The old man struggles as he puts on his olive green winter coat. A recent steroid injection and two weeks of high-dose Prednisone lessened the arthritic pain in his right shoulder, but pain and debility remain. Eventually, the old man wrestles his coat into compliance, puts on his matching fedora, and heads for the front door.
The old man stops at the door, ensuring Petey, the Ferret — a year-old cat — doesn’t dash towards it. Petey thinks freedom awaits if he can just get out the door, but the old man knows cars, injury, and death await instead.
No ornery cat today. No hollering at Petey as he tests his “freedom.” The old man starts the car with his key fob. A heated seat and steering wheel await him as he drags his right leg and then his left into the driver’s compartment. The old man stopped driving four years ago, but his partner’s knee replacement forced him back into service. Short drives, such as this one, are fine, but longer drives, say to Fort Wayne or Toledo, challenge the old man’s cognitive and physical abilities.
The old man backs out on the road, puts the car in gear, and heads for the local high school for a basketball game. The old man loves high school basketball and to a lesser degree football. The local school district gives residents sixty-five and older a free pass to school events, so the only cost today will be the money the old man spends at the concession stand.
The local high school, five miles away, sits on U.S. Hwy 127. Other area schools took advantage of cheap money from the state of Ohio to build new buildings over the past two decades, but not the old man’s school district. The area is dominated by white Republican farmers, and the local school district’s attempt to pass a new building levy failed several times. Eventually, a maintenance levy was passed, covering building and property renovations and improvements. The old man appreciates having the lowest real estate taxes in rural northwest Ohio; however, he can’t help but wonder how wise it was to spend millions of dollars fixing up buildings when that money could have been used to replace a sixty-year-old facility with a state-of-the-art school plant.
The old man pulls into the school parking lot, seeing a handicapped parking spot next to the front door. “Awesome,” the old man says to himself. He has on more than one occasion had to park far from the front door, resulting in exhaustion by the time he enters the school. Walking short distances exhausts him too, but less exhaustion is always good, so the old man is hopeful that tonight is a “less pain” night.
The old man walks into the building, past the ticket taker (who knows he has a pass), 50/50 drawing, and athletic booster’s table, and into the gymnasium. He nods and smiles at fellow basketball fans, as he makes his way to half-court. The old man tries to always sit in the same place, two or three rows up from floor level. Navigating the stairs proves challenging, so the old man tries to sit as close to the hardcourt as possible.
As is his custom, the old man arrives at the game an hour before start time. Doing so allows him to take a deep breath and situate himself in the stands, making sure people aren’t sitting close enough to him to inflict pain. Arriving early is very much part of the old man’s DNA. Earlier this year, the varsity basketball coach, the old man’s neighbor, asked why he arrived so early to the games. The old man replied, “When my partner and I first married, we drove junk automobiles. Flat tires were common. So, when going somewhere, we always left early enough to change a tire if we had a flat. The habit stuck, so I tend to be early for e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g.”
Situated in his seat, the old man watches as the junior varsity game begins. An hour and a half later, he haltingly stands, removes his hat, and sings the Star Spangled Banner before the start of the varsity game.
The stands are packed. The old man took 20 mg of hydrocodone before he left home, and now he takes 20 mg more, hoping to lessen the pain he feels rising in his body from head to toe. Pain-free is never an option, but hopefully, narcotic pain meds will reduce the pain enough that the game becomes a pleasant distraction.
Not long after the start of the varsity game, the old man feels a sudden jolt to his whole body. His seat is on the aisle just in case he needs to suddenly use the bathroom or leave. Up and down the aisle run three elementary-aged children, jumping up on the seat above him, and then down to the aisle, causing the old man’s seat to bounce up and down, jolting his body with excruciating pain.
The old man doesn’t blame the kids. “Kids will be kids,” he tells himself. “If these were my grandchildren, they would be doing the same.” The old man, however, does blame parents. “Children should be taught not to jump/run in the stands; that the stands aren’t for play.”
By the time, the game ends in a three-point loss for the home team, the old man has been repeatedly abused by running, jumping, and laughing children. He haltingly stands, and once the aisle is clear, he makes his way to the floor. Leaving the gym, he retraces the steps back to his car. Ice had fallen since he arrived, covering the windshield. The old man starts the car turns on the defroster, and retrieves the ice scraper from the trunk. Once the windshield is ice-free, the old man returns home, stopping first at the post office to get the mail.
Coat off, shoes, off, hat off, clothes switched for sweat pants and a tee shirt, the old man walks to the living room and flops on the couch. His partner asks her typical questions: How was the game? Who won? How do you feel? Questions answered, the old man tells his partner about the running, jumping children, a story she has heard countless times before. She feels sorry for the love of her life, knowing that there is little she can do for him.
Several days later the old man recounts his week to his therapist, telling her, “Maybe I should have stayed home, but I am in pain whether I go to the game or not, so I might as well go. Pain is ever with me, and unless I want to be a recluse, I must force myself to get out of the house, knowing it is good for me.”
The old man knows he can’t keep people from killing him one step, one jump, and one bang at a time. No matter how carefully he manages his environment, those around him are unaware of his struggle with chronic, unrelenting pain. He looks like the typical grandpa, but unless those around him carefully read his face, they will never know how much pain he is in. This is his burden to bear, and if he wants to enjoy what life he has left, this is the price of admission he must pay.
Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
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I’m not as bad a shape as you, Bruce, but with fibro, I get it. Take care of yourself. ❤️
You’re such a good writer, Bruce. I felt like I was there with you the whole time, although I won’t ever pretend to understand the kind of pain you’re in. I feel compassion for you, and certainly also inspiration. I believe I have met the love of my life now as well, and he is older than I am. He has chronic back pain, and yet he keeps going and keeps doing all of the things necessary to have a happy life and enjoy this world that we have. Knowing that there are at least two men like you in the world is enough to give my heart hope. Hope your day is good. You started mine out that way.
Our grandsons are playing basketball this weekend. Several hours from here. And I found myself yesterday thinking I could do it. I can’t. But like you Bruce, I try. Picture Zoe making a snow angel in the snow and then having to get back up. Meh. Maybe don’t picture it. 😉
This should be required reading for all those (like me) that don’t have the burden of constant pain. It’s easy to extrapolate your own circumstances upon the rest of the world. I know I’ve done it and I do it.
I’ve been thinking about going to a basketball game, I’ve never been in the local high school, though I drive by it almost once per week. We had a school shooting there about 4 years ago, I sometimes think about the dead and injured as I drive by. The students have two giant boulders that they’ll periodically paint something. The 4 student’s initials circumscribed with hearts has been painted on it for some time, and never painted over since. At the same intersection on Christmas eve, a man drove off the road and shot and killed some of those that stopped to help him. Not really related to your soliloquy of pain, but it did make me think about it.
I appreciate your communication about pain. It makes me feel less guilty about the pain I am in. You are obviously in more pain than I am. I had my right hip replaced, and now that is better. Now my knees are bothering me. I cannot do much more than walk around the block. Large supermarkets are out of the question. I feel guilty because my husband had to care for me after the hip replacement, and now does most of the shopping and cooking. I guess I internalized a long time ago that women take care of men. Now I need help which makes me feel guilty.
Reading about your visit to the basketball game and what it took for you to be able to get there( glad Petey wasn’t able to dart outside) made me consider this new pain medication,Journavx. It sounds effective,and isn’t an opioid, which intrigues me. I hope you can check this med out, if it’s feasible insurance – wise, and I’m going to find out if I can get this too. Even better would be if this also comes in patch from,not just pills. We’re having a cold rain out here in LA.
I do things that turn painful, but try to do the things that cause the least pain. So I can do normal people stuff, but each day is determined by my energy level. So I applaud you, Bruce, for getting yourself out there in spite of the pain.
Bruce, I’m glad you were able to get out to see the game. It’s a shame that others made things uncomfortable for you. A lot of people just don’t understand that we all don’t experience the world the same way.
Bruce, I have also dealt with severe lower back pain for many years. Before my current job, I was a Parole Officer, and I carried the same items around my waist that a police officer does (or at least used too, before tasers, etc) albeit while dressed in plain clothes. The constant getting in and out of my personal car (at that time a small 5 speed Hyundai Accent) with all that stuff on my belt, going up and down steps, and then working a second job driving and unloading a truck on Saturday wore my back out. I had good weeks and bad weeks. My saw bones “doctor” at the time told me I should just loose some weight, which was not helpful as at that time I was fairly fit for my age and build.
Fast forward years later, and after 3 separate PT periods, 2 separate MRIs several years apart, and a hip replacement, I finally got the surgery I needed- decompression and discectomy on the L4 and L5. I no longer have the pain that used to go down my legs, etc. While I can’t carry a lot, I can walk as much as I want. I am still not “perfect”, but I no longer fear the major back attacks that used to leave me hunched over for at least a week. Sitting in bleachers during my kids’ games were the worse, and I usually ended up standing and leaning back against a wall instead. It’s hard to describe the pain to anyone who has not experienced it.
I know what I described is very minimal in comparison to what you are dealing with. As someone who has experienced a very small portion of your pain, I definitely sympathize, and I hope that you find as much relief as you can.
I had surgery on L4/L5, along with removing a cyst from my spinal cord, five months ago. A rousing success. No more biting, stabbing pain in L4/L5 and no more sciatica.The problem, for me, is that my pain is pervasive —- head to toe. Fibromyalgia covers the muscle/nerve pain, and osteoarthritis/degenerative spine disease covers the joint/nerve pain. If you look at my CT/MRI scans, you see widespread damage that worsens from scan to scan. Sadly, this is my cross to bear.
I never compare pain experiences with other people. Pain is personal. For my grandson, removing a bandaid is a life threatening event. 🤣 He has no real world experience with pain. I sympathize with him when he cries from skinning his knee, knowing that pain has many lessons to teach him. Polly goes with me with when I get steroid injections in my shoulder. She grimaces when the doctor pokes me, pushing the needle into my shoulder. She’s astounded the injections don’t bother me. I smile, reminding her I have been poked, prodded, and injected more times than I can count. I’m used to it. For someone going through these things for the first time, I understand how painful they seem. I’m at a “please get it over with” place in life. 🤣🤣
As always, I am astounded by your strength, and the way you persevere.
I just saw this. You’re such an eloquent writer, Bruce. More than that, you brought me into your world of chronic pain. I’m more sorry than I can say that you have to suffer like this, but your ability to convey to us what it’s like to be you is a real gift.