Pain Cave Party

Wanna come?

Hoo boy, what a week. My best friend called in a dark panic last weekend, unable to stand without horrible dizziness. I raced right over and took him to the ER, where, in between bouts of violent vomiting, he was strapped to various diagnostic machines and monitors while doctors hovered and sweated. Fortunately he’s home now and his prognosis is good, but it was excruciating to watch him go through that experience.

Then my beloved Hubs was hit with an ear infection, which, in typical fashion, he kept largely to himself for as long as possible. Finally, in the middle of the night, he rolled over to inform me of the situation, and that his pain level was about a 9.

I began asking for more details but he cut me off, saying he was “going into [his] pain cave” and wouldn’t be answering any more questions.

This sent me into a fit of giggles which I was promptly ashamed of. But his words were so acutely human that I couldn’t help myself. Who among us hasn’t longed for a private place to escape with our pain, far from prying eyes and helping hands, where we can simply cry and howl and marvel at the unfairness of life?

Many of us have been in a collective Pain Cave since November of last year. But we’re coming out of it now. We love each other too much to stay stuck down there. My best friend got some Valium and Hubz got some Tylenol, and their pain volume got turned down. Our pain relief is coming, but it’s slow. The only cure for Democracy is more Democracy. The only cure for whatever this is appears to be a deep reclaiming of Democracy at every level. There’s no denying that chronic pain is powerful, and we can aim that power in any direction. I think we should aim it at the important things, marches and petitions and calls and emails, and we should also seek joy and healing and maybe throw some parties. Parties can heal! Bring me my Nikes and my bunion tape, and lets start the dancing.

What’s the first song on your Pain Cave Party Playlist?