Dark days were ahead for me when we last left off. The infection in my spine caused considerable pain, with difficulty moving and sleeping. Patience and immobility have never been my strong suits. I was prescribed a low dose of Codeine Contin, despite being anxious about taking an opioid even in this small dose.
August 1st my MRI reported the infection was clear. On August 6th I quit taking painkillers to see how I would manage the pain and to have some evidence moving forward when I spoke to my doctor two days later. He was surprised by my “tearing the Band-Aid off” approach, but neither he nor the pharmacist had expressed a serious warning to be careful. By the evening of August 8th, I started to unravel. My heart was racing, vomiting, sweating, arms and legs were flailing uncontrollably and a few other unpleasantries to load the deck against me, the worst of which was crippling anxiety. The anxiety flashed images in my mind; not clear pictures I could describe but the scenes went directly to my soul telling me I was alone, no one was going to help me. I didn’t sleep all night. Symptoms worsened and by four in the morning I had run out of coping skills. I called the ambulance, and the lesson started to reveal itself.
The EMTs listened to my story and one of them put their hands on me to check my heart rate and to set up the portable cardiogram. That human touch, the warmth that moved from them to me paused the anxiety and the other symptoms. I was stunned by the immediate response of that touch. I didn’t know just how powerful human contact was until they left. My ER was closed due to staffing shortages so the EMTs would have taken me to Halifax making getting home a challenge. I opted to wait and drive myself to my nearest ER when it opened in the morning. And there the lesson was confirmed.
Health professionals have the expertise to do all manner of tests, but what some of them don’t realize or are too tired to remember is that kindness tops the list for essential care. The nurses who attended to me were kind and gentle. They weren’t rushed or distracted despite staffing shortages. The doctor who first saw me in February in Emergency was again the attending physician. He came into my cubicle, pulled up his chair and talked to me. “You’ve had a rough go, I see,” he said. “I’m so sorry you have had this experience. What you have is rare, I would never have gone looking for it in a million years.” The truth, the simple truth. Doctors aren’t magicians; they can’t pull a correct diagnosis out of their top hats every single time.
The withdrawal symptoms were still very much present but being in a safe environment and not alone certainly helped. We discussed my options. I could go back on the opioid and wean off more slowly to weaken the symptoms. I had already run through half the fire, so I opted to continue running the rest of the way. He concurred. It wasn’t easy and the withdrawal tortured my brain to do its bidding. I persevered and here I am now, on the other side of withdrawal and the other side of a spinal infection that may or may not return. There are no guarantees for any one of us. But the lesson is now so clear and if it weren’t so, our brain would find other ways to torture us.
Humans are meant for relationship. We are meant to connect with others, to share our pain and lighten our load. Relationship may take all manner of forms – with a partner, our children, neighbours, a pet. We are meant to hug one another. We are meant to understand the suffering of others, even that which we can’t comprehend. I think of those living on the street, without support, without contact, without relationship and with addiction robbing them of everything. How easy it is to judge them as weak or lesser; how easy it is to turn away. I had the tiniest view into their experience, and I am better for it. I think of seniors living in care who have no one advocating for them, no one holding them. I visited my mother in her last months with Alzheimer’s, when she no longer had speech. I crawled into bed with her and put my arms around her and I could feel her body melt. I think of new mothers who are told not to hold their babies, but to let them cry it out. What horrible advice. Hold them, nurture them, hug them, stroke their faces, kiss their cheeks and they will grow up to understand the importance of relationship, that all of us need to be loved.
Many of you played a role in my getting through the darkness, my memories of you carefully tucked away for safety, my treasured recall of your kindness. I could record every single memory that kept me afloat. Thank you. Onwards and upwards; time is precious. I have things to do.
wendistewart@live.ca
