Phantom Pain

I had a dream last night.  I know, we dream most nights - but last night, for the first time in months, I remembered dreaming.  I'm so glad it was a dream and not reality - I ripped my thumbnail off - the whole left thumbnail, and Tom was bandaging it when I awoke.
I dreamed when I was in Boise, too, but I didn't write it down, so I don't remember the details.

-0-

The last couple days I've been pondering phantom pain.  

From the Mayo Clinic:  "Phantom pain is pain that feels like it's coming from a body part that's no longer there. Doctors once believed this post-amputation phenomenon was a psychological problem, but experts now recognize that these real sensations originate in the spinal cord and brain.

Although phantom pain occurs most often in people who've had an arm or leg removed, the disorder may also occur after surgeries to remove other body parts, such as the breast, penis, eye or tongue.

For some people, phantom pain gets better over time without treatment. For others, managing phantom pain can be challenging. You and your doctor can work together to treat phantom pain effectively with medication or other therapies."

-0-

I met with a hospice counselor this week.  She assured me I'm - normal.  Although I took great offense to that statement in a letter from Mom in the early '80s - who wants to be normal? - it brings me a little tiny bit of comfort now.

What does "normal" mean?  It means that this grief process takes time - takes far more time than most of our culture is willing to grant.  Some weeks ago I realized I was sliding into a pit, an abyss, if you will.  Even if you won't.  I had forgotten about the descent - and had forgotten I was in the hole.  When I awoke Monday and realized I couldn't see over the top of my sorrow, I realized I had to seek additional help.

People's advice is to "stay busy."  Certainly that is not a problem.  There are plenty of things to do - mostly it's easier to do for others than for myself, but nonetheless I am "busy."  

I am now at a stage where I need some time to process this amputation of my beloved.

My counselor talked of a theory that says we fall in love from the outside in - and when someone is lost to us, the process is reversed. And it's like peeling barbed wire off my heart, some of it is cut in pieces, and I think I have a section released and - oops - part of the wire slips back in place and has to be pulled off again.  I have plenty of external experience with barbed wire - the internal experience is not as familiar, but excruciatingly painful to endure.

-0-

My counselor, JuliAnn, says it's okay for me to sit at home and cry.  Here I am, just turned 53, and still needing permission from an authority figure to experience my emotions.  

It's pretty easy to cry when it's raining, too.  I'm so grateful for the rain - and the flowers and vegetation the rain brings - even while I'm railing against the injustice of spring without Tom.

It's so interesting being "one."  I am introspective by nature, and listening to the conversations swirling about me, observing the insecurities some have, wondering how those same insecurities affect me, serves to accentuate that I am somehow in a different realm than many.

-0-

If I seem to lose track of what we're talking about, if my answers are not quite on, when my eyes leak - please forgive me.  If I don't seem too prickly for it, please hug me.  I miss Tom's touch so much.  And his jokes. To say nothing of his fashion sense and suggestions - and compliments! - about my attire, presentation, attitude.  I desperately need hugs - and am so afraid of leaky eyes I tend to send out "NO" signals.  Hmph.

One of the first times I "dated" Tom, I showed up at the Gemini Restaurant and asked for a hug.  And he gave it to me.  No pressure.

We were the same as any other married couple - and we were different.  Truly, we were together almost all of every day.  Of every week.  Of every year.  Especially for the last 26 years.  We talked.  And talked.  No topic was verboten.  Dictionaries were frequently used.  Bibles, Concordances and Encyclopedias as well. We even discussed about the loss of one of us - who would the other talk with?  So many intimacies, memories - even memories shared of our lives before we came to meet.

-0-

Please don't be frightened about me.  I believe things will change.  I believe God has a plan for me.  I am utterly lost at the moment - except that none of us can ever be totally lost, because God knows where we are.

Please listen to me - don't ask me a question if you don't want the answer - and please don't insist I'm doing things wrong.  

Please point out when I'm not seeing the love messages that come to me.  I'm blind sometimes.

-0-

I hope God's plans for me include another "significant other."  I know that's a long way off, if ever, but in my thinking it is a compliment to Tom, that our marriage was so beneficial - to both of us, I pray - that I would like to be in a partnership again.  For now, I'd like to learn to be content in all circumstances.  I AM able to give thanks in all circumstances - perhaps that's a start.

-0-

It occurs to me that my constant queasiness, the disorientation, the incessant noise in my head - are my signs of phantom pain.  Part of me is gone, and I have to learn how to live without.  It is interesting that my dream involved Tom helping to heal me.

Pax.

"I sing because I'm happy - I sing because I'm free!  For His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me."

For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

Jeremiah 29:1