be a human being? 

Sometimes I wonder how I am still alive. It’s impressive how my heart continues to beat riding along a dirt road in an unexplainable void. At least I hear no words from every doctor I visit. When I’m in pain, all my satisfying labels are stripped from me, leaving me as just someone. In that sense, I feel worse during the good times because I can no longer recognize myself. The usual blind smile across my face seems more superficial than anything. Everyone looks just as distant. The familiar things become a reminiscent shadow as my human experience expands. My transformation flows in sync with my pain. It is my biggest teacher. 

Although it’s now always there, my pain gave me a gift: the ability to feel everything. Life becomes amazingly slow. It’s a miracle how intricate and delicate it is. Air contains just enough oxygen for us to be able to breathe. Gravity is just strong enough to keep everything stable. The universe is self-sustainable and moves with little friction. Maybe that’s why I am alive. My own inner structure supports every breath, tear, and laugh. And likewise, it performs incredible healing work that will make me victorious. No matter how good or bad it feels, the machinery of life remains the same. It’s beautiful. It’s fair. It’s a miracle. Even in the darkest of moments, perhaps recognizing this is enough to feel alive.