Pain By The Numbers

If you have been a past reader of my blog, you already know that I admit to being a card-carrying klutz. Being blessed with Fred Flintstone feet does not a dancer make. I have inflicted more bodily injuries to myself accidentally than probably most people alive - (with the exception of Evel Knievel, of course). That being said, I've made a few trips to the ER in my day.

One of the first questions they ask you in triage in the ER is, "On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the worst, how bad is your pain RIGHT NOW?"

Since I am such a hospital pro and an all-around kidder, I sometimes say, "Hmmm, an 11!" This answer is not just meant to be funny but is intended to express to the medical professionals surrounding me, "Hey people, you ain't got a scale big enough to handle MY pain!" Har-dee-har-har!

Some doctors and nurses humor me and chuckle, some, more realistic people at the end of their long shifts have said, "I said one to ten honey. Eleven is one more than ten - not on my scale. Just answer the question!"

So, I say to you now that this past year, 2009 - in review - (because I'm going to humor myself), has been a bona-fide eleven.

I started this blog in March. It was a way to relieve stress by trying to be funny for SOMEONE or ANYONE out there that might listen to the rantings of a stay-at-home-mom. Let's face it, I have a lot to say, and sadly, somehow I think other people want to hear it. But I digress. Initially, for the first few months I wrote with fervor and ease. It was like my body was one big tea kettle steaming up; when I wrote about the daily things that struck me as funny and hit "Publish" on the blog page, I knew I'd be okay for another day. Just like the kettle whistling and being moved to a cool burner in order to settle the noise.

I didn't make it public that I was going through a divorce. I sort of slowed down on my writing as the stress that had been relieved through writing about other things could no longer be quelled as easily. And although I didn't have writer's block, I had what I call my "computer phobia." It was almost as if by simply opening my lap top and going on line, I was opening myself up to the world out there where to me, it seemed like everyone was living and laughing and my life did not seem funny at all. There were things I came across during that time that I thought were hysterical. I wrote them down in a notebook, but I couldn't expound on them because it meant that if I typed I had to FEEL something; and I was done feeling out loud. Suddenly, when I did write, I wrote that my kids were with their Dad for the weekend. That was it. I had been sharing about my life, but not about that part of it. There are big reasons for that - it's private and emotional. So, I'm not saying anything about my pending divorce, except that this year has been an 11 in my book.

I have learned a lot about myself this past year. Mistakes have abounded. I have half-read dozens of self-help novels. I find that I star in more books than I care to admit! The stress in the beginning had me losing weight like crazy. See my post "Bless Me Father, For I Have Thinned"; but prior to that I had written another blog post where I saw my body fat lifted above the bath water and related it to my tummy looking like Washington state! (See "I Just Discovered a New Scientific Phenomenon"). So, this year I have lost 50 pounds and quickly (as I became more sure of myself) gained back 15. Going from married size 14 to a separated size 8 in 0-6 months is a big deal. Putting that weight back on means I'm healthier in my mind because I'm back to craving the chocolate that will forever remain my constant best friend.

To help quell the loss of my dog that died after Christmas 2008, and to help fill the hole left behind by my children's visits away with their dad, I adopted a dog. This dog was a high-energy, beautiful Irish Red and White Setter named Cowboy. (This dog is a whole other blog post, and I'll go there another day). Anyway, the dog was-and is-my daily companion when my kids are here, and especially when they are not. Cowboy was blind in one eye from birth; as soon as I got him, that blind eye got punctured and had to be removed. I promise you, the pain of that injury and subsequent surgery was absolutely a 12 for him and for me. So, me - newly separated and sometimes-minus-my kids was walking my new dog, who was on his third home and minus-one-right-eyeball. We made quite a pair. We were the "Walking 8s" on the pain scale.

As we walked, we breathed fresh air, and met my neighbors and felt better. I hiked and Cowboy pulled me up the terrain I had a tough time with; I threw a frisbee for Cowboy to chase, and Cowboy stole my kid's toys or took my food off the counter so I would chase him. I walked him and cried, and I walked him and laughed. It was a give-and-take kind of relationship - not always fair, but mostly even, and done with love.

I learned that all that reading of self-help books wouldn't do me any good if I didn't know how to repair a leaky faucet which might eventually drown us all in our beds, so I turned from self-help books to Do-It-Yourself books. During this time, I also turned to TV for the "All-the-help-I-could-get-for-free" Reality TV shows I needed to survive daily life. I had moments with my children and the dog in our life adjustments that turned us all into 9s on the scale. I watched "Super Nanny" for me, and for Cowboy, "The Dog Whisperer." Thanks, Jo Frost ("That's not at-cept-a-bow behav-yuh") and thanks, Caesar, ("You must be the PACK LEADER! Ch-ch - No!")

Some of the best things come from pain. Some of the worst pains come from things you never thought you'd ever have to think about. Either way, I find, you learn if you are open to it. Getting hit with a two-by-four of any kind of reality is at least a nine in my book. In divorce, you find out who really did like you, and who really didn't. Thank God that I was right about the people I knew would never desert me; they didn't. Some people who stayed with me surprised me, and others just "showed up" with love, care and concern when I needed it the most. Some people I think are lost to me by virtue of the fact that they are not involved and don't know what to do - divorce is a gray area. Stand by family, right? Right. That gets to be an automatic and sad loss for me in many cases. I tried to find some good things about the ones I "lost" that I never really liked, and here's what I came up with: in marriage, there's always someone you have to put up with but wish you didn't. You put up with them because they are "his friends" or "his family" or "her friends" or "her family" - whatever your case may be. Guess what? In a divorce, you don't have to put up with those people any more! It's a great relief. I mean, heck, if you're going to have to find a positive in a horrible situation, that's a good one! Yea! No more visits from Nasty Aunt Edna who picks her nose at the dinner table! (Disclaimer: This is just an example; no one in this family has an Aunt Edna). Looking at life in this way makes an 11 seem more like an eight.

Also, in becoming this new person though the pain, I decided to let the "real" me shine through. My last blog post is all about going au natural - gray. I am 9 weeks dye-free, 80% gray and loving it. There's a real freedom to looking at yourself and knowing that this is really you; flaws and all.

When I broke my bones in my klutziness over the years, I visited the ER more times than I'd like to admit. Each time I was injured, I had to give my pain scale number to someone. Each time, I joked through my pain, smiled, then cried when I was home and sore and no one was looking. A broken finger was maybe a five compared to a broken foot, that was a seven, but still, they were broken, and there was pain. Each time there was a break, I had to take time to take care of me so that I could heal. Each time, I came out of each painful experience a little worse for wear, but wiser. ("Next time I'll be SURE not to close my own car door on my own finger!") I am hoping that this 11 will soon feel more like a nine, then an eight, then a seven, etc. If my past experience is any guage, I know with time, the pain will subside and I'll get better. Either way, I'll still find funny things to write about, and I'll still be a klutz, and spiders will still, I'm sure, fall into my bra. (See "A Really Good Reason to Have a Great Fitting Bra"). I promise in 2010 to write more often because I'm less afraid to "feel out loud" again. My computer phobia is now waning. And, by the way, if anyone knows someone who might think I'm the least bit funny, I'd love a writing job! I'm going to have to support myself somehow; and with my history of injury, waitressing is no longer an option.

Thanks for waiting, thanks for reading, thanks for sharing. Happy New Year!

Cheerth!