Fight for the Smiles, Life Is Happening Now

Things go wrong in our lives and sometimes we wish we could just get away for awhile. Erase the past and get a redo. Take a timeout. Retreat. I know for me, chronic nerve pain has been a noose around my neck that has made me wave the white flag of retreat more than once. Without my wife and kids driving me, I’m sure I would have retreated much further.

Sure I’ve checked out on the little things, taking rests when I can, but if I did what my body wanted me to all the time, I would have missed out on so much of the big stuff. I would have missed coaching my sons’ baseball teams and the father-daughter dance. I would have missed out on Disney and that hiking trip to Zealand Falls. I would have missed special adventures with each kid, giving them some much needed one-on-one time. I would have missed that AFC Championship game with my boys, right before having kidney surgery.

This is not to say that I haven’t missed out on a lot of big things too, because I have. I’ve had to stay home while my family’s gone on some grand adventures, because I can’t risk eating out anywhere. Every time I’ve tested this out it’s ended in disaster. So I’ve got to remain close to home, or somewhere where I can get access to the few foods I can eat. It’s limiting, to say the least. But even though I can’t be present everywhere I want to be, I’ve gotten better at being present where I am.

During the first few months of this, I spent most of the time lying in bed. Moving was impossible without giving my body jolts and making me feeling nauseous. Just walking around the house was a painful exercise. Eventually though, little breaks in the pain would emerge, and I could start to hang out for a little without it being too bad. Then when I went to bed I would tell myself, “in a few days, it will be better.” Just hang on for a few more days.

1300 days later and I’m still going to bed, telling myself to hang on for just another few days. The pain is a million times better, but is still hanging on, like a leaf on a tree, refusing to accept that winter is coming and the end is near. It still interferes with my ability to eat most anything. I still have to sleep sitting up. I still can’t run or do any real exercise without spasms. BUT, I’ve got my routines to minimize the pain, am getting better sleep, and my body is finally gaining weight and feeling stronger.

Last night I was able to pitch batting practice for my son’s baseball team and even hit fly balls for the kids to shag. For most middle-aged men, this is not a big deal, but for me it felt like I was walking on the moon. This was an incredible accomplishment for me and I was so excited. When I got through the first ten hits without a problem, I could feel a huge smile welling up in my chest. I haven’t felt a smile like that in a long, long time. I wonder what the boys would have done if their coach suddenly burst into tears and started kissing the ground. It almost happened.

Living with chronic pain, or illness, doesn’t mean the smiles have to stop coming. When life turns on a dime, you have to reset your expectations though, because the smiles you can get are going to be a little different than what you’re used to. When you’ve hit the bottom of whatever cave you’ve been thrown down, it’s hard not to dwell on everything you’ve lost. On how impossible it might be to regain any of it back. But eventually you can get your mind started on a small goal, and you can build upon that. You tell yourself, “let’s just get through the next few days, and see where we’re at.” Then you do it again. And again. You focus on finding the little smiles. Like watching a good movie or listening to your family tell a funny story. The smiles don’t come easy at first, but once you force yourself to being open to receiving them, they start to come.

In truth, this is way easier said than done. While giving myself motivating lines to feed on these last few years, my days have been dominated by negative thoughts about how impossible the climb in front of me has looked. It looked too big. It still looks big, because my body has a lot more healing to do. But I’m so glad that I didn’t completely retreat from life, because who knows if I’ll ever be able to fully heal.

So I can’t retreat. I can’t wait for the day where it’s all better to start living again, because life is happening now. My kids are growing up. My wife and I have things we want to do. Life goes on. It doesn’t wait for you. You have to figure out a way to keep participating in the experiences you want to live for, even if you can’t do them the way you want to. You’ve got to keep fighting for ways to find those smiles. Smiles for them. Smiles for you.