Dancing back into pain

In my last blog about my back pain, I gave the full run-down on what I went through to get diagnosed and treated. You can refresh on that here. I had just had my first rhizotomy and was enjoying the freedom of movement I gained from it, thinking my problems were solved for the foreseeable future. 

As it turns out, it’s a little more complicated than that.

It was supposed to last 6 months to a year or more. I read accounts of people whose rhizotomies were working 3 and 4 years afterwards. I hoped I’d be one of those people. I wouldn’t be writing this if I had been that lucky.

"The pernicious myth that it is possible to avoid almost all pain by controlling the body gives the fear of pain greater power than it should have and blames the victims of unavoidable pain." – Susan Wendell, ‘Toward a Feminist Theory of Disability’

The pain started coming back after about ~10 weeks. I had another round of steroid shots, but insurance will only authorize the rhizotomy every 6 months, and the shots only granted temporary relief. Very temporary. The shots lasted a couple of weeks before the pain started returning, and I was ~3 months away from being able to have another rhizotomy. 

I worked out an interim treatment plan with my doctor: one medication for my nerves, and a narcotic for breakthrough pain. The narcotics make me loopy and do little for my pain, but the doctor doesn’t want to give me the next level of pain medication because it’s highly addictive. At this point I’ve accepted that this might be inevitable for me.

I had to accept a lot of hard truths last summer. As much as I want all this medical care to treat me to zero pain, I’ve learned that it’s very unlikely. All I can do is manage it through various means. My biggest pain trigger is being on my feet, especially walking, so I had to reconcile that if I was going to effectively manage my pain in between procedures, I had to make walking less painful. 

I started using a cane a few months ago. It was a huge mental hurdle. Disability doesn’t have an age minimum, but it still sucks to be 30 and shopping for products advertised exclusively to seniors.

"The able-bodied can postpone the task of identifying with their real bodies. The disabled don't have the luxury of demanding that their bodies fit the physical ideals of their culture" – Susan Wendell, ‘Toward a Feminist Theory of Disability’

I had my third procedure in October. I told my surgeon that the previous ones didn’t last very long, and his whole team found that odd. The recovery from this one is much worse than my last one, so I’m hoping that means he fried those nerves extra crispy.

surgery puncture marks.

I’m hopeful that this rhizotomy will last much longer than the last one. I still owe the hospital about $2000, so I really hope I don’t need another one until I can figure out how to pay for the last one. I work hard, but the devil (medical industrial complex) works harder. 

Moreover, my arthritis is degenerative. It will only get worse from here. The pain in between treatments is bearable, but miserable. What does this mean for the future of my dance career? Or, more correctly, what is the deadline on my dance career?

"...some people who live with chronic pain speak of "making friends" with it as the road to feeling better and enjoying life. How do they picture their pain and think about it; what kind of attention do they give it and when; how do they live around and through it, and what do they learn from it?" – Susan Wendell, ‘Toward a Feminist Theory of Disability’

I don’t have answers. 

Last fall, I took a sociology class with a professor who specializes in disability and Crip Theory. He suggested I might consider writing about the intersection between belly dance and disability. I remember thinking that was a ridiculous suggestion, because I’m not disabled. I’m gonna get better. 

Life loves to prove you wrong. 

“When your day is a museum of disappointments hanging from events that were outside of your control, when you find yourself flailing in an ocean of “Why is this happening to me?”, when it feels like your guardian angel put in his two week notice two months ago and just decided not to tell you, when it feels like God is just a babysitter that’s always on the phone, when you get punched in the esophagus by a fistful of life, remember that every year two million people die of dehydration so it doesn’t matter if the glass is half full or half empty, there’s water in the cup.

Drink it, and stop complaining.” – an excerpt from “Complainers” by Rudy Francisco

If you leave any unsolicited “medical” advice in my comments related, but not limited to chiropractic, physical therapy, yoga, essential oils, joint supplements, or some variation of an “anti-inflammatory” diet, I will block you.

But if you have any recommendations for cool stickers for my assistive devices, I will take those.

Please enjoy this short poem from a collection of chronic pain poems I’ve been writing the past year. Might consider making a small poetry book.

“I am bitter after my back surgery. 

The patterns I choreographed around protecting myself from my own pain are still there,

even though the pain is gone 

for now. 

Maybe that’s why I like my narcotics so much. 

It’s better to be in pain 

with medically induced euphoria that manufactures 

a false temporary optimism than just 

in pain.”