Embracing Chronic Pain

Falling 30 feet to the ground is not the ideal way to discover the body does not bounce.

—

A little over 40-some-years ago, I was waiting to go to war. OK, that may be overly dramatic. I was a member of the United States Navy Reserves, and I was finishing out my first year of Reserve duty. I was scheduled to be activated in the spring of the year, and since this was at the highpoint of the Viet Nam war, I possibly could have been sent to participate in the conflict.

But, I wasn’t. Instead, I proved that a body does not bounce.

I had completed broadcasting school and had nine months to go before call-up. I went back to Chicago to live with my folks and the only job I could find was Marriott In-Flight. I was a helper. We were tasked with putting food on airplanes and taking off the dirty dishes. It was the perfect job, it let me sleep late and work nights. I also got to see O’Hare field from the ground up. It was an enlightening experience.

Now-defunct Eastern Airlines was one of the carriers we serviced and the pride of the Eastern fleet was a brand new 747 airframe. Literally. One of the first 747’s ever put into service. It was so new that ground equipment had to be re-fit to manage the plane, and there was a whole raft of safety policies that were in place to make sure the plane did not get damaged. One of those policies said that if the wing flaps were extended, we could not approach the aircraft.

Our last task on the night in question was to clean out the 747. We showed up at the plane and the wing flaps were extended. We could not get the dirty stuff off the plane. It suddenly became the morning crew’s problem, we thought. We went back to empty the truck and talked with our supervisor and explained the problem. He not so patiently explained that the dishes that were going on the airplane in the morning were the same ones coming off the airplane that night. We were told to find a way. Get the stuff off the airplane. Back we went.

We checked out the situation and there was a door that might be accessible. It was at the very back of the plane. Our truck and safety gear was not designed to fit that door but let’s try it. I guided the truck up to the plane, we raised the bed and we were as close as we could possibly get. When the rearmost door was open, there was about a three-foot gap between the raised truck bed and the inside of the plane. We were also about a foot lower than the plane. We could make this work. I was just grateful to get started. I was in my early 20’s. My fiancé had just arrived from Iowa and I had not seen her in about six weeks. My mind may not have been completely on getting the dishes out of the aircraft.

Last trip. I am following my partner, who was about six-foot-four-or-five-inches into the plane. He crossed the gap easily. I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t.

Suddenly, I watched the door go by. The only thing that went through my mind was, “Well, I am about to find out if it is my time to die.” Obviously, it wasn’t.

I learned some very valuable lessons that night:

• The distance from the door to the tarmac was approximately 25 feet. Add my 5-foot 9-inch frame and the distance traveled before my head hit the pavement was about 30 feet.

• The tarmac at O’Hare field has no give.

• Human bodies do not bounce.

• The inventor of the plastic hard hat and the webbing inside it was an engineering genius.

• God was watching out for me.

• When falling 30 feet to cement, the best way to land is on your butt. Try to break the fall with your arms, but be sure to keep both elbows bent. Keep your legs out in front of you, not underneath you.

• Wear a hard hat. Hard hats prevent heads from meeting tarmacs. This is a very good thing.

• God was really, really watching out for me.

• I am a very, very lucky man.

The tarmac at O’Hare Field at 2:00 am was not a busy place back then. After I hit, I knew enough not to move, but I did wiggle my toes and move my fingers. Cool, I was going to walk again. I started yelling for help. Finally, someone found me, the ambulance came and I was in the hospital. The doctors and the nurses were amazed. I had gone through complete x-rays and there were no broken bones. My head hit the pavement, but the hard hat absorbed that blow. I probably had some whiplash, but that was minor. The major issue was a compression fracture of the L1 and L2 vertebrae. Seriously, other than that, I had minor fractures to both wrists and not so much as a black and blue mark. The nurses checked. Repeatedly.

The next day, the doctor showed my dad and me the X-rays from the night before. Each of the vertebrae down to lower part of my back were perfectly square. Then, there were two that resembled triangles. Then back to perfectly square. I was put in a back brace and told to wear it for 6 months. We asked the doctors for a prognosis and he said he just didn’t know. He said I could live the rest of my life without problems, or one (or both) of the vertebrae could shift positions and I would be paralyzed. He just couldn’t predict. The Navy didn’t like the odds so I was medically discharged and I went on with my life. No going to war for this boy.

If we were to take the same x-rays today, the same vertebrae would be in the exact same location, only now they are surrounded by arthritis. Every minute of every day for the last 40 plus years, I am reminded of the accident. Whenever I get up in the morning, move the wrong way, try to twist and turn, my body reminds me of the accident. I make more funny noises than my 14-year old car. I grunt, I groan, I moan, I complain, but I can walk!

I have found pain is variable. There was the time I reached into my trunk and took out just a pair of tennis shoes. I did something in that simple motion to aggravate my back and I was in bed for two weeks. I was working for a physician at the time, and he gave me some happy pills and laughed at me. Looking back on it, knowing that, even with the happy pills, I had to crawl to the bathroom was funny. At the time, not so much.

At 66, the pain is getting worse. My back has affected the way I walk, which has affected my hips and knees, so they hurt. I was never comfortable exercising after the fall. People told me I would be fine. I liked walking, I really did not want to take a chance that one of those exercises was going to push something out of place. Look what a pair of tennis shoes could do. So, I gained weight. My wife suggests that the weight gain had something to do with the pain. She is an intuitive woman. I find weight is much easier to gain than lose.

When it gets really, really bad, I turn to over-the-counter pain medications. The 24-hour variety. We are never without at least two bottles somewhere in the house. I take a couple of pills once a week or so. It is getting more frequent. I mentioned this to my new doctor at my last visit. He said, if it weren’t for the arthritis, he would send me in for outpatient treatment. About 20 minutes, he said. The surgeon would inject some stuff into your vertebrae and it would be back to normal. Isn’t medical science wonderful? Too late for me, but others are benefitting.

How do I deal with the chronic pain? Usually, I just make the funny noises. I use it as a reminder to pray. The prayers always start the same way, “Dear Lord, thank you for pain. It is a constant reminder that you are looking out for me and walking beside me. May you never take it away. I thank you for these forty years of life, for being able to walk, work, love and be loved, enjoy my children and grandchildren and appreciate my many blessings.”

◊♦◊

Photo: GettyImages

The post Embracing Chronic Pain appeared first on The Good Men Project.