From time-to-time I will publish photo essays, or my poetry, and of my life on this curios planet, Earth. Time on Terra is precious and it is a mark of dignity to record it as much as possible for others to read, or in this case see and read.
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Photo: Me on our new property were we would build the house, age 10.
I've known nerve pain in my legs all my life. The doctor called it growing pains, in college the doctor said, well it's not growing pains for sure, but he didn't know what it was, my rheumatologist said to me it's not arthritis, I've had arthritis, since I was in my thirties, so, I could have told him that. I figured it out on my own, but it is a nerve pain. How do I know? As soon as I touch it the pain is manageable, it is the common fibular nerve. Now, what causes it is another thing, but you know what, it is a pain that comes and goes, it is manageable, and unlike arthritis it doesn't get worse with age; so, I take Ibuprofen for it. As early as I can remember I've woken up at night with leg pains crying, as a child my mother or father would wake up and rub my lower legs until the pain went away. The session usually lasted for fifteen minutes, and I was no worse for the wear for my main goal the next morning, playing. Back them the pain traveled up and down the nerve, but as I've gotten older it has settled in one spot, my tibia. If I'm up at nights you can bet it is because of the pain. In my old age it doesn't care when, day or night, so I take Ibuprofen three times a day, but occasionally the pain will break through and it is hell for about thirty minutes.
As a child, I didn't understand the question of Why me? But Mom pointed out some have it worse, and that usually quieted me. It wasn't an everyday pain like arthritis, it was an acute pain that stops everything, even being upright, so it wasn't all rosy for me, but as Mom said, "Other boys don't even have legs." Polio was a thing back when I was born, I didn't have it but one boy in school did. I was happy to have my polio shot, everybody was, there was no one who said, "I'm not letting my child have this shot!" Mother's wanted the vaccination. It was a different age, but we lived in a post World War Two protective bubble, with Dick and Jane and Father Knows Best as our models, and even if we knew we didn't live in those types of families, we pretended. We simply ignored the injustice towards others and their pain, and went about our business of putting up a façade of the perfect life for the "nasty Communists" to loathe. The trouble was we began to believe our own propaganda. We hid under our desks for the end of the world, even we kids knew that was crazy. We knew all the missile silos were in the "Bread Basket" of the world. No one wanted to destroy the bread basket; right? Dad dutifully dug his basement so we could shelter; mostly it was for tornadoes, and canned vegetables.
I was a lucky child to grow up in such an environment, even with the periodic leg pains. I didn't have real problems until the age of eighteen when I had "my car accident," and was in a coma for twelve days. When I came to, I told the nurse I was in pain, I had a compound fracture of my left clavicle, but they were too concerned with my skull fractures and my contused brain to see it.
The nurse replied, "Good." I was a little perplexed, but she explained, "If you have pain then you know you're alive." As much pain as I've had from my arthritis, and periodic nerve pain, I knew very much I was alive.
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Me playing with my dogs, age eleven.
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My pain experience: The van I wrecked in 1971. My body traveled from the driver seat through the back, and out the backdoors. I don't remember any of it. A driver behind me told my brother what happened. The person behind him was a nurse on his way to work; so a lot of things had to fit together for me to survive. The salvage company was owned by Becky's father. I always joke that I landed on my strongest bone, my skull.
