Pain has been my constant—and cruel—companion for eighteen years. My suffering when bone was hitting bone in my left jaw led to the first of five maxillofacial surgeries. None worked, even when I had radiation to prevent more bone growth. I have had Botox, acupuncture, physical therapy, medication—but nothing alleviates the pain that radiates from my jaw to my ear, eye and head. The prosthetic device in my head prevents me from opening my mouth to any great extent; going for a dental cleaning is excruciating, while having dental X-rays is impossible.
Living with chronic pain is exhausting. I use so much energy to deal with the pain that I have little left to engage in the activities I enjoy—going to the theater, taking classes, even reading a book. As a person with a proclivity towards depression, the pain makes it all too easy for me to fall down the rabbit hole. It makes my innately pessimistic nature an even darker one. Pain lessens my quality of life. I cannot interact with others while wearing a gel pack face wrap, after all.
At this point in my life—I am 78—I tell myself that my situation could be worse. I could have stage 4 cancer, ALS, or dementia. I hear stories about how other people cope with situations much more severe than mine, and I am ashamed by my weakness for complaining. I feel guilty when my phone conversations with my children end up as self-pity parties for me.
My physicians have told me that no remedies remain for me. The pain I have today will be with me tomorrow and for all the tomorrows to come. It is my challenge to learn to deal with it—to accept it as a fact of my life—and not let it consume me. That, of course, is easier said than done. In the meantime, I alternate putting hot and cold packs on my temple and jaw. And I try to maintain some semblance of calm in the face of the chronic pain storm.
Ronna L. Edelstein
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
6 thoughts on “A Cruel Companion”
I have a damaged jaw but not like yours…just enough to let me empathize. Yes, trips to the dentist are a nightmare, the best to you.
Sorry to hear about your jaw, Pris. My advice = do NOT have surgery or a prosthetic device implanted. Be well.
Dear Ronna,
Over the years of reading treasures in Pulse, I’ve been privileged, honored really, that you have chosen to share bits of your story with us, faithful, empathic but largely personally unknown readers. I’ve learned much from your sharing and your courage in writing. Only prayer (and hope for more answers, from future research perhaps) can reach over the miles, the length and breadth of a whole country away, to actually change the pain, but I want to thank you for your trust in us that allows you to share and to write. Thank you.
Linda, your comment brought tears to my eyes. Thank you so much for your kind words.
Warmly,
Ronna
Thank you for your heartfelt response to my story. I understand what you have endured; you have my sympathy. Maybe physicians will one day recognize the reality of pain and how it can affect the individual’s quality of life. In the meantime, try to manage your pain to the best of your ability–and enjoy that grand baby!
Ronna, my heart goes out to you. The medical system here is driven to assess the problem and prescribe a solution, but when there isn’t a solution, or the solution can cause very serious consequences, doctors don’t know how to treat the patients that look to them for relief. I’ve lived nearly 60 years with chronic spine pain as the result of multiple fractures. No surgery was offered then, but prayers were suggested and I did regain the use of my legs. I measure my success in life for what I managed to do, not what I lost. But now, in my 70’s, I’m frightened by the twisting in my spine, new fractures, and how hard it is to lift my new grandson. I feel scared by the pain, but I don’t think there’s a single doctor who has ever understood the long road I’ve been on and who can appreciate my success. I can’t believe the rudeness of a nurse who counts up the total morphine equivalent units I have been taking to shake a finger rudely. Pain Management is less about improving one’s pain and more about accounting for the pain medicines being dispensed. In my 70’s, I am grilled to see if I am “drug seeking”. There’s little help out there. It’s hard being alone with this. It’s scary to think where it may go from here.