As I write this blog entry I'm recovering from minor wrist surgery. That will include two weeks of PT. The very cute guy (snack and a half!) in the PT clinic has a mean streak that his long brunette hair and beautiful blue eyes doesn't hide once he has gotten hold of my arm! They like to call PT physical therapy but I know it is really physical torture! I'm sure that if I ran into my torturer at the mall or a bookstore he would not recognize me because I won't have that twisted grimace of pain on my face. It's the only way he has ever seen my face.
Today as the my PT was making my wrist go places it did not want to go. I had to wonder why God had not come up with a better way to let me know when something is wrong with my body, a better way or method than pain, like a color change or a really special ring tone.
There are times where there are actual color changes in my body. If I turn blue or yellow, I know something is wrong. There are sounds, too, Like ringing in my ears or a rumble in my bowels.
But for the most part my body has stuck with the tried and true method . . . Pain.
This is my bodies method of warning and there is a reason for it. With pain you have to take notice, you have to pay attention to it. You can for the most part ignore the color yellow or a hissing or a buzzing until it is to late. Pain has the advantage of making you stop RIGHT now. When my car makes a funny noise i don't stop I just drive on. I don't think I would drive on if my car gave me a whack in the nose instead!!
The thought of a better way got me to thinking . . .
Why not a better way of sharing pain? Most of us would gladly take on the pain of a loved one. We want to, but we can't.
On TV I see veterans from Iraq and Afghanistan whose bodies are far more worse than my wrist. These men and women must do much harder PT rehab than I do.
I would be more than willing to share their pain, but I can't. This body of mine is the only one I have. It is the only one I can do PT for.
I know that you want to share the pain that I and other cancer patients must carry for a time or even to death. But just like me you can't. Each of us has only one body and through a plan that we may not totally understand pain is not transferable. I recall when a friend of mine was killed in a motorcycle accident at the young age of twenty-seven. His grandmother was a close personal friend of mine. While visiting with here shortly after the accident she said " it makes no difference how old your child(grand) is or how old you are when your child dies it's just plain wrong." She was right than and her words are still true today.
We can share through prayer, through presence, through encouragement, but not in the body itself. We can not live without one another, but there are also points beyond which we cannot go.
This is one of life's strange paradoxes. We must have one another to create life and to give it meaning and yet we are also alone in this life.
Now that my cancer has returned there is once again no way to kiss the Boo-Boo and take my pain away.
Of course, kissing my Boo-Boo was never really intended to take away my pain . . . . . . . . . .
It takes away my loneliness.
Now that my cancer has returned, My loved ones can't trade places with me to take the pain away, but they can kiss the Boo-Boo and take the loneliness away. . . .