My back hurts. It really. Fucking. HURTS. And so far, all of the things that are supposed to help it not really fucking hurt have come up short - or flat out failed.
Over the past three years, I have spent hours complaining and explaining to doctors and family members and friends, only to continue to feel unheard and unsupported. Everyone does their best, says they hope I get some relief soon, and nothing changes. Life goes on. I'm still in pain.
This morning I was having a particularly difficult time of it. The latest Thing That's Supposed to Help appears to be making the pain worse instead. I spent half an hour complaining and explaining (and sobbing), pacing the kitchen because it hurt to sit down. And then Rob left for work, saying, "Feel better," and I just lost it. I threw a fucking tantrum.
After Rob cleared out, I was just starting to calm myself down when I caught Westley staring at me.
"Mommy? he said, "I'm sorry you're not feeling well."
I forced myself not to burst into tears again. The kindness and sincerity in his little voice made my pain disappear for a beautiful instant. I took a deep breath, and got it (mostly) together.
"Thank you, sweetie. It's really helpful to hear you say that."
Westley has no idea how much of a help he is to me in my fucked-up state. And that's probably for the best. It seems strange and wrong that the most supportive person in my life right now hasn't even turned three yet.
