the gift of time

I've just spent the last week recovering from a painful operation. I want to wax lyrical about the enlightening experience of pain and the new appreciation that it gave me for my health. But it was just shitting sore. Literally. I found myself doing what I get annoyed at patients doing: being astounded that one should suffer from such a degree of pain. It seemed almost inconceivable that this level of pain could be associated with a healing process. I found myself resorting to Dr Google in the early hours of the morning when I could not sleep, and latching onto similar stories shared by anonymous others online. I felt like the surgeon had not prepared me for this; his 'you'll be sore for a few days' did not cut it when I felt like could have passed out during a purgatorial trip to the bathroom. 

But I did learn that with pain comes the gift of time. Time slows, as we observe and experience our own suffering. We wrestle with fear that this moment will not pass, or that it will get worse. In the midst of pain, there is a realization of our spectacular human frailty, and a delineating of what we are as opposed to what we think or hope or fear that we are. We may be surprised at our resilience or shocked at our fragility.  It may not be as dramatic as spending the day in bed crying, but rather a more sinister, sabotaging of our greatest attributes upon which we pride ourselves.  We see that our patience with and tolerance of others is largely dependent on our own sense of comfort and fulfillment,  not on our altruism and sacrifice. And of course we can give ourselves slack and 'room to be human' - but our humanness is emphasized,  and its capricious nature depends so much on the stability,  peace and pleasantness of its surrounding environment. This reminds me that my resilience and capacity for goodness - whether that is being kind or patient or listening or encouraging - may largely be products of the general blessedness and beauty and luxury of my cossetted life. I cannot judge others for not displaying this trait or that trait, when often I will know little of the pressure that life is exerting on them that day.

Time was also literally gifted to me. I had to take time off work, and then had to extend that further. I was not able to play with my daughter as I usually would, and my wife carried the main burden of caring for us all. I enjoyed being forced to slow down, though. Walking slower, moving slower, being forced to be aware even of how I sit. It made me mindful of what I do. This was obviously bothersome at times, but it was good too. I could feel the pain, accept it, and then adapt what I did around that, or I could focus on it and get annoyed at it and become fearful of it.

It was, ultimately, a good learning opportunity,  and a reminder that I have little right to think that I know what someone means when they are in pain. Maybe I have a little bit more of an inkling that far and beyond a physical sensation, someone's sleep, mood, ability to think  and act as they wish, may be severely impaired. And with that comes disappointment and frustration and weariness.

If you know someone who lives with some degree of chronic pain,  or any chronic illness, or someone who is having a painful procedure, remember that their 'humanity' may be being tested, and they may be struggling to deal with what they are seeing and learning about their self. This has definitely taught me some empathy, even with the people who listed their weekly progress of bowel movements on haemmorhoidectomy discussion forums.