Pride Hurting

Since July 18, 2009, our family has been put through the maelstrom.  Every day is different.  There are the good days and there are the bad days.  The bad days don't seem to stop coming, though.  We're not the kind of people that complain.  We were raised to not be complainers.  Complaining never really did anybody any good, did it?


So, we don't complain.


I see Lisa at night, shrugging off the mask she wears.  Lisa tries so hard to not be a burden to anybody that it's second nature for her to smile even when she shouldn't be smiling.  Lisa smiles when she hurts.  She is perpetually working to make sure the people she socializes with are okay.  Lisa won't take care of herself; she assumes the burden of caring for everyone.


I see her at night shrugging off the mask, and showing her pain.  She has to get into the bath tub every night to relax the spasms in her back.  She asks for my percocet when the pain is really bad.  Lately she's been asking for my percocet everyday.  


I give it to her.  Without it, the smile will still be there, but at night, Lisa explodes into pain.  Two days ago, my Aunt Chris and Lisa went for a walk around the block.   They walked two blocks.  When they got back to the house, Lisa dropped Eva's hand, dropped Keona's hand, and nearly collapsed.  She sat down and looked at me with pain in her eyes.


"I can't even walk a block without hurting."  


My bride has a pain threshold so high that I can't tell when she's in pain.  I am now able to see cracks in her facade.  The pain is radiating through.  Today is her birthday.  On her facebook status she said, "Happy birthday to little, crippled, OLD me!"  Lisa is 35.  She is much too young to feel crippled and old.  But she does.  


It breaks my heart to see her bucking up under the pain when she shouldn't have to.  Lisa is kind, caring and brave.  Why would someone as good as her be hurt so badly? 


I tell her that I'm blogging about our family's experience and she is embarrassed.  Lisa is kind, and doesn't want to be a burden to anybody.  I'm sharing this pain.   She doesn't want to share the pain.  Lisa would rather take care of me, and would rather take care of everyone if we let her.


The thing is: sweetheart, I can't let you take care of everyone.  You're dying with pain everyday.  You can barely walk.  You need modern medicine to be able to function without the pain.  I know how much you hate taking percocet.  I know how often you've gone without any painkillers because you're deathly afraid of becoming an addict.  


Darling, I love you.  I want to take away your pain.  I don't know what to do when I see you at night, hunched over and hurting.  It would be nice if you took a bath just to relax, not to minimize your pain.  It would be nice if you didn't have to use my cane and my medicine.


I will always give you everything I have, everything I need, to help you and make you feel better.  

We can't even get Lisa in to see the doctor to treat her.  Nobody is willing to see her and help her.  We're stuck.