Dearest Rachel –
The problem with emotions and feelings is that it’s difficult to explain what one is feeling in a way that another person would understand exactly. Oh, we might be able to give a general idea to an audience what something feels like – and usually, that’s the best we can hope for when describing something like this – but to really go into detail about how it reaches deep into your nerves and soul… that’s just not possible to convey, since everyone’s own experience is different with that emotion or sensation.
Indeed, sometimes the same stimuli can hit differently with ourselves, given the surrounding circumstances. Who hasn’t looked at a bruise or a cut that escaped their notice until that moment, and wondered to themselves how that happened? Given the impact necessary to cause such a blemish, one would think there would have been a sense of pain, however brief, that would remind us of how that injury came to be. But apparently it was minor enough to escape notice, even as it left a mark that, hours or even days later, we’re puzzling over as to its origin.
So even such a basic – and universal – stimulus such as pain doesn’t appear to follow a strict, linear, cause-and-effect pattern. What hurts in one moment may be overlooked in another, and what causes one person sheer agony barely registers for someone else. So it’s hard to explain what it is we’re dealing with in any given moment to someone else who can’t necessarily relate to it.
Not that we don’t try; indeed, the vast majority of the health care industry is dedicated to the alleviation of pain of one sort or another, because it’s usually the most obvious indication that something is wrong with someone. It’s like the dashboard lights for the human body; the nerve endings on the skin teach a young child not to touch a hot stove or a hiker that there’s a stone in their boot, while those deeper in the muscles let one know that they’ve put in enough exercise and it’s time to take a break, and let them heal and grow stronger. Other internals will pinpoint where an ailment is so that it can be treated properly, since certain remedies will work for certain illnesses but not others; one doesn’t want to waste time and money treating a stomachache when it’s their head that’s pounding, for example.
Of course, there are also pains for which nothing can be done, aside from palliation. To extend the dashboard light metaphor, all that can be done is to put black electrical tape over them; you know something isn’t the way it’s supposed to be, but there isn’t much that can be done under the hood about it. All that can be done is to address – and hopefully cover up – the alert (read: the pain) associated with the abnormal situation.
So it’s been with my dad for the last couple of days; I mentioned how his feeding tube has been leaking at the point where it enters his stomach, which leads to him not being able to go out in public for any length of time because of the fear of accidents (which gives a measure of frustration to a man who has always had a remarkably even keel). But it turns out that this area is also a pain point for him, and not just the chafing of the tube itself against the open wound (for which he’s had to use various diaper creams to alleviate. Well, they do talk about old age being a ‘second childhood,’ and it’s still better than needing it elsewhere, such as the intended areas). It would seem – and I don’t know how it happens – that the contact point has been affecting the cartilage around it, and the pain resulting from it has gotten serious.
Bear in mind, cartilage isn’t quite like bone; there’s a certain flexibility to it that bone doesn’t have, so it’s able to bend rather than break under certain amounts of stress or pressure. At the same time, it does have a breaking point as well – and even if that hasn’t been reached, the application of that stress or pressure can seriously hurt. Consider getting punched in the nose; its structure is mostly cartilage rather than bone, but that doesn’t mean it won’t hurt, or that it can’t be broken.
That, as far as I can guess, is what it must feel like for Dad to be dealing with; except that rather than being his nose, it’s right there in his midsection, where the feeding tube connects to his stomach. And as he needs that tube in order to take in nourishment (since he can’t swallow), it’s not like the tube – the source of his pain, as it rubs up against certain rib cartilage, apparently – can be removed, so as to alleviate the pain. He can grind up some ibuprofen tablets and pour them into the tube with his ‘meals,’ but it takes time for those to work.
As much as all this is an understandable inconvenience, it’s odd and a little frightening that this combination of pain and frustration has gotten him to wonder aloud as to why he’s still here. He’s trusting in God’s plan, like Job (or maybe, given the six-plus extra years he’s been given thus far, I suggested he’s more like Hezekiah), but the other day had him saying how he was more than ready to go Home. It’s not the first time he’s been on the verge – and it won’t be the last, since at some point it will happen that he will go Home, just as we all will – but the frightening nature is that he seems physically healthy this time around; there’s no real reason why he should feel like he’s on his way Home at the moment.
Now, he explains it thusly; during some of those low physical ebbs in the past, he was under medication of one sort or another, so however bad things were, he wasn’t as aware of it as all that. This time around, however, he’s just having to deal with the pain, and constantly. I can’t, for the life of me, imagine what it must be like, to be dealing with pain so bad that you’d rather check out of life – would this be what would rank as a ten on that medical scale? Then again, we’re promised so much more on the other side that it’s more understandable for us than most people that we’d be ready and willing to cross over sooner rather than later.
With all that having been said, the mixup between what I thought the schedule was between myself and Lars couldn’t have happened at a more opportune time. He was over to see the folks that much earlier, and got to address the situation as best he could. Although, for whatever reason, the folks didn’t get around to applying the topical analgesic he’d mentioned on Tuesday until he and I both checked in with them yesterday; evidently, they hadn’t realized that his suggestion was meant to be taken as an actual recommendation. Moreover, he mentioned a second such remedy that I offered to pick up for them on my way back from our walk – in this case, he didn’t seem to take issue with the idea of applying multiple medications to the problem, apart from not doing so right before bed (owning supposedly to the smell).
At this point, between the various over-the-counter medications, it would seem that the pain has subsided for him – and he’s even gotten out to take his driver’s test (which he passed) – so things have returned to a form of normalcy, I suppose. But I do wonder where he sits on the pain scale, what it must be like, and what – if anything – I could do to bring it down.
Either way, with that being said, I’d appreciate it if you could keep an eye on him, as well as myself, and wish us both luck. In our own separate ways, we’ll be needing it.
Letters to Rachel 