Unexplained?

Okay, I know there are days when my pain is worse then others. Like the other day when I couldn't make it to my brother's house to watch the Academy Awards. That was horrible. Trying to get there and having to turn around because the traffic was awful and the pain was intolerable. The next day, Monday, wasn't much better but I had to get some things at the store. I usually go to the Fred Meyer nearer to me, but I went to one a little further away because I saw something there last week and wasn't sure it would be at the store I usually patron.


So I was in line at the check-out, which is unusual for me too. I generally check myself out. But I had a lot of produce and wasn't in the mood to look them up or punch in the numbers so I took it to a cashier. By then, my pain was through the roof; my legs were on fire and tingling and it felt like I was being stabbed with knives. I swear, they were about to give out on me. I tried to keep myself calm, but I was moaning out loud....trying desperately to hold it together. When that happens, sometimes strangers respond. The cashier asked me if I was okay or if I needed help. I tried to smile, I told her it was chronic and I just needed to get home, but thank you very much for your concern.


Then something odd happened. As I was reaching for my bag, she leaned over the cashier belt and put her hands on me. She said a very short prayer. Very short. Something like "G-d be with you" I can't remember. I thanked her, walked away, and the cynical me mumbled "Who?" (in reference to G-d). I was so angry about Sunday, about my situation in general, that I have been lashing out at my beliefs This is the part I can't explain. The pain started to dissipate. Within minutes of her putting her hand on my arm. Now, the intensity of the pain wavers from a 6-10. It use to stay at about "5" but not anymore. Now it's intense all the time. And I had taken a pain pill (which does next to nothing) so I kind of wrote it off as that. But the intensity of the pain has stayed a tad lower then normal since then. So far. I see a healer every two weeks and she helps a lot. The relief never lasts long, but I take what I can get. My head wants to write this off completely. My legs are burning like hell right now, and I wanted to do a few more things today (I went out once already but forgot some things).


 I want to go back to that Fred Meyer and see if I can find her. I want to ask her if she is a healer. I want to tell her what happened to me. But the stubborn me won't let me do that. Not right now. I don't trust it. I don't trust anything anymore. What I feel is that THIS is all an accident. I was born under a godless sky and inhabit a body that was never meant to live this long. I've had more diseases then there are varieties of candy. I look around me at all the pain and anguish in the world, and I have a hard time holding on to any kind of belief system. It comes and goes, just like the pain. My fear is that if I am wrong, I will be punished further for not "doing what I am suppose to do" in this life....whatever the hell that is. So I do nothing. I can't concentrate. I can't focus. All I can do is BE. To Be. I am a verb, nothing more.

My Dad and Me

What makes it possible for my dad, who is 86 years old, able to move about in spite of the pain he has in his lower back and legs? He says he just pushes himself…but he describes his pain much like what I have….tingling down his legs, etc. He can’t straighten upright very well. He can’t walk very well and uses a walker almost all the time now. But he can sit comfortably, something I cannot do for more then an hour at best. I know we suffer from different ailments…much of what he feels is due to aging, though he also has stenosis of the spine. I, on the other hand, have tumors everywhere. But I don’t push myself like he does. I do some, that’s for sure….just getting myself to the grocery store is a chore sometimes. I do it because I have to, just like him. Yet I feel horribly guilty because I think I should be doing more….and I think I should be doing everything better. After all, I am 30 years younger then him. But I know that age has little to do with it. I know that cognitively…but in my heart? All I feel is guilt. Guilt because I didn’t do more, try harder in spite of. Guilt because I don’t push harder, more often. Guilt because everyone around me is paying for the air I breathe And I don’t even want to breathe anymore. I’m just too scared to do anything about it.