5 Hidden Blessings of Chronic Pain

It must have been nearly ten years ago now that I met with my family doctor at Kaiser for the results of an MRI. The super-charged x-ray machine took several images of my spine from top to bottom. My doctor ordered it because I was still struggling with cervical spinal pain from a car accident years before. She said that if the diagnosis given immediately after the accident was accurate, I should be feeling better now.

I liked this doctor because she was blunt and kind. Her personality characteristics made her believable to me, unlike the sketchy physicians, physical therapists, and chiropractors who treated me immediately following the car accident. My new family doc just wanted the right answers so that she could give the right treatments. It was simple for her, and so when she came in the room, with tears in her eyes, telling me that the MRI showed significant issues with my spine, especially C4 and C5, I believed her.

The specialists at Kaiser and pain-treatment nurses were equally trustworthy to me. They were not selling snake oil, cure-all treatments, or false hopes. They plainly told me what was available and the risks involved with treating my medical issues with surgeries, steroid shots, and medications. The pain-management class I took also provided space for functional grief- the emotional process anyone with a life-changing diagnosis must traverse.

It is sensible and competent medical care that helps empower me to live with spinal issues. As my family doc at Kaiser fore-told, these issues have slowly worsened in time and will continue to as I experience menopause and aging. These are the facts.

On this journey, I have felt self-pity, anger, and defiance about consistent physical pain and the threat of worsening functionality. Now I am coming to a new place of acceptance, probably because I am tired of feeling helpless. I’m beginning to see spiritual gifts in physical pain.

These are 5 blessings that I receive from chronic pain:

1.     Asking for help. I was fiercely independent as a young person, and proud as the day is long. “I can do it myself” was my toddler-like mantra. This protected me, I thought, from other people’s malintent. Now I understand that this simply closed me off from loved ones and made it harder for me to feel the intimacy and sweetness that friendships can bring. Now that I can ask for help, I find my relationships are more reliable.

2.     Humility: I just mentioned how proud I used to be. Being in this body has required me to acknowledge my frailty and mortality. It’s a humbling experience to be going about my business and suddenly feel a shock of pain that I know will take weeks to improve. It’s especially humbling to feel my legs go weak.  This requires that I take work sick days. I have had to cancel visits and delegate events to co-workers. I’ve been forced to learn to say, “I am sorry, but I cannot do that” and “So-and-so, will you help me?” This is hard on my ego and good for my soul.

3.     Take no B.S.: Living with pain can make things crystal clear for those of us who negotiate this path. When I am suffering, I can see other people’s intentions easily. If someone wants to use, manipulate, or coerce me, I can feel it. I simply don’t have the energy to burn over people with bad intentions any longer. If I feel someone taking my energy in an unhealthy way, I pause or end that relationship. I’m not playing games with them. Having boundaries with users is truly a gift from God.

4.     Clarity of Purpose: Now that my physical energy and abilities have more limits, I reflect carefully on how to use my capacity. What is mine to do? First, I need my children and other family and close friends to know how much I love them, and to be there for them for years to come. Second, I need to write and make art, which create beauty from pain. Also, I want to be a caring and supportive person for the sick and the dying. My first chaplain instructor told me my pain is a gift to chaplaincy because I can be with people in agonizing moments with empathy and courage. It’s so.

5.     Joy is felt more deeply: When I have a good day, I appreciate it. When I am able to achieve something like a hike in the woods, I feel so, so grateful. When I have the energy and wellness to make it through my workweek and make cookies to send off to my son who is in the military, I am satisfied. Taking nothing for granted is the surest way to live in JOY.

My prayer for those who live with chronic pain, including myself, is to keep going for as long and as far as we can go. Life is exquisite, even and especially when it’s limited, challenging, or painful. Coping in a healthy way with pain is like taking a highlighter pen to one’s favorite book: it makes note and lifts up the most brilliant, wise, and robust moments in reality. May all of us living with incurable pain feel the genius of life most deeply.