November 2023

 

A lot of what you know about my life comes from these monthly letters, social media posts, our circle of connection, or what you might remember from past times.

So you may not know that over the years, my spine has been in slow and painful decline: vertebrae condensing, discs rupturing, and nerves being crushed as the spaces between the bones narrow to nothingness. My 5’5” became a scant 5.4”.

I’ve tried nearly everything along the way, beginning with core strengthening through pilates and workouts and then slowly adding minimally invasive ablations, steroid injections, cyst drainage, and even a laminectomy.

But despite diligence and care, my physical prowess gave way to limited mobility, increasing pain and bubbling frustration.

My physical decline influenced my mental pattern, too. While I’m usually someone who looks on the bright side, I found myself feeling a sense of self-pity.

I was asking, “Why me?” at least once a day.

Chronic pain is something I couldn’t have understood until it became my story.

Some days, the pain made me feel discouraged or depressed. Other days, I felt less motivated to exercise because I couldn’t do some of the things I loved most, and I definitely couldn’t do what I used to.

I’m pretty sure that my chronic pain made me less fun to be with, and that made me worry that I’d scare away the people I love most.

Instead of managing my pain, my pain began managing me.

At the beginning of this past summer, in an effort not to let pain totally hamper my life, my husband and I headed off to Europe for a long-anticipated trip that included being the officiant at the wedding of our dear friends. We would start in Paris, our favorite city, and then make our way to the UK for the wedding the following week.

On the second day in Paris, I got Covid.

It cleared the day before the events began, which was a huge relief given the meaningful role I was supposed to play.

I told my back pain to take a back seat, focused on the joy of the moment, and managed to let the glory of the wedding wash over me.

From there, we headed to Denmark and Norway, where I hoped to continue to put my pain in its place. But record-breaking rain poured down so heavily that the streets became rivers. My pain flooded back.

Torrential rain continued heavily through the Norwegian fjords, and my physical state prevented me from making the most of it.

Returning home, I knew that a much-dreaded spinal fusion was the only solution left.

(A fusion is a major surgery that includes having a metal cage in your back and screwing it into the vertebrae above and below.)

After two nights in the hospital, the doctor mandated that I spend the next six weeks with no bending, lifting or twisting. Gone was my therapeutic stretching. Pilates was a no-go. My erg machine would remain covered by a tarp.

And the worst restriction? I wasn’t allowed to lift my granddaughter.

Overachiever that I am, I assumed that a six-week recovery was for “normal” people and I’d be raring to go in three weeks. So, I committed to join my sister Rachel in taking our mom on her dream trip to Sicily during that recovery period. I thought it would be another good distraction and an important life moment.

I gave it my all, but walking on cobblestone streets post-surgery felt as precarious as walking on slippery rocks, so instead of wandering freely, I tensed up with the worry of falling and jarring loose the screws.

A week into our trip, when I finally felt stable enough to move around at a reasonable pace, I found myself on a stroll a mile from our Airbnb. It felt so good to be moving again.

At that moment, I was stung by a bee.

I’m allergic to bees.

My ankle swelled to elephant-size and itched beyond comprehension. I would have headed to the pharmacist to buy a canine cone to prevent me from chewing off my own leg, but my stiff back prevented me from getting that part of my body close enough to my teeth. So I had to suffer and itch.

Rachel suggested that a swim in the Mediterranean might help both back and ankle, and I agreed. Fifteen minutes later, we were breast-stroking to explore a little grotto… when I felt a slash of pain on my arm.

I’d been stung by a jellyfish.

Luckily, I learned that I’m not allergic to jellyfish stings.

(Note: Rachel generously offered to pee on the sting, because that’s the kind of girl she is. I opted for dousing the wound with vinegar because that’s the kind of girl I am.)

It may sound crazy, but learning I’m not allergic to jellyfish was both a physical and a mental turning point.

I knew it could have been worse.

As has happened so many times in my life, I had gained perspective from my time of suffering.

I reached the magical moment of six weeks post-surgery, and, just as the surgeon had predicted, my pain dramatically lessened.

Not only did I begin to feel like myself again… I felt better than my old self.

Better because I had context for my wellness and an appreciation for living life without thinking about physical limitations.

Better because my mental cloudiness now had room for light.

Maybe most of all, better because I could shed my self-pitying mindset.

The “why me” suffering turned into an overwhelming sense of “why me”gratitude.

My new “why me” framework became the observation that despite my setbacks, I am so lucky.

I’m not allergic to jellyfish.
My surgery truly helped me.
I took two amazing trips in one summer.
I was loved even when I wasn’t my best self.
I found light after darkness.
I could lift my granddaughter again.

I realized that the core strength I had built was not just built through pilates but built from the context of living a full and imperfect life.

And that’s a whole lot to be grateful for.

Have you had small moments that provided big context?

Share them Small: Start by loving yourself. If you’re not being your best, accept that as one of life’s fluctuations. Sometimes, the best medicine is to go through the hard stuff so that the better times have context.

Share them Big: Because you never know who around you is suffering, sharing your own moments of feeling down and then gaining perspective out loud. It could be the catalyst that lifts someone else.

Share it with Me: We all learn from each other. If you have had a revelation, a breakthrough, an insight, or a triumph, we can learn from you so please tell me about it here! I’m collecting stories of these cascades of good for ongoing community building and to track The Parlay Effect in action. I would love nothing better than to hear how you lifted, were lifted, or observed something in others that made you feel good and recognize your power.