Pain and fear, isolation and loneliness.

I thought to write here today. Even though I don’t really want to.

It’s the topic everyone works hard to avoid bringing into conversation.

PAIN: Chronic and severe and endless.

With the result that there is a loneliness that seeps over the sufferer. She knows no one wants to hear the same old, same old. So she lies, or covers up or uses a selection of old tropes.

Q How are you?

(1)Oh, you know.

(2)Much better than yesterday. (Lie)

Q What does the doctor say?

(1)We don’t say: Well (s)he too is sick of my calls.

(2)We mumble a selection of vagaries.

(3)Waiting for a call.

(4)Will call them today.

Along with the loneliness there’s the exhaustion of just plain dealing with life. Or not dealing.

There’s lack of sleep for one. There’s the ongoing decision of:

(1) suffering and being alert or

(2) ingesting painkillers and becoming a zombie.

Friends and relatives get impatient. I understand that.

But it really makes things far, far worse when they ask for details of the pain and it’s offered, only to be met with deadly silence or the clicks of an escape hatch being opened ("gotta run, talk soon!") and the listener vanishing.

So chronic pain is isolating for multiple reasons. We are not looking for solutions. We know all the solutions, we’ve explored many avenues, some involving more pain we can’t endure.

Out tears are in isolation along with frustration and a sense of hopelessness. And loneliness.

We are the brave.

We learn to let very few in to what is really going on. We forego, with longing,  the things we used to do in our health that we would simply take for granted. For example, I see someone walking on the street or in a movie and I go "look at that! they're walking with a smile!"

My big job today was sorting my weekly pills. A job I detest with all the fires of hell. It takes 30 minutes. If I don’t drop pills on the floor.

My helper comes tomorrow so I don’t have to do dishes which is excruciating, standing at the sink.

It’s over two weeks since I slept in a bed as the recliner is the only place I can do a series of catnaps through the night with some small semblance of comfort.

I can see why some go insane from this kind of existence.

And so very few that understand it.

I know I never did.

And I realize one of the greatest gifts in life we can offer each other is to listen.

 

Fear

"You learn that as you grow older, we live in a perpetual state of fear. All the horrible things we do to each other, all our misunderstandings, are because of fear."

The Old Jest. Jennifer Johnston, Page 98. Read in 2016.

Some new fears as I age. They would be unrecognizable to a younger me, then I would have classified them as "silly".

(1)Fear of becoming a crashing bore because of my health issues. So I avoid talking about them. Then, when questioned on my health status, I'm aware of looking shifty from such avoidance and quickly switch conversation to something else.

(2)Fear of the specialist I saw on Wednesday, my nephrologist, who has no time for my avoidance of 3 times daily blood pressure readings, no time for my water shortage ingestion in spite of his instructions. No time for my whiny "I can't live in the bathroom all the time" ("Oh, "sez he, in a bored monotone, "Then dialysis would be preferable?" He is excellent at what he does, but boy, bedside manner is not part of his genetic makeup. He handed me a list of what I need to do before seeing him in a month. Yes, I will comply. Feel the fear and do it anyway.

(3)Fear of getting lost. Due to my mobility issues, this is much more serious than for a healthier younger me, the running me, the adventurous me. Now when I am pounding down a sidewalk with my cane searching for something, store, medical office, etc., if it's not where I thought it was supposed to be I panic as my energy has evaporated, I need to sit down and there's nothing to sit on. So I lean, and breathe and want to cry in frustration. I was rescued by a kind stranger on Wednesday who gently guided me outside the building and led me to the correct clinic, taking time to allow for breaks. People are so very kind and caring.

(4)Fear of brain-fail. It takes me longer to learn new skills, like a knitting pattern. I have to repeat and repeat to lodge it in whatever remaining brain cell is still up for rental. Short term memory, unless I really, really concentrate, vanishes like a puff of smoke. I am mindful of working the brain via knitting, daily Scrabble, reading books outside my comfort zone. Challenging it.



