Hurting Like Hell, Living with Gusto by Victoria Stopp

Author:Victoria Stopp
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: McFarland
Published: 2017-10-24T16:00:00+00:00

15

From Patient to Caregiver

I loved to travel, but for years, I took chronic pain with me on every trip I made. I spent most nights of my honeymoon on the floor on a camping mattress. The mental and physical preparation could be daunting, and the fear was sometimes overwhelming. Not having my awesome chiropractor, not having my expensive foam mattress, not having my hot tub—those thoughts were terrifying. I wanted to see my friends and see my country, and becoming homebound because of pain made me feel dead. I missed exploring new places and climbing mountains. I missed my friends and family who lived far away. I missed living on my terms. I messaged my closest college friend and asked her when would be a good time for me to visit.

As I prepped for my trip to Boston, I worried I’d be unable to sit through the lengthy flights. I often stood all day since staying upright relieved my back pain. I shuddered at the thought of being unable to get up if my back started seizing.

Oh well, I said to Otis as his wet nose grazed my ankle. I stuffed a $35 cervical support pillow into my suitcase and kissed my beagle. I truly wasn’t sure what I’d do if my back went out on the plane, but I hadn’t seen my best college friend in four years and couldn’t bear the idea of pain keeping me home.

I couldn’t afford to, but I flew first class. The seats were much wider and had bigger armrests, which meant I could change positions more easily and self-traction my back by pushing all my weight through my hands on the armrests. My investment in expensive tickets paid off, and because of the extra seat room, I made it all the way to Boston without major issues. I twisted, turned, balled up, bent over, and tractioned myself for more than 1,000 miles in the air, then disembarked in Massachusetts with renewed confidence in my ability to travel.

As was true throughout my slow reawakening, some days were better than others. At times, the contrast in how my body reacted to stressors was unpredictable and drastic. Rhonda and I decided to have our master bathroom redone. It was a hideous combination of floral paneling and brown vinyl flooring, and the cheap toilet was almost as low as a child’s plastic training potty. We had a fantastic handyman who understood our budgetary constraints and agreed to do the work with tile remnants and as many on-sale materials as possible. The only catch was that we had to stay with my parents for a few days while the work was completed, which shouldn’t have been a big deal, because they had a nice guest room and didn’t mind accommodating us and our dogs. I brought all my props for sleep—four pillows, two melatonin caplets, a tub of Tiger Balm, and a heating pad—and felt reasonably confident that it’d be a good time.

I spread a sheet over my camping mattress and piled pillows at knee level on the floor of my dad’s office.

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