Because I'm done with the guilt

It’s been three years now that I’ve been living with chronic pain and invisible illnesses. It’s taken me the entire three years to come to terms that my life will never be the same, and it’s something I still struggle with every day. What bothers me most, what is usually on my mind, is the guilt I feel.

We are a military family who recently moved from the South to the Pacific Northwest. We’ve lived here 10 months now, and we have not been able to see any local sights, visit Seattle for the day, or do any of the things I see my friends here doing, because of me. I’d love to spend the day in Seattle, playing tourist, but I know I can’t physically do it. I would use half my spoons just getting out of bed, getting dressed, and for the car ride. I see friends going on hikes in the beautiful scenery here, and I feel guilty I can’t say one Saturday morning to my husband and son, “Let’s go for a hike!”

What makes me feel the most guilty is what I feel I am missing out on with my family. My son plays high school baseball, and there are some away games I have to miss because I can’t drive or even ride in the car that long without knowing I will be in a lot of pain and also paying for it the next day. I feel guilty that my husband, who works 12+ hours most days, has to come home and cook supper, and do the dishes, and in general, clean the house. When he asks me if I want to go out to eat on a Friday night, I want to say yes so very badly, but by that time of the day, I’m lucky to have one spoon left to use, if I can even get off the couch. I can see the disappointment in his eyes, but being the man he is, doesn’t express it to me so as to not make me feel bad about not being able to go out.

I feel guilty when I have to cancel plans with friends. I’ve learned to try to not make plans, but as a volunteer, there are certain things I have to attend, and I enjoy it. There are meetings and functions I sometimes have to miss because of pain or exhaustion. I want to be there for all of my fellow military wives and their husbands at promotions, ceremonies, etc., but sometimes it’s just not possible.

Will I ever be able to rid myself of this guilt? I don’t know. I want to be a super mom and wife, a good friend, a volunteer my fellow military wives can count on, and to be proud of what I’m able to do, instead of what I’m not able to do. Before my chronic pain, one day I decided that having a positive outlook on life was much easier than being negative all  the time, and it really did change my way of thinking, and made me happier in all facets of life. Maybe now is my time to let go of the guilt. No, not maybe. It IS the time to let it go.

Because it's painfully real ...

     This afternoon as I reached for my pills, I was angry. Like, want-to-punch-people angry. I thought back to a year ago, when I was looking forward to getting my own kayak, and spending time kayaking around the Savannah waters with Adam and Addison. I got to do that a few times, and then my life changed drastically.


     It wasn't one single incident. It was several, "Holy shit my back hurts" pain. I went to the doctor, I did physical therapy, then I finally got an X-ray and was told, "You have arthritis and degenerative disc disease." Okay, I can live with that, it's manageable. Then one day last summer I couldn't take the pain anymore. My entire body was wracked with spasms, (and I mean my ENTIRE body), and the pain was too much even for me, a total badass, to endure. I went to my doctor and after blood tests to rule out certain things, finally had an MRI. Bulging discs, protruding discs, bony growths on my vertebrae, well ... yuck. I started seeing an orthopedic surgeon, who also ordered a cervical MRI since I was having numbness in my arms. Oh boy, a pinched nerve, and a bunch of disc problems.


     The other day I counted I've had 13 different needles in my back or neck since last summer. You know what they've done for me? Jack and shit. But yet I still am holding out hope that soon I may become the Erin I used to be.


     I've only counted a handful of times I've felt sorry for myself. I'm 39, not 79. On the outside, I look good. I may sometimes walk slowly, slightly bent for pain relief, but for the most part, you or anyone else would never know of the pain I feel daily. That's the thing with chronic pain - it's not always visible, so it may be tough for others to understand. It seemed like every day Adam would come home from work and say, "What's wrong?" Some days I just smiled and thought, "Bless his heart." Other days I probably snapped, because my chronic pain is every single day. Some days are better than others. I almost feel normal again. Other days I am on the couch, moaning in pain.


     The thing that bothers me the most about chronic pain isn't the pain itself. It's that I feel robbed of being the person I used to be. I used to get dressed like a normal person, put on make-up, and feel, well, normal. On a recent morning as I was getting ready for a doctor's appointment, I thought, well geez, here I am putting on make-up and good clothes, when I really should just show up looking like what I usually look like - comfortable and most likely not-matching clothes, no make-up, and depending on what sort of pain day I'm having, showered or non-showered. But I still have pride.


