The Familiarity of Pain

Last night was rough.

For those of you who have had pancreatitis you know what the pain is like. For those of you who have not had pancreatitis I hope you never experience the excruciating feeling of digesting yourself from the inside out.

20 years ago when pancreatitis first entered my life, it was so painful, I did ask God to take me. I was in the hallway of overcrowded emergency room and, as my wife tells it, I was literally climbing the walls in pain. The pain was intolerable and I was done.

I've been told that I have a high tolerance for pain. Not sure how one determines that, but I do know that I try not to simply suck it up as some nod to toxic masculinity. Pancreatic pain has its own special vibe, which is why, when I first felt it while camping, we hightailed it home.

This entire experience has been so familiar, even 20 years later: the vibe of a bustling hospital floor, the care and compassion of the medical staff, the constant poking and prodding, and even the smell of the IV. The most familiar thing though, is the experience of pain.

Throughout the day I had been dealing with a dull throbbing pain. Not nothing, but not unbearable. Then last night I started to feel sharp pangs of pain from my pancreatic area as well as from the gallbladder removal incisions. Other than when I first came in, I have only been on Tylenol, resistant to taking many more narcotics. (Last time around I developed a slight addiction to Percocet upon my return home.) It was impossible to fall asleep and soon I found myself in a too familiar state of being curled up, writhing in pain, and immitting sad painful groans.

My pancreas, no matter how much we sweet talked it and deprive it of food or water (going on 65 hours now) that little $h!t has decided to stay angry.

A few hours earlier the nurse told me that stronger pain meds were available should I want them. I have had them all in the past, but at that point I figured I would be fine. How much worse could it get? Dumbass. As I was trying to catch my breath in between pain surges, the oddest thing came to mind: a super cheesy church joke.

Basically the joke is that people are caught on a rooftop in a flood and turn away three rescue boats before they drowned. They told each one, “No thank you, God will save us.” When they appeared before God at the pearly gates, they asked God, “Why didn't you save us?” To which God replied, “What do you mean, I sent you three boats.”

Terrible joke, problematic theology, but that's what came to mind as I quickly buzzed nurse letting them know I was ready for my oxycodone. A few minutes later the pain started to subside and soon that blissful familiarity of having no pain was achieved. A few hours later after a deep sleep, the poking and prodding again again, but the debilitating pain was no more.

Thanks to everyone who has lifted up prayers and sent healing vibes my way. It's much appreciated. Please do read my last post for my rant on healthcare and follow more updates on Threads.

I'm still resting and restless, but I don't have much more to do than nap and text. For if I move, there is pain.

See you soon.