grief is grief no matter how its expressed.
A new feeling started to boil up inside of me. It started with a lump in my throat and a sniffle. When a glass of water or a rip from my dab pen didn't make these subside, it finally exploded....
I remember the night it began to creep in. It was a night just like any other. I had finished my work for the night and was ready for some dinner. I got the nightly, "leaving the field now, see you at commons (our university cafe)" from Cal. As I arrived at the commons, the entire baseball team followed. They had just finished up with practices for the day, fresh out of practice. So naturally, the topic of conversation was baseball. It used to NEVER annoy me. In fact, it was something I loved, being able to share my passion for the game. But, the lump in my throat, sped-up heart palpitations, and shortness of breath took over. Instead of being my usual outgoing self, I went quiet. I went on my phone to make it look as though I was unbothered for the rest of dinner. I then followed with a, " I gotta get my overnight bag so catch up with you later, hun"
Cal saw right through my act. From the minute I walked into his apartment, he knew I was bothered by something. I told him my usual, " I'm fine, just in pain and anxious". He responded with, "Okay, but it just feels like you are sad or mad about something. Just wanted to check in". I caved and spit out the feeling I was struggling with, resentment & frustration rolled into one mean ball. I felt gross for feeling resentment towards Cal for playing baseball, having teammates, and most importantly expressing his love for the game so often. I incessantly apologized for even bringing it up. It was hard for me to admit just how pissed off the universe or whatever higher power took the sport away from me. It was even harder to admit that I was grieving. I thought about missing going to practice, being a part of a team, and even just throwing every day. Not even mentioning, how it felt to sit in the stands and cheer him on as a supportive girlfriend. I didn't have anything in my life that I felt ultra-passionate about. Well, yes I'm very passionate about Cal, but, the only thing I could see when I looked at him was a committed college athlete, something I could no longer share with him. And when he was at practice or at games on the weekend, I sat in my dorm room trying not to think about how I too should be at games... My emotions towards baseball/softball became a vicious cycle of trauma. Then, on this night of bubbling anxiety, while Cal and I lay in bed trying to sleep... I told him how sorry I was for taking my stages of grief out on him recently. Cal being Cal said, "You don't need to apologize. You're going through a hard time love, rebuilding your identity without softball while still trying to figure out your pain. It's a lot to put on one person." I vented how stressful it had been having to be my own medical secretary and advocate in order to find a Dr. to solve my pain. Then Cal hit the trigger I did not know I had with a single question, "You can see all the doctors but What if the pain doesn't go away?"
*BOOM *1st Panic Attack Ever.....
I remember this clearly... those words ringing in my head on a loop... what if the pain doesn't get better... can't get better... then it led me straight to... what if I don't get better?.. it was something I never thought possible before that moment. But I quickly realized it was necessary to think about it.
30 mins later.....* and a bong rip or two later...I took a deep breath and went back to bed. I asked Cal if we could continue the conversation later that day (cuz yes it was 2 am).
Looking back on this moment I remember feeling both terrified and alone. But, now I see that I really was never alone through any of it. I am glad that Cal was the one to pose the question of not getting better. It was something that he knew I needed to reflect on. How? Cuz he knew me. Not just softball jazzy, but as a whole person who should keep looking towards the future... regardless of what's to come ahead cuz I could handle it. But most importantly because I deserved some relief... Even if I was strong. I had gone through 3 invasive surgeries already... Talking this out with him was ultimately the way I got my spark back.
See throughout every step of this process I always had something to look forward to. Getting better was just getting healthy enough to go back to softball. So, since I hadn't "gotten better" hearing chronic pain as a diagnosis made me feel like I had failed.
Here's a better way to explain it, an example! When I got hurt initially, I knew to look for a dr to fix my torn ligament. I knew to get Mri imaging, get surgery, go to Pt, and even how to best manage my hand/arm pain. I had a "system" in place so to speak. But, now with 3 surgeries not making my pain go away... and in some ways, make it worse/change... I felt utterly lost.
However, after Cal brought up the possibility of accepting chronic pain as my next diagnosis, I realized that part of my resentment towards him and that question of "what if I don't get better" was my inner gut telling me that something was still wrong. Each surgery should have made my pain go away. My surgeon, Dr. Riedel was sure of that. He expected me to come out of surgery swinging and throwing... going back to softball, just like other patients had. But even he was now stumped... Everyone wanted me to accept "pain management patient" as my diagnosis. Something had to be causing my pain. If it wasn't my nerve moving... and my neck and shoulder now feeling crowded... why not look there a little closer...
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