>Her Pain

>

We talked about her pain. An old pain from a ulnar fracture when she was ten. The new pain in her belly from pancreatic cancer. Pains in-between. Small heaps of pain, if she separated them into categories: physical, emotional, existential. But they couldn’t really be separated. Blinding migraines, suddenly returned. Her first born, a crib death. Knowing she would die before her oldest child completes high school. Regrets about not taking care of her father when he was dying. An old shoulder injury. Estrangement. Anger. Fear. Putting these pains together, they became a mountain of pain, and she cried. Frankly, I did too. We cried. Shared some silence. Then I asked if she wanted me to increase her pain medications. Yes, without hesitation, yes. I wondered, Why do you always tell the nurses you are not having pain, when they ask? She said, it makes me feel like a loser to admit it. It seemed like a funny answer. We laughed.
Advertisements
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to >Her Pain

  1. >I am really digging these short but sharp little stories. Don’t have much more to say then that, but keep them coming.

  2. dethmama says:

    >Oh, excellent! Love the story and the style.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s