Pleasure Is a Relief From Pain

Have you ever been so sick you felt miserable, thinking you weren’t going to make it through the night but when the twenty-four hour stomach bug has passed you’re exhausted and feel strangely good just because you don’t feel bad anymore?

Have you ever had a headache that was so bad you could hardly function that went on for hours?   When the headache finally subsides doesn’t it feel wonderful to just be out of pain?

I heard the saying, “pleasure is a relief from pain” not long ago and I’ve been thinking about it.   I have a friend who suffers from a lot of pain not unlike I do.   Our pains are different, but we each work through them as best we can.

I had been having a very bad time recently for about three weeks.   I just couldn’t get normalized, couldn’t get on top of the pain.   There are different kinds of pain, mostly in two categories: those I can manage and those that seem unbearable.  Interestingly enough, some of the pain I can manage is actually worse than other types of pain I can’t tolerate.   It’s about where it it and how it impacts me that makes a difference.   That’s a terrible job of explaining what it feels like in my body and brain, but it’s the best I can come up with.

I was taking multiple medications my doctor prescribed for use as needed (and I needed it) and doing all sorts of things like going to the chiropractor, icing, stretching, whining, moaning and complaining—the last three I have to thank my husband for listening to.

Then a few days ago things just got better.   Milder.   And I could manage again.   It’s hard to explain—I’m not out of pain, I’m just in less and more manageable discomfort overall.   I’m not waking up in the middle of the night and not being able to go to sleep until nerve medication helps over an hour later.   And I’m able to bend over and pick up things without making a terrible groaning sound.

So I don’t know what changed, but it almost feels like pleasure just to be out of pain.

The Big Boy Update:  I made my son mad today because he didn’t put on his socks and shoes in fifteen minutes after multiple requests.   He was so mad in the car he told me, “I don’t like you anymore.  You mean nothing to me.”

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  It was past bedtime, the door to the children’s room was shut and yet it kept opening as my daughter tattled on her brother.   One time she said, “Mom, Greyson hit me.”  I said, “okay, go to bed.”   She irritatedly replied, “whatever” and then slammed the door.