I recently had a minor medical procedure done. Very minor, really, and nothing worth commenting on, except that it hurt. And in the human mind, pain is a memory maker, which is right and good because otherwise a whole lot of us would be touching the still-hot stovetop even more than we already do.
I had spoken to another woman before the procedure, who had had it done as well in the past, and she had warned me about the pain. I'm sure she meant well in telling me. And I had laughed a bit in a nervous way and made the comment I always make, which essentially goes something like "I've had three children. I'll be fine."
And I was. I was fine. And I knew I would be fine. I knew it would hurt and then it would hurt a bit more, and then it would hurt less and eventually it wouldn't hurt at all anymore and everything would go back to normal. I knew this, because I am an adult and I've had many medical indignities done to me in the *mumble mumble* years I've been on the Earth. And unlike a child, the thought of pain is an okay thought for me; not a pleasant thought, by any means, but sort of a resigned, okay thought.
When I was very little the thought of having a needle could cause me to panic. I didn't have the vocabulary to express that, but I knew that if I thought about the upcoming needle, I would get this sick 'run away' feeling and start to feel my thoughts spin out of control and my body break out in a sweat. None of the things anyone would say to me about not being afraid would help. None of the techniques, none of the reassurance would make me want to walk into that room, would make me not feel a flushed, dizzy feeling come over me.
I remember when I was newly married, and pregnant, and I had to go to a clinic for one of the innumerable blood draws a pregnant woman is subjected to. My husband was working, and I was as afraid of that needle as I had ever been of any needle, perhaps more so because this was a needle from a complete stranger, in a strange clinic, for a strange, new reason, and I was by myself; as I sat in the chair I felt lightheaded and like crying. I want very much to tell you that I did not collapse, all *mumble mumble* pounds of Scots-Canadian pregnant lass that I was, on the tiny Asian nurse...but that would be a lie. I went down like a tonne of bricks.
That remains the only time I've ever fainted, and I have no desire to repeat the experience, thank you very much. Maybe it was the heat, or the build up of tension, or my blood pressure or any number of other reasonable factors - but in my memory it is burned in as The Time Fear Won.
I assure you, that was not the last time fear of pain won with me. The difference between the me of that first pregnancy and the me who dealt with the recent pain and fear was as simple as exposure - I have felt a lot of pain, and I have not died. This most recent little pain can't scare me like it could before because I've met its cousin, Big Pain, and I have won.
When the tunnel vision recedes, there is an unexpected benefit - suddenly the pain makers swim into focus. With the overwhelmed and fearful, they blur into 'the person to avoid', but with the eventual submission of a more fearful part of yourself, the people behind the needles appear once more.
Dr. T was slender, with tired eyes and greying hair, and after our unpleasant time together (I'm sure she's lovely at parties) we talked for a few minutes about follow-up sorts of things, as one does. And I asked her if I could pray for her - for her work, which must contribute to those eyes, for her patients, and whatever other unspoken sorts of things weigh on all of us. There was a time I would never have been so bold as to ask that, and it is still a very infrequent offer of mine, but this...was the right time. When we got home, the pastor and I did pray for her, but I will continue to remember her in my own prayers, and here is what I will say:
Thank you, Lord, for bravely allowing your children to feel pain and fear, so that we may one day not be ruled by those things. Thank you for clearing our minds and steadying our steps and hands. Thank you, Lord, for those who cause pain for good purpose, and give them the strength to bear their work, as you give us the strength to endure it.
World without end.
Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment