Living with Pain

Chapter 1: Doctors Offices and Strangers in the Park

Sky

This isn't a tragic story about dying. I mean, we are all dying, but I'm not marching toward my death at an expedited pace. I don't have cancer. I don't see the light at the end of the tunnel. Though sometimes I think that would be an easier fate than dealing with the pain life has dealt me. But somehow I have to learn to live with the pain. Somehow I have to be strong.

My leg bounces up and down as I slouch in the almost-comfortable waiting room chair. I try to occupy myself with games on my phone, but after the fifth round of flappy bird, l give up.

"Why are doctors always behind? It's so annoying," I grump as I check my watch. We've been waiting for forever. Okay, maybe just forty-five minutes. But still...

"She is just giving each patient the time they deserve," Mom replies without looking up. She flips to the next page in the cooking magazine.

"Ugh," I huff, turning back to my phone.

Eventually a nurse opens the office door and calls my name. "Sky."

Mom and I follow her into the office hallway. After getting my height and weight, we enter the exam room. The nurse proceeds to take my blood pressure and pulse. I squirm as the blood pressure cuff squeezes my arm. Pulsing pain shoots up and down my arm as it compresses a sensitive nerve just above my elbow. The nurse asks a round of questions that I know I will have to re-answer once the doctor comes, but I answer anyways.

An agonising fifteen minutes later, Dr. Hayes walks in. "Hello, Sky. How are you?"

"Pretty good." My response is automatic.

She sits down and reviews my chart. "What's your pain level today, on a 1-10 scale?"

I grit my teeth and stare at the ceiling. I hate this question. "Today's been a good day, like a four."

"And your max pain this past week?"

"Um, it's not been a great week," I answer honestly. "Like a 6-7?" Quantifying my pain is hard. I don't have a sense of what zero is anymore. And I certainly don't want to overexaggerate, but the pain has been pretty bad this week.

We continue discussing a range of issues including my sleep (or lack of it), depression, anxiety, exercise, and stress levels. After a few range of motion and pressure point tests, Dr. Hayes concludes I need routine blood work done and to start taking a new medication, Duloxetine. It's supposed to help with fibromyalgia and the pain and anxiety that accompanies it. At this point, I'm game to try anything that will help me function through senior year of high school with minimal sick days.

I hop into the front seat of the car, grateful to escape the stench of the hospital and stuffy rheumatologists office.

"Are you ready for school to start?" Mom tries to start up a conversation.

I shrug.

"I'm glad we're trying another medication for you. I hope it helps."

Another shrug. She gets the picture, I don't want to talk. I trace the bandage that covers the blood draw site and stare out the window of the car. I'm not excited to get on another medication with more side effects, but I also don't want to spend my life in bed. It is what it is, I repeat my mantra while taking some deep breaths.

I launch myself out of the passenger seat as soon as the car parks in the garage. Romeo greets me, his wagging tail thumping against my legs. I scratch his big head, glad to see his happy blue and brown eyes. I grab his leash, stuff my headphones in my ears, turn my playlist to bad day songs and head out the door. I don't know where I'm going, but I had to move.

The first song, Human by Christina Perri, fills my ears. I let the lyrics consume me, numbing the worst of the pain. I didn't want to think. I didn't want to feel. I wanted to pretend for at least a small moment that I could feel better, that my diagnosis wasn't a curse from the universe that must hate me.

My steps take me to the nearby dog park. I let Romeo off his leash and take a seat on the bench. I enjoy watching him bounce around with the other dogs. He's much bigger than most of them, but a gentle, goofy soul. I'm not worried about him hurting any of them.

"Is that your dog?"

I startle at the deep voice of a stranger. I quickly pull my ear buds out of my ears. I look to where he's pointing, "Yeah. He's mine."

"What breed?" The stranger takes a seat on the other end of the bench. My heart starts beating faster and I know my cheeks are heating up. Stupid social anxiety. It doesn't help that the stranger is pretty cute.

"Romeo's a mutt. Some german shepherd, australian shepherd mix. I got him from the humane society."

The stranger nods as if that had been his guess. "Mine's the chocolate lab playing with him. Her name is Diamond."

"Diamond?"

He laughs and holds up his hands, "Hey, I'm not the one who named her. That was all my little sis. But it does fit her."

I smile, taking a small breath. I can do this, make small talk with someone. "My name's Rush, by the way."

"I'm Sky."

"Pretty name, for a pretty girl."

"Thanks," I mumble, my face turning even redder.

Rush just smiles and looks back toward the dogs. "So, what do you do? Are you in school?"

"I'm a senior at Ridgewood High."

"No way! Me too. Maybe I'll see you around?"

"Maybe." I match his smile with a shy one of my own. Romeo chooses that time to interrupt. He jumps up, putting his big paws on Rush's legs.

"Down," I reprimand him. Romeo immediately jumps off and sits near my feet. "Sorry, usually he has more manners than this."

Rush just laughs. "It's no big deal."

"I should get going," I clip Romeo's leash on his collar. "Nice to meet you Rush."

"You too."