On Staring

She lay on the bed in her pajamas staring towards the ceiling fan as it circulated above her, arms and legs sprawled like a dried up starfish on the beach. She'd been like that for a couple hours. 

Ever since she got C*v*d, 3 weeks before, when it felt like someone turned up the dial on the pull of gravity (fatigue) along with body aches and headaches and turned down the dial on oxygen and her ability to focus, all she had the energy to do, if not blessed with sleep, was to lay or sit still and stare. Staring out a window. Staring at framed photos. Staring at a blank TV. Staring at shadows. Staring at sheetrock patterns on the wall. Just staring and staring.

She's not always sure where her mind went during these staring spells. Sometimes she'd rabbit trail and think and think and cry and cry. And sometimes she'd just cry without thinking. And sometimes she'd just be.

Often she'd decide on one task that she planned to muster the energy to do: go refill her Yeti; sit up and take a pain pill; or even go to the bathroom. Then an hour later she'd still be in the same position realizing she had yet to move.

This time her staring event was a little different. It wasn't C-symptoms anymore that prevented her from moving and doing things, but some weird intense pain in her feet.

About a week before, when she finally felt like she was coming to the end of this most horrible plague (her run was 17 days except for the fatigue that clung like gum on her tennis shoe in a hot parking lot), she had the strangest thing happen. She experienced extreme pain in her feet to the point she had to either crawl or use her mom's old wheeled walker to maneuver around the house. (She was also experiencing a "red hot spot" at the base of her skull with tentacles of icy blue pain that extended over the surface of her skull up onto her forehead. Thankfully, Excedrin helped make that fade to the background. The feet pain was eased slightly by Excedrin, but the ache never left completely and standing on them made her feet scream.)

It was unlike any pain she'd experienced before, and of course, after a middle of the night google session a few days after it began, she thought she might even die from it. 

Dr. Google unapologetically suggested a combination of thicker blood while having C*v*d plus a sudden emerging ache and pain in your feet and legs might be a sign of a DVT. Basically if she didn't go to the ER, she was probably going to die from a blood clot. (So, of course, she wrote a late night blog post explaining what was happening and hinting at saying goodbye. You know, just in case.)

But alas, you may have noticed, she's still here. And for those really paying attention, she's walking and driving and living pain free like it never happened. Interesting, right? Ok, maybe only to her.

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“If your mind is empty, it is always ready for anything; it is open to everything. In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities; in the expert’s mind there are few.” 

― Shunryu Suzuki, Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind

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So here's what happened:

Day 1 of waking up with intense feet pain and can't walk: Obtain walker. Call doc. Go to appointment that day. Get stabbed in butt cheek with Tordol and again with a steroid. Told if this works, no pain for 24 hours and treatment will be known. If doesn't work, pain will not go away and will have to follow up with x-rays, MRI, and neurology appointment. Pain did not go away. 

Day 4: Tell the world goodbye.

Day 6: Pajamas, starfish, ceiling fan. During this staring session, she decided she'd practice emptying her mind: focus on her breath, stare softly towards the ceiling fan and room shadows, allow thoughts to come and go...until...

    "You should make an appointment with the chiropractor for your skull hot spot and feet pain."

Wait. What?!

What was this thought? Was this a suggestion? Was this a command? Where did this come from? Are the pains connected?

These questions flooded her mind while she obeyed and immediately scootched into a sitting position, found her phone and dialed the number. She made an appointment for Friday afternoon. 

She felt giddy with anticipation. She couldn't wait. This was so weird, but what if?

Day 8: Friday afternoon. She took two Excedrin so she could drive. She hadn't been able to drive anywhere for 3 weeks. She felt nervous. She debated taking her walker, but saw it was going to be more work (and walking) to back out the car and then go back in to get the walker. She figured she'd just hobble the best she could and trust in the two Excedrin.

The doc called her back and asked where she was experiencing pain. She almost burst into tears just trying to describe what was going on. Then she laid on the fancy table and waited for him to work his magic with the hammer tools.

He began hammering up and down her spine describing when and where he found things wrong. He hammered at the base of her skull and her neck. He worked on her feet at which point it took everything in her not to scream. She wanted relief so bad she was willing to suffer through anything short term at this point.

And then he said ok, stand up and see how you feel. 

She never commits to saying whether she feels different at that point because it always feels a little better after he gives her an adjustment. It almost feels like a massage when you have that residual "ah" feeling before it wears off. So she says she's not sure, and she'll let him know.

That night she decided not to take Excedrin before bed. She was thinking the pain felt mostly manageable, and she was hoping without the caffeine that she'd sleep better.

Day 9: She woke up and slowly swung her legs over the edge of the bed expecting the normal surge of fullness and pain. There was hardly any. Oh glorious day!

She got up and walked to the bathroom without the walker. There was soreness, but she could walk! She could walk!

A few days later as she walked and walked and walked as if she had always walked her whole life, she would describe the pain as having been about 80% gone on Saturday and about 95% by Sunday. And her weird hot spot was gone too.

The end.

Photo by Taryn Elliott from Pexels