She's here.

You're thinking she's just here for a few days.

But she's brought a big suitcase. And she's unpacking. She pours herself a big drink and sits down in the most comfortable recliner in the house. She orders a movie and falls asleep. And slowly, ever so slowly, you begin to realize...she's not leaving.

Oh, she seems harmless enough at first...slightly annoying perhaps, but tolerable. You try to ignore her and work around her, either pretending she isn't there or encouraging her to stay in the back room. But as the days drag on she becomes more and more irritating, sometimes becoming so much of a distraction that you can't carry on your normal routines. Occasionally there's an out-and-out ugly confrontation and you do your best to let her know she's not welcome to stay. Sometimes the scene ends in an uneasy stalemate; more and more often, though, there's a shouting match that sends you into hiding, and the fear that she's never leaving blots out hope for returning to a normal life.

Her name is Pain.

And at least for now, she's here to stay.

I hate thinking about the specter of chronic pain. I don't like talking about it or writing about it. I'm just enough of a child inside to harbor the vague sense that talking about it makes it more real, and therefore, scarier. If I don't say its name, it isn't there. Trouble is, it doesn't know that. It has stretched out on the recliner of my life and doesn't intend to leave.

I'm now engaged in yet another attempt to find a long-term solution to the chronic pain that has resulted from my last attempt to rid myself of chronic pain. True, my vigor for finding answers has been muted by the now years-long steady drip-drip-drip of "her" company, but I'm still a few meters short of giving up. One of the blessings of living in a home with children is that it never quite feels like life is over, and it's the faces of these kids and the awareness of going-on-a-dozen grandchildren that keep me in the arena, keep me willing to take the next steps, literally and figuratively, to evicting my unwelcome house guest. Whether she's finally finished off like the Wicked Witch of the West or whether she and I live the rest of this life in an uneasy truce, there are reasons galore for me to keep searching, keep negotiating, keep vacuuming around her. My companions in the struggle--and you know who you are--keep me on my feet and moving on the days when I'd rather have my head under the covers, reminding me that there's much to live for and enjoy. So I will keep moving.

Oh, and you in the recliner--get a coaster, will ya?