When I first realized the pain in my ankle would, likely, never go away I did my best to grit my teeth and continue my job as curling pro/manager. Then I injured my back and still kept trying to swim up stream and not give up the dream job I had.
It broke my heart every day I wasn’t able to play the game I so love and care about. I also found myself having to avoid other high-impact excercise I had enjoyed previously such as, running, skiing, dance, boxercise, and step aerobics because the impact caused dramatic flare ups and I risked further injury.
In order to invest the energy I still had into my job I had to spend more and more spare time in isolated recovery mode. I consoled myself with the fact I could still teach, I could still help others enjoy the game of curling.
I bounced on and off of disability a few times, always striving to claw my way back onto the ice. There were days I could scarcely stand, days where I struggled to walk, days where the pain screamed at me so loudly I couldn’t even think.
Eventually my performance at work reached a point where no matter how much I wanted to be the reliable, contientious, creative, perfectionist I used to be I couldn’t keep up and it was time to go back onto disability… this time for an indefinite period.
Doctors have told me it’s counterproductive for me to think of ever going back to curling as the sport only agrivates my injuries. I’ve been told, if I’m patient, I might be lucky enough for my back injury to worsen enough in the next 5 to ten years that surgery may then be helpful. Yippee!
I’m not writing about my lousy prognosis to gain pity (we all have our trials and heartaches) or to ask for any advice. I want to explain how it feels to grieve something in life aside from another human.
I didn’t understand for a long time why my heart ached so badly and why every time my thoughts drifted to my prognosis I wanted to somehow, simutanously, scream and cry and rage and close my eyes and never wake up.
During my first in-patient psychiatric stay a very kind, and very smart nurse clued me in to the fact that grief isn’t solely reserved for the dead. She showed me books and articles outlining how we can also grieve loss of a marriage, a career, a friendship, health and wellbeing, a pet, independence, and many more personal heart breaks.
I finally began to understand exactly what I had lost and why it hurt so much. I feel as though, to this day, I grieve my Health and my career to some degree each day just as I continually grieve the death of my Mom. How much I grieve on any given day depends on what the world throws at me.
When I see an article about my former curling colleagues that reminds me of what I’m missing or I try to plan a holiday and remember all the travel contingencies I must plan for or around I my have more acute feelings of grief regarding my career and my health.
To cope with these feelings I have learned to get creative. I think of getting stronger both mentally and physically so I might peruse a new and exciting career that I find just as satisfying. In fact, writing this blog is part of my copeing strategy as well as a way to test if writing is something I wish to persue as part of my future.
I also get creative with travel plans, specifically building in long rest periods, and usually travelling with a companion to take care of decision-making or driving, for example, if I get too tired or develop brain-fog from elevated pain levels.
If you suffer from chronic pain or any other dramatic loss and have experienced the grief that often goes along with it I’d love to hear your stories and coping strategies. Building community understanding is in itself a coping strategy. I don’t know about you but I could sure use, and would love to contribute all the strength I can to helping others and myself.