Rolling Traveler

Every year, just before my birthday, my mother’s aunt Jenny, a great woman who was a huge part of my childhood, would ask me if my back hurt, because of an old wives’ tale about the back hurting just before one’s birthday. It became a sort of gentle running joke between us: “How many times has his back hurt him?” instead of “How old is he?”; “My back’s that sore that I better get some presents tomorrow.”; and “You’d swear he had a birthday coming up, the way he’s complaining!” I still think of that every year, just before my birthday, and if I’m honest, I miss hearing it.

I’ve not been thinking of Aunt Jenny today because of any connection of the day to her life, but because today I developed a very uncomfortable back pain, and upon being asked what might have caused it, I thought immediately of my 35th birthday, just over a week passed. I thought of how she would have blamed the birthday, said I was late, or told me that was proof I was born before my time (which is not true: I was a late birth). The thought gave me a little comfort. I’ve always found the wheelchair and the associated pains easier to deal with when I can laugh at them a little.

The real culprit is of course the wheelchair, not my birthday. Using a wheelchair or crutches requires the shoulders and back to do things they are not designed for. Even if a wheelchair user doesn’t have any of the pains associated with spinal cord injuries or neurological conditions, we are likely to have occasional or common pains from our physical exertions. Having some methods of pain management is essential. Popping a pain-killer is not an answer, just a way of masking the symptoms: that may be desirable, but it won’t help in the long term. A pain management regimen is more complex, and also very personal. The way I find it best to lie in bed, stretch and exercise, and the pain-relief/anti-inflammatory cream I use, and the amount of extra water I drink help me, but might not do the job for someone else. They might even make their problem worse.

A good attitude does help, and I’ve tried to cultivate one. Within reason, I try not to let the pain get in the way of my plans, and if I am confined to the house or bed, I’ll make the best of it. If I go out, I’ll let friends push the wheelchair and help in other ways, and I will avoid the high curbs and steps I can normally take on. I try not to let the pain get on top of me, or rage against it. There’s an essential element of going with the flow: accept and adapt, not force and fight.

It’s evening now, and the pain’s gotten to the point where I need to wind my day down. I’ve taken a pain-killer too - I’m not against them, but they’re not my first response. I may be rambling a little because of that: I prefer a strong one when I do take one, and then to bed. The day was good, but I won’t pretend that my good attitude overcame all the barriers or the pain. However, having a bit of a laugh at it let me keep going, somehow: I didn’t do everything I intended, but I got out for a bit with a good friend’s help, did a few things, then came home to rest. I enjoyed a first-class day, instead of focusing on what I was missing because of the pain. That counts for far more in the long run.

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