Painkiller
The pain was palpable. It was
as if it was a tangible thing; she felt enveloped by a dense aura of
impenetrable space. Escaping the agony
seems impossible. She cannot believe
this has happened. Stupid! Stupid! She has known that this was always possible,
perhaps even inevitable. It’s not like
it’s never happened to anyone else, but when it happens to you, it just seems
so unfair and ridiculous. When the agony
is this bad, you just know that no one else has ever had this kind of pain. She wonders why that is. Is she more sensitive to this type of
tragedy? Since she’s avoided such a
disaster thus far, should she be uniquely punished? It feels like an exceptional type of torture,
one of those prolonged events that is indescribable until you actually
experience it yourself, like a vicious migraine, childbirth, or passing a
kidney stone. In fact, she had actually
heard various descriptions of this sort of suffering but those people were
clearly not experiencing the true nature of this type of wound as she was right
now.
Incredibly, she has a semblance of coherency, in spite of the pain;
her wits are somewhat about her to the point that she knows she has to do
something, she has to make some decisions about how best to address this
situation. Does she call her
doctor? Is he even available on a Sunday
morning? Should she call an
ambulance? Can she drive herself to the
emergency room? Can anything even be
done about this? She’s heard that this
type of pain is treatable; she really doesn’t have to suffer indefinitely,
although at this point the idea of being pain free seems absurd. There certainly is no way anyone or anything
can alleviate this level of agony.
Nonetheless, if left untreated this condition can absolutely be fatal,
and often is.
She continues to lie prostrate, not sure if she can even move, let
alone behave proactively. The cell phone
is in reach, however; she can see it, but what to do? Who to call?
The pain does not subside and the tears become uncontrollable. She begins to grasp the ramifications of
getting into this situation. It wasn’t
an accident, really, but neither was it her fault exactly. If she goes to the emergency room – God,
could they possibly stop the pain? –
she realizes that this will create all manner of drama, potential awkwardness
and most definitely embarrassment. She
can probably handle her husband knowing, but the kids? Would they ever forget their Mother had no
more sense than to fall prey to this pitiable situation that is
incomprehensible to them? They would be
so humiliated if their friends and friends’ parents found out. And would the kids worry that someday, they
too will be a victim of such a situation as this? Something that creates agony unlike anything
previously experienced during their innocent lives? For God’s sake, if she goes to the hospital,
the treating doctor, or even her own doctor, might determine that her condition
is even worse than anyone thought, although she cannot even imagine anything
worse than this, truly. And what if the
treatment is complex and lengthy? Who in
the world has time for that kind of nonsense?
She has work to do, meetings to attend, a family to manage, untold
errands every day. So many people depend
on her; she can’t simply be out of commission, unavailable. This is a nightmare on so many levels, and Oh
My God, the pain! It’s just
unbearable. How could she have let this
happen? She blames herself which of
course just adds another level of pain.
She tries to clear her mind of the agony, the drama, the
worrying. She tries to figure out, if
this gets fixed, and she has any chance of full recovery, how she can be sure
that it won’t happen again? She’s known
all kinds of aches and pain before, but nothing like this. No suffering such as this has ever reached
her. She’s given birth to three children
and that was a cake walk compared to this.
She almost chuckles to herself, thinking about how scared she was,
knowing her low threshold for pain she had each time she was in the delivery
room. It’s laughable now, really. In how many ways can pain be described? Is there a level for which a word has not yet
been invented? This is how she feels
right now. It is unimaginable.
The thought of explaining her predicament is so humiliating; she
wonders if she will be believable? Do
healthcare professionals see this kind of thing often? Will they mock her? As bad as the pain is, the shame and
embarrassment find a place in her mind to add additional torture. However, it becomes obvious that if she
doesn’t do something soon, she might just die right here as a result of this
horrible situation
After a seemingly endless period of attempting to block everything out
of her mind or just give in to the raw suffering, she begins to take stock of
things and is trying to decide if maybe the pain is subsiding. Would this mean she is going numb? How does that work exactly? If the pain begins to abate, if it actually
starts to fade, does that mean the wound is healing itself? Would it be possible that she could walk away
from this whole nightmare unscathed? And
no one need ever know about any of this?
Incalculable time goes by as she lies motionless, but for a slight
rocking, and it is blissfully quiet and still.
No kids, no TV, no phone, just the pain, which undulates upon her in
waves, teasing her at times into thinking it was decreasing only to attack her
with fresh hell unannounced. God damn
this pain! Damn the stupidity, the
ignorance, the blithe attitude that these things don’t happen to people like
her. Clearly, she is getting just what
she deserves. She thought she was immune
to this kind of anguish, even though, as she considered earlier, not only do
these things happen to people all the time but there was always a chance it
could happen to her. She thinks again of
the implications: the embarrassment to her family and herself, to be labeled
one of “those” people, to live with the fear of a repeat occurrence, a fear
that would be paralyzing now that she has suffered through this experience and
realizes how hideous it can be. Finding
herself in this place again would be unacceptable and she knows that she would
never be able to allow it happen, even as she reminds herself that it very well
could happen again.
Enough time has passed and she now knows that she must do something,
take a step to somehow escape the torture.
She just cannot take the agony another single minute; it’s just all too
much suddenly, and she reaches for the small black cell phone; she’s going to
take action, finally. But it’s not a
cell phone after all; deep down she knew that all along. But by God she was going to stop this pain.
She pulls the trigger.
The misery is over.
The pain of depression is a killer.
The End
Amy Clapp
2009
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