The Gift of Pain - Chapter 1

We cannot escape pain. It is a fact of life as certain as death and taxes. We may avoid it for a while. We may deny it for a period. But we cannot escape it forever.

My first experiences with pain were mild. I stubbed my toes, scraped my knees and fell off my bike, like every other child, my own included.  But usually, a soothing word, a caress and a band-aid and the injury was quickly forgotten. Okay, I just lied there. The truth is, I would scream bloody murder for an hour and a half and then I would get over it!  (So that's where my kids get it from.)

I had occasional trips to the emergency room for stitches and the typical growing pains of youth. As an adult, I seemed to gain more grace but, on occasion, would twist an ankle or bruise a shin. I gave birth to three beautiful children and experienced all the sickness, pain and utter joy associated with childbirth.

All of these experiences with pain were eclipsed, however, in the past several years, as I discovered the unrelenting cruelty of sickness and suffering.

For some time now, I have been compelled to tell my story.  The facts are often ugly and grim. I questioned whether or not mine was a story that people would desire to read and if it was self-indulgent.

Recently, I had two specific incidents that prompted me to take the leap and bare a bit of my soul.  Two different friends, on separate occasions,  said, “You need to share what you have been through."  One friend knows a fair bit of my story, the other, very little. Their words have stuck in my mind like gum on the bottom of my shoe, and I can’t get them off.  So, I have decided to take a risk and let you into my private world of chronic pain, shattered dreams, renewed hope and joy. This story will take a while. It is still often hard to relive. There are tears in my eyes as I write this. But, as the Swedish Proverb says, “Shared joy is a double joy; shared sorrow is half a sorrow”.

This journey began approximately ten years ago. At that time, I was working full-time as the secretary of the Christian school where my two youngest children attended. Our oldest daughter was at the end of her high school years, looking ahead to college.

I had a particularly difficult labor with our youngest child and never felt like I really bounced back. At work, I was not as sharp as I once was, often distracted and overwhelmed.   I was told it was just the stress of parenting three children, working full-time and dealing with life.  However, one day my husband’s cousin made a remark that made me think there may be more to the way I was feeling.

Jon and I had worked in the same office a few years previous to this time and he commented to Steve, “Remember how sharp Karen used to be. She was type A and could multi-task better than anyone I knew."  Turning to me he said, “You’re just not the same anymore."

Now, I know that this sounds like an unusual thing for somebody to say and it really annoyed my husband. He felt that it was unkind and told Jon in no uncertain terms.  I, on the other hand, felt like there was finally somebody who acknowledged how I had been feeling for some time – dull, slow and just generally out of whack.

For months I had questioned Steve, my mom, my sister and friends, “Do you notice how different I am? I’m just not the same. Something is wrong. Do you see it?” One by one they had reassured me that I seemed normal and that I was probably just tired - not to worry.

I told the doctor how I was feeling and they ran some blood work and ordered an EKG, but everything appeared fine - "probably just hormones" (a doctor's favorite go-to line).

All that changed on Thanksgiving Day, 2001.  We had a great time at Grandma and Poppa’s house, ate too much turkey and were driving home, just over a mile away.  Steve had gone ahead with our oldest in one car and I was a few minutes behind with the youngest two in their car seats.  As I was driving down the hill from my parent’s house I had this strange feeling come over me.  I wasn’t sure what to do with the car.  It took me a few seconds to orient myself to where I was and it scared me.

I pulled over to the side of the road, my mind in an uproar.  “Mom, what are you doing? Why did we stop?” the kids questioned.  At first I couldn’t speak, but eventually told them that I wasn’t feeling well and needed to rest before we could go on.  In my mind I was thinking, “What is wrong with me? I can’t drive any further. Maybe my sister will come along soon and see me here.”

Several more minutes passed and nobody drove by.  I got my bearings and continued on home.  When I walked in the door, Steve could tell something had happened.  I looked at him and said, “I am not getting back in that car again until somebody tells me what is wrong. I’m going to the doctor tomorrow and I am staying there until I get some answers!”   I was truly terrified.

This was the beginning of my journey through sickness, pain and strengthened faith.  It is a journey that I am still traveling.  I don't know how to share it briefly, so I will continue to share my story over the next several weeks.  I earnestly pray that somehow, when you read it, you will be encouraged to persevere through your own journey, however painful that may be. My purpose in this is not to glorify myself or garner your pity, but to bring glory to the One who was, “despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering.” Isaiah 53:3 NIV

You will discover how I can truly say, I thank God for the "gift of pain".