     Is my pain fixable? I don't know. I do know it seems like it will take forever. With every injection, I hold out hope that this will be the one that helps, that slowly turns me toward a pain-free life. So far, no luck, but I refuse to lose my positive attitude, because if I lose that, I give up, and I'm way too stubborn to ever give up. I have friends who also live with chronic pain, and like anything else in life, having that empathy and understanding of what that other person is going through is similar is entirely therapeutic. Thank you Jennifer F. and Sharon P., for always answering my questions and being there when I have had questions or just needed to talk.


     I will not give up hope that someday soon I will be back to the old Erin. The Erin who didn't have to buy bags of dog food from Amazon, because I am lifting those bags at the grocery store with no problem. The Erin that has to pick up Addison from school or sports and tell him, "I'm having a bad pain day, I really need your help." The Erin who doesn't have to plan her days around when she takes her pain pills and when she has to drive. The Erin who doesn't have to plan when I can leave the house because of that day's pain level. The Erin who doesn't even remember the words chronic pain.


     My hope is by writing this, if you know of someone in chronic pain, just be a bit kinder, a bit gentler, more understanding. Chronic pain may control our life, but it doesn't control us.

Because the pride ... oh, the pride

     Everyone gets caught up in the daily routine. Work, kids, school, bills, cleaning, etc. It's an easy trap to fall into. We forget to appreciate the small things, because the big things seem to loom over us. We forget to say "I love you" to those who matter to us. We pay more attention to our phones and computers and tablets than our family. Hey, we're human, not perfect. I recently got caught up in the daily grind.

     I was reminded yesterday of something that still pisses me off to no end, and I will never, ever forget what the government did to our military families. Quick story: Two Rangers in Adam's Regiment were killed while in Afghanistan. Because of the government shutdown, it was revealed that the families of these men, including a widow, would not be getting the $100,000 in death benefits immediately given to the family for many different things - airfare to be there when the servicemembers' body returns to the U.S., funeral expenses, and whatever that money may be needed for in their time of grief. SHUT THE FRONT DOOR. It hit me hard, because that may have been me. It could have been my closest friend. This is how our government treats families a day after their loved one is killed?

     The Fisher House heroically stepped up and paid the families that money. Our illustrious government said, oh, gee thanks for picking up our slack, and we still won't pay them the money they are supposed to get.

     My point is this - what servicemember, while in a foreign country in a combat situation, should have to worry about their family not being given what they are promised when said servicemember signed up voluntarily to serve that country? This is the true definition of the word bullshit.

     I have digressed, which is easy to do when I'm on a tear. What I really wanted people to know is the pride, even maybe the hubris, a military spouse feels. While I was carrying out my ranting on Twitter about the budget cuts involving military pensions, I was reminded again of the intense, emotional pride I have in not only my husband, but our entire military. Men and women who work endless hours, who spend their birthdays, holidays, anniversaries and everything else away from their families, in a hostile place where they aren't wanted.

     Just by virtue of being married to Adam, I have touched a sitting Vice President's hand, sat 10 feet away from another Vice President while he gave a speech, watched Adam walk down the streets of Savannah in the St. Patrick's Day parade, pinned on his new rank and his Ranger tab, listened to a four-star general extol the heroics of Adam's unit and men in it, met wounded warriors and their families, and grieved alongside families. It brings me to tears to think about all of the truly amazing experiences I have been able to be a part of, and the pride often threatens to overwhelm me.

     I am going to make it a point to not let the day end without me feeling that pride, without remembering how effing lucky I am to be a part of the Army family. Whatever is it you have pride in, own it, and never forget how awesome that feeling is.

Because I'll say what I really want to say...

I fully intended to take my pain medication and fall asleep for a little while today. Those pills will knock an elephant on it's ass, but I'm pretty strong-willed when I want to be. Which is always.

Had you told me when I was 21 years old that I would meet a man-child about to graduate from high school, who had already enlisted in the Army, and end up marrying him a year later, I would have peed my pants laughing. Move to the South? Nah. They'd never understand my funny accent, and I'd never understand theirs. I'm a New England girl - I want iced tea, not sweet tea.

Fast forward to today - Adam has been in the same unit for 18 years. I've been there for every single minute of it. I've seen good times, I've seen great times, I've seen crappy times, and I've seen the very worst of times.

Until today.

