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When I was in college, I contracted a freak illness that almost killed me. I spent a week in a coma, and when I woke up, I was glad to be alive… but terrified because I knew I’d never be the same.
My doctors did the best they could to save my feet, but the tissue damage was horrific. I ended up having the ends of both feet amputated (all 10 toes), so I went from a size-12 foot to a size-4. I have the same size foot as I did when I was in kindergarten.
“How long until I can run again?” I asked my doctor.
“Not for a very, very long time,” he replied.
I immediately thought I could tell what he was really saying: I was never going to run again. I have the same size foot as a 5-year-old, and I’m 6-foot tall and 165 pounds. By 165, I mean, I weigh 190 but one time in college I did actually weigh 165, so I’m going with that.
From those early days after the coma until I got sober, doctors gave me basically whatever I wanted for pain. I spent a good 10 years getting rapidly sucked into opioid hell to go along with my alcohol problems.
Fast forward to 2008, when I got sober. Chronic pain was one of the biggest things that kept me from going to rehab. How could I possibly manage my very real pain without painkillers? I’m not alone with that concern, either: I saw a statistic recently that around 20 million Americans—yes, 20 million—have chronic pain issues. That means the next time you’re at the mall or Target, you probably passed 10 people with significant pain issues.
Even at the very, very bottom, when I knew I couldn’t keep going in active addiction, I wanted some solution to the pain problem. At rehab, I remember haggling with the counselors that I should at least be able to take Ambien or some other heavy sleep medication. The concept of “I won’t be able to sleep!” weighed heavily on my mind, and that’s been a pretty common thing I have heard from other people in the rooms of recovery. In my experience, concern about pain, sleep or recovery being boring are among the biggest reasons I’ve heard that people don’t come into sobriety.
My counselors didn’t let me take Ambien or anything else for sleep, so I did have a few bumpy nights. But guess what? I eventually settled into a rhythm of getting to sleep without any pills or booze. Like I did with pain, I found out that there are solutions other than my self-prescribed plans.
When it came to my feet, I did struggle for a few weeks early in sobriety. The truth is, I do have significant pain problems with my feet, and I always will. Airports, amusement parks, long lines at a sports stadium… those are hard for me. I end up in a lot of pain. I had a long weekend with my family and am actually in a ton of pain right now.
But I also discovered that the barrage of pills actually destroyed my ability to gauge and manage pain. Try to get your head around that for a second: I had created a pain management plan that made my pain unmanageable. It was a little like blowing a tire on the highway and deciding to turn the radio up so you can’t hear it any more. That’s not a long-term solution for your tire.
What I realized was that without being in a haze, I got to know my feet a lot better. The truth is, I need to have a very strong relationship with my body (and no, injecting 50 Vicodin, sleeping pills and 6 beers isn’t good for any relationship, is it?). That means constant communication, constant listening, constant learning. Again, like a good relationship. Now I have learned to hear what my body is telling me, and in return, I have found that I am able to ask my body for more than ever.
For example, remember how my doctor said I probably wouldn’t run for a very long time? He was right. But around the start of the pandemic, I thought, “Nobody ever actually told me I couldn’t run. Not even close.” So I started jogging last March for a minute or two, every day. Then I got up to 4-5 minutes, then 10, then 15. That’s about my maximum, but I am able to run almost every day now.
If you ever saw me running, it’s not a very pretty picture. I kind of lurch along, one foot in front of the other, just like my sobriety. But I recently ran for 30 minutes, and I was exhausted. But if you were looking, you would have seen a smile on my face, because it was a spiritual experience. A sweaty, gross, huffing and puffing spiritual experience. But those are the best kinds, aren’t they?
ALCOHOLIC/ADDICT JOKE OF THE DAY
This newsletter is a place of joy and laughter about the deadly serious business of sobriety. So, as I will often do, let me close with a joke.
A little prayer:
“Dear Lord, so far today I’ve done all right. I haven’t gossiped, haven’t lost my temper, haven’t been greedy, grumpy, nasty, selfish, or overindulgent. I’m really glad about that.
“But in a few minutes, God, I’m going to get out of bed, and from then on, I’m probably going to need a lot more help.”
(Credit: AA Grapevine, Jan. 2000, “Ham on Wry,” by Anonymous)
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