Today—the one year anniversary of my second spine surgery! I’d intended to start this day with a sunrise swim, anticipating the glorious shades of pink, orange and red extending across the early morning sky and mirrored into the ripples and waves of the bay. But instead, I found myself immersed in a bay draped in the silver cloak of morning fog, almost no border between the water’s edge and the horizon—gloriously mystical and peaceful, and the perfect setting for reflecting on the past year. What a year it’s been, with a lot of healing and a lot of learning. I haven’t yet found the words to fully describe the deepening realization of how all-encompassing the pain from my back had been—for decades— something I’m recognizing more and more, perhaps paradoxically, the better I get. What an incredible gift to start to have those first fleeting moments, which have since extended to hours, of no pain. As I caught those early brief glimpses of ‘pain-free’ I began to realize the ‘all right’ moments really had been absent for a long long time. Being able to be out of pain is so different from being able (or at times unable) to deal with or manage pain. Again, hard to articulate well, but I’ve grown into such an appreciation of how much work it took to keep on going through decades of intense—and eventually relentless—pain. From my perspective of being so much better now, I feel more and more self-compassion as I look back over the decades of struggling with the impact of my spinal stenosis (first diagnosed in 1990) and the inherent physical distress, frustration, discouragement, and fatigue I experienced. I know stenosis persists in several levels of my spine, and I’m kept aware of that sense of bone on nerve with the constant feeling of sand in some of my toes, that sensation of hot barbed wire twisting down the front of my leg when I reach too high or arch my back ever so slightly, and with the excruciating spasms that ripple down below my knee into my foot now and then. I know these symptoms relate to stenotic areas, and, although I’m incredibly grateful to have such a gifted surgeon, I do hope, of course, that symptoms will stay in the tolerable level, and I won’t need to take him up on his willingness to do more surgery. I know I still have much work to do, and I appreciate all the support and encouragement I get with my helpers in Pilates, physical therapy, coaching, swimming, PATHSTAR, and life in general! And, yes, I know I’m very vulnerable and may encounter setbacks. But in the meantime, I love that many nights I can sleep comfortably, that many days I can expect to walk to where I’m going without multiple stops waiting for pain to recede enough to take a few more steps, that I may have days at a time without being hugely impacted by pain, that day by day my resilience is being restored. As I feel smiles arise (inside and out) with a natural ease, counting every day as a blessing has once again become as natural as breathing. And I feel enormous gratitude. For my amazing and wonderful surgeon and all the great staff. I know the outcome of surgery (each time) could have been different, and I feel grateful each and every day that mine was as it was. For the human body and spirit and our wonderful capacity and inclination to heal. For the smiles and sense of optimism that come with much greater ease this past year. For the marvelous presence of Nature, right in this big city—from the healing waters of the bay to the glorious beauty of our parks and beaches. For the music, the books, the films, the poetry, photographs, paintings, and architecture that inspire artful living. And for all the generous and loving support of family and friends—-what a blessing to have so many ‘spine surgery angels’ accompany me on this journey with wit, wisdom, skill, caring—and great company. So, thanks for being part of this journey with me, and sending you endless good wishes,
Posted on: Sat, 08 Nov 2014 00:43:37 +0000
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