Families know the day their loved ones leave that that may be the very last time they see their face, or talk to them on the phone, or receive an email. We don't talk about it, but it's always in the back of our minds. I can't fathom the reality of reality.

I know very well everyone is sick about hearing about the government shutdown. But, it's affecting so many people I know and love. Enough with the finger pointing and blaming one party or the other. I am an American, not a party. I want what is best for my country. I fucking love this country.

I knew about the deaths of the two Rangers in Afghanistan. I found out about the other servicemembers who also died. No one wants to think about their loved one coming home in a coffin, yet here are more families having to face that horrible reality. Upon a servicemembers' death in combat, the family is supposed to be wired $100,000 for whatever is needed - a flight to get to Dover to meet the coffin returning, funeral expenses, etc.

Now, because of the government shutdown, those families AREN'T GETTING that money. If this doesn't make you mad, then it was nice knowing you. I know without a doubt being a military wife has made me more patriotic, given me more love for country, and feeling pride in knowing my husband, best friend, and so many others have served this nation.

What kind of country are we living in when someone voluntarily joins the Armed Forces, dies for us, and then their family is told, "Hey sorry, it's the Repbublicans/Democrats/Tea Party/Zombie party's fault, not ours." Obviously this hits close to home for me. That could be me, that could be my friend's husband, that could be someone you know.

Don't turn a blind eye to what is happening in our country. Don't brush it off that it's someone else's problem, not yours. Don't be that asshole that doesn't give a shit until it affects you directly. Blind admiration is ignorance.

May those who died this past weekend rest in peace. I may be just the wife of Ranger, but I'm part of the Ranger community, the Ranger family, and we WILL make sure the families are able to get to Dover, to pay for the funerals, to not have to worry in their time of grief and remembrance. I've shared a link on Facebook if you'd like to donate. I donated, because I know my Ranger family would help me.

May God Bless America.

Because there are better things to think about...

Here's what I think about our government shutting down - I'm done with overpaid, grown-up babies who still think they're playing in a sandbox and are just waiting to point the finger at someone else for what they all collectively have managed to do together. It pains me to even type about these people we, as the people, seemingly elected to work for us. So, in that respect, I'm going to spend my time thinking about much better things. Here's a partial list:

1. I'm thoroughly confused by the "Before the Vows: Divorce Court" title of the TV show. I do love me an oxymoron though.

2. Lee and Morty, the two old people in the Swiffer commercials, are gems. I'd love to go hang out with them for awhile.

3. I was told to wear "loose-fitting shorts, like gym shorts" for a surgical procedure next week. All I can now think is that I need to go buy men's basketball shorts and obviously some high-top sneakers to match the shorts. When I actually stop and think about it, I'm sometimes perturbed and amused by how my thinking works.

4. My kid eats food in the shower. I'm thinking of installing a garbage disposal much like Kramer did on Seinfeld, and have him start making our salads while he's in there.

5. I've become a real-life Homer Simpson after noticing my cart at Wal-Mart last week included beer, bacon, and donuts.

6. I keep forgetting to call the manager at Wal-Mart. Their "baker's dozen" of donuts only has 12 donuts in them, not 13, even though there's a big 13 on the box. This has happened twice. Yes, I count my donuts. If you're not counting when there's a number on something you buy, you're doing it wrong. If I get 11 chicken nuggets when I'm supposed to get 10, I can move mountains with my happiness.

7. If I could grow a beard, I'd be really handsome.

8. Q-tips are highly affordable, so why don't more people use them?

9. Between living with Adam, Addison, and three dogs, I am pretty sure I have lost any sense of smell. Luckily, my sixth sense, awesomeness, has kicked in overtime.

10. When the bottle says don't drink alcohol with this medication, they actually mean it. Lesson learned.

11. 0pppp (That was the dog's contribution after I placed the laptop on the floor. You're welcome. If you'd like to send Mosby a message back, he'd appreciate it.)

12. Apparently Mosby is trying to let you know he's down with OPPPP. Other People's Puppies Pretty Please, if you're not fluent in the Canine language.

14. I just skipped #13, like an elevator.

15. I'm on the last unbeatable level of Candy Crush Saga. I need a new hobby.

I'm sure there's plenty more things I'd rather think about than "That bullshit going on in this country that shall not be named." I'll think about it and get back to you. In the meantime, I'd love to hear what everyone else is thinking about lately.

Because I have a lot on my mind...

