Pain
Unsurprisingly, I've been thinking a lot about pain this week. I can't seem to stop. I guess a second kidney stone in less than a month will make you do that.
Maybe putting this out there will help cleanse my mind of the topic.
Sunday night sucked. I'd never experienced such pain. Back in highschool I earned my black belt in Kempo. The test for that wasn't one of skill or knowledge. Sensei John wouldn't ask you to take the test until you had already demonstrated both to his satisfaction. That's not what separates a brown belt from a black belt. What separates them is force of will.
The test is designed to make you quit. Wind sprints, continuous drills, hour long fights. All you have to do to pass is refuse to quit, no matter how tired you are, no matter how much pain you're feeling. You keep getting up until the test is done. It's meant to prove to you that whatever situation you find yourself in, you will not quit until you've made it through.
My test was eight hours long and I don't remember most of it. I do remember passing.
Sunday night was worse. It was a classic example of taking things one step at a time. After finally deciding the pain was bad enough to warrant a hospital visit, I woke Claire. The first step was standing the pain until we left.
The track playing over and over inside my head: 'Just make it until we leave.'
Probably only five minutes, but it seemed an eternity.
Then a necessarily slow drive across the city through snow clogged streets. Some gasping conversation with Claire as we went, but mostly the near silence of my heavy breathing. Often punctuated with moans of pain.
'Just make it to the hospital.'
I cycled through every pain management method I know and even made up a few. I went to Jack's special place from Fight Club. The ice cave melted and I was back in the car.
I built a wall between my mind and body. The wall crumbled and I was left gasping.
I pictured the six sides of a box closing in on the pain from the top of my head, bottom of my feet, front, back and sides of my torso to separate it from me. The pain intensified.
I pictured a flame and fed all the pain into it. That worked for a while, but then didn't.
I breathed deeply, imagining the pain dissolving throughout my body and leaving with each breath. Unlike all the other methods, this wasn't refusal. It was acceptance. That worked the longest.
We got to the hospital and I hobbled the twenty feet from the car. Two feet from the door I started puking and didn't stop for a few minutes. Imagine what a convulsing stomach does to an already screaming 'left flank.'
'Just make it in the door.'
There were no nurses at triage. When one finally came she had me sit down as she took my history.
"Please tell me painkillers are in my future," I rasped, chuckling drily.
She smiled. "Son, painkillers are most definitely in your future."
That nurse handed me off to another.
'Just make it to the hospital bed.'
They had me change into a hosptial gown and hooked me up to an IV. Still no painkillers though. Five minutes later I got a shot of anti-inflammatories. That eased the discomfort by a fraction.
'Just make it until the morphine.'
Another five minutes later she brought the first shot of morphine. Two minutes later the pain dissolved completely. A half hour later the shot wore off and it came back, just as bad. And so on for the next four hours.
Maybe putting this out there will help cleanse my mind of the topic.
Sunday night sucked. I'd never experienced such pain. Back in highschool I earned my black belt in Kempo. The test for that wasn't one of skill or knowledge. Sensei John wouldn't ask you to take the test until you had already demonstrated both to his satisfaction. That's not what separates a brown belt from a black belt. What separates them is force of will.
The test is designed to make you quit. Wind sprints, continuous drills, hour long fights. All you have to do to pass is refuse to quit, no matter how tired you are, no matter how much pain you're feeling. You keep getting up until the test is done. It's meant to prove to you that whatever situation you find yourself in, you will not quit until you've made it through.
My test was eight hours long and I don't remember most of it. I do remember passing.
Sunday night was worse. It was a classic example of taking things one step at a time. After finally deciding the pain was bad enough to warrant a hospital visit, I woke Claire. The first step was standing the pain until we left.
The track playing over and over inside my head: 'Just make it until we leave.'
Probably only five minutes, but it seemed an eternity.
Then a necessarily slow drive across the city through snow clogged streets. Some gasping conversation with Claire as we went, but mostly the near silence of my heavy breathing. Often punctuated with moans of pain.
'Just make it to the hospital.'
I cycled through every pain management method I know and even made up a few. I went to Jack's special place from Fight Club. The ice cave melted and I was back in the car.
I built a wall between my mind and body. The wall crumbled and I was left gasping.
I pictured the six sides of a box closing in on the pain from the top of my head, bottom of my feet, front, back and sides of my torso to separate it from me. The pain intensified.
I pictured a flame and fed all the pain into it. That worked for a while, but then didn't.
I breathed deeply, imagining the pain dissolving throughout my body and leaving with each breath. Unlike all the other methods, this wasn't refusal. It was acceptance. That worked the longest.
We got to the hospital and I hobbled the twenty feet from the car. Two feet from the door I started puking and didn't stop for a few minutes. Imagine what a convulsing stomach does to an already screaming 'left flank.'
'Just make it in the door.'
There were no nurses at triage. When one finally came she had me sit down as she took my history.
"Please tell me painkillers are in my future," I rasped, chuckling drily.
She smiled. "Son, painkillers are most definitely in your future."
That nurse handed me off to another.
'Just make it to the hospital bed.'
They had me change into a hosptial gown and hooked me up to an IV. Still no painkillers though. Five minutes later I got a shot of anti-inflammatories. That eased the discomfort by a fraction.
'Just make it until the morphine.'
Another five minutes later she brought the first shot of morphine. Two minutes later the pain dissolved completely. A half hour later the shot wore off and it came back, just as bad. And so on for the next four hours.
