Mind Over Matter

Mind Over Matter By Monica A. Andermann   "I'm forty-eight," I whined to my friend Ilene, "but I feel like I'm eighty-four."   "But you look great,"my friend responded. "I can't see a single wrinkle on your face." Thanks to some heavy-duty moisturizer and well-placed make-up, that statement may have been true. However, what appeared at skin level was much different than what I felt taking hold beneath the surface ? arthritis. The aches and pains first came upon me slowly in my early forties. In the years that followed, I never let my stiff fingers, creaky knees, or sore shoulders slow me down. Yet when the malady settled in my lower back, further aggravating on old injury, I had no choice but to take notice.   The constant ache in my back followed me everywhere I went like an unwelcome companion. Walking, sitting, bending, even lying in bed was, at best, uncomfortable most of the time. I dreaded getting in and out of my car thanks to the stabbing pains that radiated through my hips each time I shifted my weight. After seeing a movie, I needed to take a few bobbling steps before my regular gait returned and I could safely exit the theater. Even lifting myself from the sofa after watching just a few minutes of television required an equal amount of stretching before I was limber enough to walk into the kitchen for a snack.   Once fiercely self-reliant and above-average active, I found myself suddenly avoiding the most mundane of movements, using "my back"as an excuse. Replace that burned-out light bulb? Well, I would... but my back. Weed the garden? Not since my back started aching. Lift and carry those supermarket bags? You guessed it. No can do, thanks to my back. One day, I bent over as I towel-dried my hair ? and got stuck. What felt like an electric shock ran through my left hip, down the back of my leg, into the arch of my foot and stayed with me for a full ten minutes. Tears came to my eyes. The pain was so powerful that I couldn't even open my mouth to call out to my husband for help. The next morning, in a slightly reduced state of agony, I visited my doctor.   "Sciatica,"he told me, "brought on by complications of injury, arthritis, and general weakness of the back muscles."He sent me off with the name of an over-the-counter pain reliever, a pamphlet outlining some helpful back exercises, and the recommendation to walk at least one mile each day. I followed his advice and the sciatica did subside. Yet that original nagging discomfort in my back stayed with me.   Back pain soon became my number one topic of conversation and I quickly found several other sufferers all too willing to commiserate over our poor fortune. As the old saying goes, misery loves company, and several of us would meet regularly to discuss our diagnoses and failed treatments. We were a beat-up, broken-down bunch of gals to be sure, grimacing at each step we took, a collective moan resounding as we took our seats. One woman wore a neck brace. Another regularly used a walker. Yet another arrived wheelchair bound.   When I returned home after one such meeting, I took a good look at my own reflection: hunched and limping. There, in front of that mirror, I laid it on the line. "God willing, you've got between thirty and forty years left on this earth,"I said. "If you don't pull yourself together this situation will only get worse. Do you really want to give up? Already?"   "No!"I answered, stomping my foot for emphasis. "I might have pain, but I will not let pain have me."   From that day forward, I made every effort to stand straight, to walk strong, to stop wincing at each twist or turn, and especially to stop using "my back"as an excuse to not live my life as I should. In short, I no longer gave myself permission to baby my body. Even though the ache was still with me, it felt good to be back on my own two feet, so to speak. I became more active, and the more active I became, the happier I felt. And the happier I felt, the less I noticed the pain. In fact, by the time my next support group meeting arrived, I realized that I was pain-free and had been for several weeks. That afternoon, when it was my turn to speak, I announced that after many years I found myself feeling well. The next time I attended the meeting, still pain-free, I admitted shyly that I believed I had experienced a miracle.   Now, a full year after my "miracle,"I have resumed all my normal activities. I walk, bicycle, and swim. And when I go to the movies, I get up out of my seat swiftly, shake off any stiffness and exit without fanfare. I have shoveled snow in the winter, pulled weeds in the summer, danced at a wedding in the spring, and raked leaves in the fall. Of course, I continue with my doctor's prescribed regimen of exercise and do remain cautious about certain movements he does not recommend. Yet, I attribute my newfound feeling of wellness to my change in attitude. Now, when a pinch or pull threatens to settle in my body, I no longer give in. Instead, I think back to the conversation that took place in front of my mirror, stamp my foot, and simply say, "No!"   --- The End ---   from chickensoup.com