A Reminder

There comes a point in all of our lives when we realize that we are mortal, that we are susceptible to the arrow of death and are limited by the fragile nature of our imperfect human bodies. It's a rite of passage, really.

That moment came for me when I was 28-years-old, in early 2002. A pain in my right leg that made my sleep progressively more uncomfortable gave way to such an extreme claudication that I could no longer go to work. In the ensuing nine months I would submit to three epidural steroid injections, weeks of often painful physical therapy and two discectomies. I became one of the millions of individuals in this country who succumb to radiculopathy secondary to lumbar disc herniation. In layman's terms, I had a slipped disc; two, really.

Other than a few isolated incidents, I had led a relatively pain-free life prior to my back surgeries. In 2002 pain became a daily part of my life. It was always with me, like a shadow in daylight. I could sit down to partially alleviate the symptoms of my underlying orthopedic pathology, but even that was uncomfortable. Sleeping in a supine position was practically impossible; walking was torturous.

Since my surgeries I've recovered a lot of my mobility, although I doubt I will ever return to my pre-2002 self. I must always be vigilant against re-injuring my back. I no longer move my own furniture, I limit the amount of time I spend in any one position and I avoid activities that require me to keep my back bent for prolonged periods of time.

On Wednesday I noticed that my back was bothering me as I got ready for work. I laid down for a while, actually falling back asleep (something I rarely do). When I awoke, I found it difficult to get up. I spent all day in bed. The next morning my situation had little changed. By the evening, I could get up and down from the chair in my living room with some difficulty. I was better the next day, but walking and standing were still difficult and painful. Several mega-doses of naproxen later, I have greater mobility and was able to go to church today. I will go to work tomorrow, and hopefully will be able to stay the entire day.

These episodes of debilitating back pain are rare, thankfully, but they serve as a reminder that I am a fragile human being, despite my tall and powerful-looking frame. They are reminders I could -- and would much prefer to -- do without. Wishing away my infirmities is a fool's errand. Instead I am learning to live with pain, the actuality of pain and the constant threat of pain. Unfortunately, no one can live like this without changing, and I know that living under the constant threat of pain has fundamentally changed me.