Let me preface this post by saying when I'm sick, I'm cranky. It's been a real shitty few months for me, health wise. I can honestly say that having chronic pain is a lonely thing. I've been lucky enough to have the support of friends and family, especially those friends who are either dealing with a similar situation or just those who live with chronic pain and understand. Just because you can't see someone's illness doesn't mean it's not there, that it's not totally messing with their body and mind and spirit.

There's always a bright side to life. It may seem like sometimes that brightness is hiding better than Saddam Hussein in an underground dirt hole, but I promise, it's there.

Let me continue by saying that because I've been laying on the couch all day, I have had a lot of time to think. And I think, A LOT. Here's some things I ruminated about today:

1) Social media can really bring out the worst in people. I used to be the first person to jump into a controversial discussion. Today a friend posted a picture of a very pregnant, barely dressed woman smoking. I read through some of the comments on the original post - I really shouldn't have, because man, what the heck is going on in this world? One woman said, "Well my mom smoked when she was pregnant with me and I smoked when I was pregnant and we're all fine." HUH? I knew it was time to move on when I read another commenter say, "You don't know what she's been threw. She's probably been threw a lot." I realize I'm a grammar snob, but I can't take anyone seriously when I read stuff like that. NEXT!

2) When I start to lose faith in people, I draw on what I've learned and what I've observed from others. Sending Addison, a child who has only been baptized and had no religious experience beyond that, to a Baptist private school was one of the best things we've ever done. As a teenager who decided that if I didn't like it, I wasn't going to do it, I quit going to church. That's not to say I still didn't believe in God, in prayer, and in the power of prayer. I've tried to become a better person, to show Addison that even though I do not attend church, I can be a person who prays, who tries to see the best in people. What's best for me isn't best for everyone, and that goes for everyone. I have atheist friends and I have friends that have devoted their lives to God. What and how people choose to live their lives isn't my business, nor is it yours.

3) I ramble a lot.

4) Like I said, there's always a bright side to things. Though I hesitantly take pills for pain, I can only laugh when I remember the conversation at the kitchen table on Sunday night. Adam had made the most delicious pork ribs in the history of man, and knowing that dogs shouldn't eat chicken bones, I asked him, "These are pork ribs, right? Because dogs can't have chicken bones." Luckily, he humors me. "That would be one big ass chicken," he said.

Lastly, just be nice. Be nice to yourself and be nice to others. I can't say it often enough.

Because children get older...

And I'm getting older tooooooo.... (Sorry, I tend to think in song lyrics.)

This is the time of year that I feel bad as a mother for a second, then remember I'm a pretty good mom. My friends lament over their children growing up, wondering where the time has gone. It seems to be a common theme on social media, whether they're attending a preschool or high school graduation. That's the part where I feel momentarily bad - I enjoy Addison getting older. It's not like I'm counting the days until he goes off to college (You can do the math - 4 years X 365 days). But there are many things I don't miss, and some I do.

I don't miss changing diapers. Maybe some people actually like it, but I get tired wiping my own butt sometimes. Wiping someone else's really isn't appealing to me, especially when you have to hold them down because they're wiggling like an earthworm on a fishing hook. I know there are moms who enjoy the early months and years, but I wasn't one of them. I didn't enjoy waking up every two hours to feed him. I did enjoy when he would fall asleep in my arms, even though little chubby Addison sometimes caused my arms to go numb. 

The toddler years were a mixed bag. But, that really goes along with any age. We were the parents trying to shove our meals down our throats at a restaurant, since Addison decided he would personify the Terrible Two's for more than a year, starting at 18 months. 

I could go on and on through his almost 14 years, but that would even bore me. 

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I've tried to soak up the good and bad of every age. I know where the years have gone. They've creeped along, yet they've flown by. Sure, it's nice I can leave him home alone, but there's no more blessed nap time when I knew I could get things done. I may not have to watch Barney or the Teletubbies anymore, but I do watch TeenNick, which isn't bad, but it's definitely not the Game Show Network.

It's fun to reminisce about the early years, like when he wanted to be like the dogs and poop in the backyard, or how he took off running when he turned 9 months old. Treasure those memories. As much as you may want to keep your baby a baby, you can't. It's our responsibility as parents to raise them to be productive, responsible adults.

It doesn't matter how old Addison gets, if I read Love You Forever, I turn into a weeping mess of a mom. He may be inches taller than me, but he will always be my little boy in a man's body, and I look forward to helping him become the adult he is going to be, not who I want him to be.