Motherhood, mental illness and beyond

Posts tagged ‘anger’

My pain

Today I am angry, I am heartbroken and I am self-pitying. Why? Because after almost a year of bearable pain, the last couple of days have seen me once again reduced to sitting or lying very carefully, walking very slowly while leaning heavily on my stick and trying not to sneeze, cough, laugh or do anything else that will send lightning bolts of pain through my body.

The reason for this sudden degeneration is very simple; on Saturday I bathed the children. That’s it. Usually DH does bathtime because I struggle to but on Saturday I decided that for once I was going to have the fun of doing it. And now I’m paying for it.

This makes me so, so angry. After 18 years of gradually increasing back pain you’d think I’d be resigned to this but no. I want to play with my children properly, getting down on the floor to build farms and railway tracks and roll around with them. I want to be able to sweep them up into my arms without having to steel myself against the pain, I want to run around with them playing football and chase, I want to take them for rambles across the countryside. I want to do normal mum things, I want to live my life without the constantly nagging companion that is pain.

It’s not fair. I know I sound childish and petulant but I don’t care. I don’t want this any more. I have spent more than half my life in constant pain; I had been in pain for 8 years before I had my first MRI scan, it was another 9 before I had a proper diagnosis. I’ve tried osteopathy, acupuncture, all kinds of physiotherapy, pain management clinics, cranio-sacral therapy, experimental therapies, you name it I’ve tried it. Painkillers are either ineffectual or so strong that they make me vomit constantly. My husband and children have never seen me without the spectre of pain and I doubt they ever will.

I know that I am far more fortunate than many, that have much to be thankful for and I am, believe me. But right now none of that matters because I am in pain, emotional as well as the gut-wrenchingly physical. This pain has been wearing me down a little more every day for 18 years and I don’t want it any more.  I don’t want my husband to have to help me dress and get to the bathroom on days where I can barely move, I don’t want my children to have to be careful around me in case they hurt me. I don’t want it and right now I am so furious that I could just scream all this pain and heartache at the universe. Instead I’m typing these words through angry, frustrated tears because I know that there’s nothing I can do to change this. There are no practical treatment options at this time.

And I can’t even have a proper tantrum about it because stamping my foot would hurt too much.

There are different kinds of pain

Tonight I am feeling both sad and angry. Earlier today my daughter asked me when my back will be better – because when you’re 3 everything gets better eventually, whether it’s a cold, chicken pox or a bumped head. I had to explain to her that my back won’t get better, that I will always have a sore back. “But I don’t want you to be sore any more Mummy!” she cried, and I had to comfort her and tell her that it’s ok, I don’t mind having a sore back.

But I do. Of course I do, no-one enjoys being in pain, let alone chronic 24 hour pain. Yes, the levels vary, and some days I am more mobile and flexible than others. But the pain is always there. Sometimes it’s a dull, nagging pain like a weight dragging me down; sometimes it’s a sharp stabbing pain like white hot lightning. Most days it’s a combination of the two although the intensity varies.

This pain has been a constant companion for almost 17 years now. It has worsened significantly during that time, as degenerative conditions do. And so now I find myself aged 32, with 2 small children, and decreasing mobility. And I am angry.

I feel angry every time I struggle to pick up my 1 year old son and every time I barely manage to pick up my 3 year old daughter. I feel angry every time I have to explain that I can’t get down on the floor to play today because my back is too sore. I feel angry when my husband has to help me up from the sofa or out of the bath; when I struggle to make my bed because the weight of the duvet is too much; when I have to explain to DD yet again that I can’t run with her.

And I feel incandescent with impotent rage every time I see her looking at me with concern in her eyes, every time she tells me that she’s sad I’m sore, every time she gets out her doctor’s kit “to make Mummy better”. She’s only 3 and already I’m letting her down, already she’s learning that her Mummy isn’t the super strong person she needs, that I can’t always be the Mummy she wants me to be, who crawls around the floor and runs outside with her.

Before I had children I thought that there couldn’t be anything that hurt more than my back does on its worst days. I was wrong – this pain in my heart is far harder to bear.

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