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Its been an interesting week. An old injury of mine, a pinched nerve has flared up again and is causing me endless trouble. Indeed you know things must be bad when I am finally prodded out of my typical inertia to go and seek the help of not only a doctor, but a Chiropractor on this subject. The verdict, which gives me little comfort, is that I have a swollen disc in my neck, that has swelled to the point that now it makes direct contact with the nerve that runs down my left arm. This injury is likely rather old, indeed the Chiropractor thinks it may have resulted from my years as a High School Wrestler. I find no small irony in this, I quit wrestling nearly a decade ago, due to another, unrelated injury, yet in some ways I am still paying for a snap decision I made in the first week of my Freshman year. There is doubtless a lesson to be learned in choices and consequences to be learned there.
For those of you unfamiliar with experience of nerve pain, I can only describe as the purest expression of pain your body can give you, for it is not mixed with any other sensation (itching, burning, nausea, pressure, etc.) It still cannot compare with childbirth, as Mrs. Cartion was quick to remind me, but as she has suffered from sciatica herself, she does note that while Labor is an “active pain” a pinched nerve is pure pain for seemingly no reason whatsoever. If you have never felt this, more blessed are ye.
The night before last was particularly unpleasant. Due to the way my disc is swollen, I can only sleep on my left side, however, my left arm is the one that hurts, particularly around the elbow. That night the pain was so great, that no matter what I could not get comfortable. The problem was compounded by a bad reaction to a painkiller I took, which literally gave me an anxiety attack. Finally, there was the loneliness. It is bad enough to be lying, sleepless, listless in pain and in the dark, but when you’re trying not to wake your wife or child, you feel particularly alone; as if your torment is ultimately of concern to no one but yourself. (Of course this wasn’t true, Lucie didn’t sleep particularly well that night as a consequence of my discomfort.)
In essence you feel totally alone, alone in the dark without help, succor or peace of mind. In such circumstances you would give anything just to hear a sympathetic voice, the touch of another human being, anything to let you know that you are not alone, that the abyss has not swallowed you up and taken you beyond all reckoning of life and hope.
This was just one night. When the day dawned and I got up (unrested but eager for the new day nonetheless) there was little to evince my past torment but bad memories that were soon expunged by another day of labor and occupation. But what of those who have no sunrise to look forward to? What of those whose torment does not necessarily end at the edge of a bed? There are many millions this very day who lay in windowless cells, (whether wrought by human hands or their own emotional burdens, it matters not, for both are equally imprisoned) whose torment knows neither days nor weeks. Their pain, be it physical, emotional or spiritual isolates them and holds them captive. They too await the reassuring touch of another, to remind them that they are not alone, that they are more than the sum total of their pain, that they are human. How much good might be done, how many captives might be freed, if we just had the presence of mind to reach out to our fellow sufferers?
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