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Our bodies, our tools ..
Sep. 15th, 2003 11:12 amI consider myself a fairly healthy and strong person. Which his why is scares me so much when I realize that I’m not.
A week ago Saturday, while cutting and wrapping a large, but not unusual amount of cheese,* my wrist started hurting. Aches and pains are normal for any job I’ve ever had. I think it’s actually the nature of work. I was aware of the pain but I ignored it at first. It hurt sharply in the center of the bottom of my wrist just below the palm. Gradually it started radiating upwards through the top. I should probably insert some Jesus-nailed-to-the–cross imagery here as a writing exercise, but I didn’t grow up religious and it would feel cheap and forced. When the pain started getting worse instead of easing I stopped cutting early and cleaned up.
I met up with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jactitation at my new-again local bar, the one mystriously empty on Saturday nights. And the pain started getting worse. The skin on my forearm felt stretched like someone had stuck on of those old fashioned air pumps in an inflated it near bursting point. I kept thinking of overfilled sausage casings. The back of my elbow ached. My bicep and upper arm felt not painful, but dead.
This isn’t the first time I’ve had an injury and honestly at this point it’s more dread of the future than actual pain that’s bugging me. In the early ‘90s I had a mysterious stomach problem and unaccountable fatigue that plagued me on and off for years. In the mid ‘90s I herniated a disc in my neck and wasn’t really ok again for a long time. Technically I’m still not because herniated discs don’t heal, I’ve just strengthened the muscles around it to compensate. I also had a partner who I watched become disabled with a pain condition and who could only work sporadically for a number of years.
Because of these things, I feel that in a lot of ways I’ve dealt with mortality and ability issues before many of my peers did. It’s easy to lose friends in your early twenties when most people your own age don’t know why you don’t wanna go out, especially if you don’t appear to be disabled or in pain. People start disappearing. Hell, I’ve disappeared myself because I know what a commitment it is.
I’m ahead of the game when dealing with certain health and probably-chronic pain issues. I know the value of getting help right away, of continuing to prioritize health instead of ignoring it when there’s slight improvement, of saying no to things that might hurt me..
But in other ways I find it all the more depressing. I know the limits that pain can put on my social life, my energy level, my attention span, and my desire to go out in public at all. I also know how long term it can be to recover from something and I’m not looking forward to going through all that again. I’m not looking forward to going through this single, without someone I trust to do little things to take care of me and see me at my worst. I also know that this may not turn out to be that bad, but it’s the kind of person I am that I’d rather dwell on the worst possible outcome.
I’m not saying that’s a good thing.
And contrary to appearances, this isn’t even a plea for sympathy. I’ve been meaning to explore these issues sooner or later anyway. This is more of an outline of directions to go in writing-wise, rather than a complete manifesto of my feelings. Sadly, our jobs are slowly hurting or killing most of us, even if, as in my case, they are satisfying jobs that we want to keep. Of course, living, by definition, is hurting and killing us too. Somewhere there’s a trade off.
*Corsu Vecchiu. A Corsican sheep milk cheese rumored to be discontinued by the manufacturer. It’s smooth and nutty like the Istara Ossau Iraty but with a mysterious buttered toast aftertaste.
A week ago Saturday, while cutting and wrapping a large, but not unusual amount of cheese,* my wrist started hurting. Aches and pains are normal for any job I’ve ever had. I think it’s actually the nature of work. I was aware of the pain but I ignored it at first. It hurt sharply in the center of the bottom of my wrist just below the palm. Gradually it started radiating upwards through the top. I should probably insert some Jesus-nailed-to-the–cross imagery here as a writing exercise, but I didn’t grow up religious and it would feel cheap and forced. When the pain started getting worse instead of easing I stopped cutting early and cleaned up.
I met up with
jactitation at my new-again local bar, the one mystriously empty on Saturday nights. And the pain started getting worse. The skin on my forearm felt stretched like someone had stuck on of those old fashioned air pumps in an inflated it near bursting point. I kept thinking of overfilled sausage casings. The back of my elbow ached. My bicep and upper arm felt not painful, but dead.This isn’t the first time I’ve had an injury and honestly at this point it’s more dread of the future than actual pain that’s bugging me. In the early ‘90s I had a mysterious stomach problem and unaccountable fatigue that plagued me on and off for years. In the mid ‘90s I herniated a disc in my neck and wasn’t really ok again for a long time. Technically I’m still not because herniated discs don’t heal, I’ve just strengthened the muscles around it to compensate. I also had a partner who I watched become disabled with a pain condition and who could only work sporadically for a number of years.
Because of these things, I feel that in a lot of ways I’ve dealt with mortality and ability issues before many of my peers did. It’s easy to lose friends in your early twenties when most people your own age don’t know why you don’t wanna go out, especially if you don’t appear to be disabled or in pain. People start disappearing. Hell, I’ve disappeared myself because I know what a commitment it is.
I’m ahead of the game when dealing with certain health and probably-chronic pain issues. I know the value of getting help right away, of continuing to prioritize health instead of ignoring it when there’s slight improvement, of saying no to things that might hurt me..
But in other ways I find it all the more depressing. I know the limits that pain can put on my social life, my energy level, my attention span, and my desire to go out in public at all. I also know how long term it can be to recover from something and I’m not looking forward to going through all that again. I’m not looking forward to going through this single, without someone I trust to do little things to take care of me and see me at my worst. I also know that this may not turn out to be that bad, but it’s the kind of person I am that I’d rather dwell on the worst possible outcome.
I’m not saying that’s a good thing.
And contrary to appearances, this isn’t even a plea for sympathy. I’ve been meaning to explore these issues sooner or later anyway. This is more of an outline of directions to go in writing-wise, rather than a complete manifesto of my feelings. Sadly, our jobs are slowly hurting or killing most of us, even if, as in my case, they are satisfying jobs that we want to keep. Of course, living, by definition, is hurting and killing us too. Somewhere there’s a trade off.
*Corsu Vecchiu. A Corsican sheep milk cheese rumored to be discontinued by the manufacturer. It’s smooth and nutty like the Istara Ossau Iraty but with a mysterious buttered toast aftertaste.
