“I can tell you’re suffering,” the pain management doctor says as he palpates my aching back. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through this.”
“Wow, your back is so tight,” my physical therapist tells me. “It must be hurting you a lot.”
“You know, back pain can seriously interfere with quality of life,” the pharmacist says with a concerned look on his face as he hands me several prescriptions. “I hope you find some quick relief.”
In the past few days, I’ve been on the receiving end of so much understanding and compassion that it’s been almost overwhelming. My back is in endless spasms, and I know I look like I’m in pain—I’m fidgeting all the time, and my pale complexion is even ghostlier than usual. I’ve tried not to complain too much. But try as I might to hide it, the pain loudly announces itself to everyone around me.
And everyone around me has been fantastic.
I should be immensely grateful for this, and to some extent, I am. The sympathy that’s been pouring in does ease the pain somewhat. But I can’t help but compare this heartfelt response to my physical pain with the sometimes........