(5)Political scene: femicides. A woman is murdered in Canada every 3 days by a man who purportedly loves her. The stats in many countries are similar. I've been present when men "jokingly" threaten wives that they would kill them if they caught them being unfaithful. Since I first became aware of how second class women are, way, way back in the fifties, I see regression in women's rights everywhere. Men who haven't a clue - as an example see that Gillette ad up there? - the outrage amongst some of my male friends was breathtaking. They take the line of "not all men" - neglecting, of course, to take a stand against the proliferation of porn, sex trafficking, prostitution, etc. which is so embedded in our culture as to be taken for granted. Women's (and many girl children's) bodies are commodities, products to be sold, trafficked at a whim. Trillion dollar rape industries. Imagine, I say to men I know, being anally raped twenty to a hundred times a day or giving blow jobs to hundreds of strangers. And they shudder.

A Teacher's Association Convention in Alberta booked a convicted murderer/rapist as their keynote speaker. You read that right. Only when the public outcry became a deluge did they cancel him. Read about it here.. The fact that they would even arrange all of this shows how deeply embedded rape culture is in our society: how female victims can be so thoroughly erased. And to make the story even more sordid - the reason he killed her was because he couldn't get an erection.

I fear for my own anger in these political situations. My rage is frightening to me at times and it doesn't abate as I age. It worsens. How on earth do I keep a lid on myself? How do I numb out and shrug and pretend all of this doesn't matter?

(6)Oddly enough, in such an anti-aging climate, I haven't a fear of wrinkles or age-spots, or "Looking my age" or greying. I tell people openly I am an old woman, or an elder or a crone and most react with:"You don't look it" with a little frisson. What's that about? What does "looking it" mean? Why the fear of growing old? Isn't the alternative so much worse? I have lost far too many dear ones not to celebrate my bonus years.

Anyway getting my thoughts of the day out there on paper.

As I struggle with a short memoir I am writing.

Coping

'Twas a weird week. Weather. How vulnerable I can be. This is one nasty winter. And my fall from last year is haunting me. Making me afraid. Making out of me a right wimp. Fearful of the ice under the snow. Horrified at the idea of walking down my drive from the garage to the house.

Feeling massively foolish and more than a little old-lady-ish. Disliking myself for not being more fearless, striding out, unworried about breaking bones and subsequently wheelchairing it around alone in my house with the deaf and blind elderdog for company and a port-a-potty in the living room.

All sorts of thoughts intrude: like am I mad to live out in this community. Should I listen to my city friends and move to a senior-friendly apartment by the side of a downtown glorious lake overlooking the ocean and have transit and accessible medical care and OMG a clean and ice-free parking lot to anchor my car and just a few small rooms and theatre nearby and movies and....all I need is for poor old Ansa to die as NO PETS ALLOWED.

See the temporary insanity that overtakes me?

Meanwhile, there are leaks intruding into my house from this massive icejam. You might think you're having a bad day until you look at the back of my house. This frozen waterfall extends all the way from the roofline to the ground. No one has ever seen anything worse out here. And no one has suggestions as to how to manage it. So that's my day. How's yours?

When all else fails, start in on your tax return.

Yeah, that is what I did from about noon on today with a few meal breaks.

Unfortunately, my tax return is still complex due to many ventures.

Don't I sound like a millionaire?

Far from the truth. Way far. But I rent out bits of my property in tourist season, I prepare a few other tax returns, not many. I glean a few dollars from writing and sale of my cards and I conduct workshops and oh yes, I'm one of those trusted citizens who can sign off for your passport or legal documents for a small fee. And marry the pair of you if you want, though that hasn't been requested yet.

All that is to say I have to track the income and expenses of each entity separately which is a right old nuisance when the total doesn't amount to a hill of beans and I slide up and down over the official poverty line all year.

So this morning I had a chimney fire. Pretty scary. The wind was savage and blew open the door of my stove while my back was turned and next thing.....

The sound inside the chimney was fierce and I ran outside (I admit to panicking a little) and there was a mass of black smoke pouring out of said chimney but fortunately no flames. The stovepipe went red with the heat and the brick and plaster chimney breast on the second floor was so hot I couldn't touch it.

