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Coping

Head Uphill and Leave Your Pain Behind

Long must you suffer, not knowing what,
Until suddenly, from a piece of fruit hatefully bitten,
The taste of the suffering enters you.
And then you already almost love what you savor. No one
Will talk it out of you again.
-Rainer Maria Rilke

Even after a brief stay at elevation the air on the coast feels impossibly thick. The city streets seem too wide, the sky not blue enough, the horizon too far away. It doesn’t take long for the mountains to get under your skin. After only a few hours at elevation your blood thickens and your body produces more red blood cells. You become more efficient at using oxygen so that even this thin air feels more nourishing than her coastal cousin.

I was away less than two weeks this time, but it was long enough for me to reconnect to places and people that I love and miss and also meet and discover new ones. It was long enough for me to feel the freshly melted snow carry my hair downstream. It was long enough to sweat, climb, and bleed in the early summer sun. It was long enough to reawaken muscles and corners of my body and soul that have too long been ignored. It was long enough for me to remember what it feels like to be healthy again.

The Tuolumne River
The Tuolumne River

During the 12 days I spent in the Eastern Sierra I had four migraines. Each of those migraines lasted less than twenty four hours, not including the postdrome stage (also known as the migraine hangover.) To some this may seem like a lot, but compared to the baseline of daily, constant migraine that was my reality for way too many months, it is remarkable. Even just a day – an afternoon – of respite from pain is celebrated. You cannot truly appreciate the feeling of the sun on your skin until you have experienced true darkness.

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The Healing Power of Self-Compassion

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On Monday morning, I experienced the simple bliss of waking up without a headache. Over a year ago, my neurologist told me that waking up every morning with a headache is a sign that I am over-using medication (triptans and Ibuprofen in my case) causing rebound headaches. Though I rarely treat my headaches and migraines with any medication that can cause rebound, my head is still wracked with pain most mornings before I even open my eyes.

Monday morning was different, though. I woke up pain-free and ecstatic to spend the day with my boyfriend who is visiting me after a long summer apart. We enjoyed coffee and breakfast together, and the pleasure of spending a pain free morning with the person I love the most made me giddy with gratitude and relief.

Image: Festoon House Lighting

These moments of respite from pain are bittersweet and always too short-lived. Shortly after breakfast, I was hit with extreme fatigue. Nausea, light sensitivity, and eventually throbbing pain soon followed until I was fully immersed in a migraine. I went from a happy young woman ready for a beautiful day to an exhausted, brain-dead dark-dweller. In my pain and disappointment, I cried and raged and internally bashed my body for being useless for little more than misery or pain. Even after two years of chronic migraines, every single migraine feels like a betrayal.

My body deserves my compassion, not my rage.

I know this but have to remind myself of it daily. I expect a level of compassion from my family, friends, partner, and doctors that I have trouble giving myself. When a migraine sets in my emotional strength is drained, and my mind wanders easily to negative, self-critical thinking patterns. There is nothing unhealthy about complaining externally or internally when you’re in pain, but when you’re in pain for so much of your life those thinking patterns can take over and lead to isolation and a further diminished quality of life.

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Finding Fulfillment Despite Pain

I’m sitting at the base of a Jeffrey pine tree on the north shore of Big Bear Lake watching the light change. Nuthatches, phoebes, northern flickers, and bluebirds flit around the tops of surrounding trees catching as many insects as they can before nightfall. There must be close to a hundred birds in my line of sight – more than I’ve ever seen in such a small space.

After spending more than three weeks in bed with nonstop migraines, the quiet peacefulness of this moment is overwhelming. My brain is still foggy and slow, and I’m still queasy enough to make eating hard. But the sun on my legs and the energy of the birds nourish me more than any amount of rest or medication. For the first time in almost a month, I feel like myself rather than a migraine with the shadow of a person attached. Moments like these are what keep me going.

Chronic illness is a thankless and demanding partner that forces the sufferer to make sacrifice after sacrifice.

It is completely normal for those of us with chronic illness to wrestle with feelings of inadequacy and a diminished self-worth. I have no career or children or social life to offer fulfillment, so I must seek it elsewhere. Every day I put effort into appreciating the small and beautiful moments, but sometimes it just isn’t enough. Read More »Finding Fulfillment Despite Pain