When a child goes to the doctor complaining of pain, the doctor's first tactic is to ask the child "what does it feel like?" Sometimes, I wish I had the words to describe the physical feeling of chronic pain. Just so someone could understand, like if it was written down in words, then maybe people would really understand.
It's hard to keep the image of the pain out of the space behind my eyelids when it flares up. I touch my stomach and feel the swollen, inflamed organs, and think about how it's all right there. Right below my skin. I think about how it feels.
Sometimes it feels like I'm walking through wet cement. Sometimes I'm just completely out of breath. Sometimes it feels like there's thick vines holding everything too tightly, like a boa constrictor is squishing my reproductive organs. Sometimes it's more like barbed wire. Sometimes, it feels like there are cobwebs connecting all my organs together, and every time I move just a little, I feel this 'ripping' sensation of those webs breaking apart. Sometimes it feels like bee stings, inside my body. Sometimes it aches like a bruise.
But it's not just in my uterus and low belly. My back aches and swells just as much. My legs ache, and I struggle with sciatic pain. I wake up with stiff hip joints.
Pain is different for everyone. There are so many different types of pain, and it's a complicated issue, since our society right now has a lot of people seeking pain medication for recreational use, so it's hard for chronically sick people to advocate for medication. In cases like mine, I want to avoid opiates as much as possible, as I have a family history of addiction. I know I'm not alone in that.
Comments
Post a Comment