And I never thought to phone the fire department. Imagine. I calmly called to cancel an appointment I had with a client I am training and then sat frozen in the house. Now I see I should have called the FD for they have special powder/salt they throw down the chimney to kill the fire. I am hopeless at this unpredictable stuff.

Now it is 10 hours later and the chimney breast is still warm to the touch.

But hurray for social media. A friend in Ontario (a chimney expert) gave me instructions - number one being 'do not light your stove under any circumstances as the bricks and liner are compromised now' and 'find yourself a chimney expert to install a new liner'. He came through on FB also and he's coming on Monday to sort me out.

And then I unclenched my mouth and flexed my paralyzed body and began the 10 hour job that is my tax return.

Stark. Naked. Fear

(I couldn't resist this photo, the chap looked exactly like him which added to my fear.)

I was out road-training today. Ansa would be part of the scene but the other day - she is one hell of a smart dog - at about 2k outward bound, she sat down and looked at me. I got it. 4k is roughly her limit even though I had pushed her a few weeks ago to 7k. So today I pushed her to about 5. Put her back in the car in the shade. And toddled off to do another 6k+ by myself.

And then it happened. At about 2k into this dogfree portion, he came marching out of the bush just ahead of me, a gun over his arm. And for, what, 10 seconds? 20 seconds? My heart pounded in fear. I thought I would pass out. Seriously. And he waited for me. And through my head ran: you deliberately choose busy roads for your solo walks. Cars are passing all the time. You can attack him with your car key up his nose. How long does it take to load a gun, it doesn't look loaded. Is he aggressive? What the hell is he doing out here? And on.

"I thought I saw a caribou, where would I get a caribou?" he said to me without even the barest of greetings. An American accent.

Internal debate. Caribou shooting is a no-no. As a matter of fact this is not hunting season for anything apart from trout.

"I don't know," I said carefully, "And I'm training for a coming race so I need to keep moving, OK?"

"Ha-ha," he said helpfully, "You're going to get yourself killed on this busy road."

Heart stoppage once more as I pass him. I await the click of the gun. Does he mean by him?

No click, just an innocuous whistle.

I am safe once more.

It has been a long, long time since I felt this naked fear. A man walks out of the bush. And the world stops for a minute.

Does a woman on her own ever feel safe?

And then we die.

I think: why are we all so afraid of letting people in? Telling the truth? Risking our feelings, our fears? Sticking it all out there? Helping each other understand. And care. For that is true intimacy.

Most people are shut down, terrified of someone getting in there. Afraid to express joy or sadness. Fear of what exactly?

I had a long conversation with someone tonight. We are not afraid to express our troubles, our thoughts, our fears to each other. And we did. We talked about the fear of making decisions. The terror we feel when loved ones suffer in self-imposed isolation. The fear of letting go. Looking into the void. Contemplating the unknown. We had each let go of businesses recently and find other issues surrounding those decisions grabbing us by the throat. How to stand firm. In his case, how to say no to the new owners leaning on him and being disrespectful. In my case a few issues around the financial impact of my particular revenue stream vanishing. Fear of the unknown again. Because there's no impact yet. So what use is my worrying and anticipating?

It's good to air the inner laundry, to hang it all out and begin to laugh even. An old adage I heard once was if you walk into a room of trusted friends and everyone agrees to share and exchange their troubles, at the end of the evening you gladly pick up your own again and walk out of the room feeling grateful.

What triggered this odd wee post? I have a strong desire to heal relationships that have gone sideways. No idea why they've gone that way. All I know is that most people don't reveal their inners: their hurts and disappointments or feelings of rejection, their love.

I had the oddest dream last night. Where I was sitting in my childhood home around the dining room table in the gloaming with the family and I lit many candles to 'light the darkness' as I explained to my father. Very calmly, he told me to leave the room, that I was banished from the table. I sat down at the piano in the front room and played some Mozart and felt overwhelmingly happy. And then I woke up.

And I found the dream rather profound on many, many levels.

A sense of urgency is good. A sense of our time here being so finite. And unfinished business is baggage I don't need.

Make some heavy decisions, I sez to myself. Risk, I sez. Action plan, I sez. Now, I sez.

And myself listened.