I'm a Pain When I'm in Pain

by Pamela Rice Hahn

I wish I could be one of those brave souls you hear about -- able to soldier on without complaint, regardless of the obstacles encountered.

Well, I'm not -- a brave soul or someone who doesn't complain.

In fact, sometimes I complain a lot.

When I'm in pain, I get grouchy.

At times I answer in a voice that isn't pleasant. Sometimes that voice is intentional, but more often than not it's a reflection of the effort it takes to foggy-brained formulate an answer.

I try to remain optimistic and hold onto hope, but deep down I know I harbor an unhealthy amount of resentment.

Sure. I have a lot for which I'm thankful -- and I thank God more often than daily for my daughter and grandchildren, supportive family, and roof over my head. (Trust me: I learned long ago never to utter "nowhere to go but up" because malicious forces in the universe have a way of showing you how wrong that sentiment can be!) Plus, although consciously I know that I'm more fortunate than many who become ill in youth, I'm still sometimes bitter, however, that I was only able to have one child.

I'm grateful for my second marriage to a husband who loved me more than I thought possible, but I'm bitter that cancer took him away from me after only two short years of marriage.

I also learned early "to be careful what you wish for." Before my illnesses, during my restoring-antiques phase, I'd once thought I wish I had more time to go to auctions. Later, when I was out of work and had the time -- but no money, I realized that one is supposed to be specific about those wishes: I wish I had the time, money, and ability to go to auctions. I think of that every time I hear someone say "I wish I could take a nap."

I'm thankful that I have a bed to nap in, but I'm bitter that my body requires so many of them -- and that I can't afford a better bed.

I'm thankful that the Lord blessed me with certain talents, but I'm bitter that I have so few hours a week that I can put those talents to use.

I'm grateful that I have the creativity to be able to envision ways to make coping with my limitations easier, but I'm bitter that because of those limitations I've lived in this place for almost six years and I still don't have it organized into a home.

I'm even thankful each time trial and error proves to me one more food I should avoid, but I'm bitter when people make comments that, while said in jest, unintentionally hurt -- like a recent "I'd think it'd be easier to just eat what's there and suffer the consequences than to go to the trouble of bringing your own food."

I'm thankful for what I can do, but I'm bitter that I do need to rely on others for things most people take for granted as being able to do on their own, like shopping for groceries or filling a car with gas. I used to be the one who'd show up early to help prepare family dinners and stay late to help clean up -- and bring countless desserts prepared in advance as well. I was even able to keep up that pace the year when, as a single parent, I attended college full time and worked full time, too. Sure. I didn't excel at college. I was only able to maintain a 3.5 average, but I was able to maintain a lot. Now I'm bitter that I seldom have the energy to take a shower and leave the house on the same day. Now I usually have to take a nap after I've combed out my hair in preparation for a shower, and later take another nap after I've taken the shower.

I'm thankful that I have family who loves me, but I'm bitter that every time I venture outside my home to visit them, it takes me at least two days of being sick to my stomach and other exacerbated hassles to recover from each visit. Setting aside the figurative cobwebs I often must clear from my head, I joke that I literally have to clear the cobwebs off of my car before I can drive anywhere. I've put 1100 miles on my car in the last 18 months! I also joke that I'm probably the only woman in America who spends more per mile on car insurance than I do on gasoline. I won't even go into how much I miss the garage I had before I was forced to sell my house. I can joke about it all, but deep down I'm still bitter about it, too.

Maybe that's the secret, if not the resolution. Maybe I'll never find my perfect solution for how to endure my chronic illnesses. But, as long as I can hold onto the secret -- of finding humor in situations and holding onto hope that someday I'll find a working compromise for my creativity and abilities, perhaps I can keep that bitterness and resentment far enough at bay to enjoy life -- and not be too much of a pain while I do it.

Copyright © 2006-2008 by Pamela Rice Hahn.
All Rights Reserved.

Pamela Rice Hahn: Diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS) in 1990, Pamela Rice Hahn applied for and was granted total disability in 1994 for CFS, Fibromyalgia, Multiple Chemical Sensitivities, and complications from a childhood fractured skull. Over the next few years, Pam reports that she was able to write her way off of disability [lack of] income into the lousy cash flow of freelance writing. ("Sensible writers have enough savings on hand to allow for a margin of error before they embark on a freelance writing career; unfortunately, because of my circumstances I had no margin yet I still made the errors.") Since that time she has written 13 books, including The Pocket Idiot's Guide to Acing the SAT Essay, contributed to others, published hundreds of articles, and served as the CFS/Fibromyalgia Guide for About.com. Since October 2005 Pam has been again undergoing the disability application process, all the while doing everything in her power to sabotage that process in the hopes that she somehow creates the means that she can work within her limitations in a way that makes it possible for her to support herself.

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