"My goal is to get you to say 'ow' at some point."
- My physical therapist guy, joking with me while digging around in my neck.

Many medical professionals have told me I have a high pain tolerance. It's the only pain tolerance I've ever had, so I don't know how it compares to others. But I have a variety of examples of powering through things that would have laid others out. 

I come by it naturally. I've watched both my parents persevere with few complaints through significant ailments and injuries.

We've been struggling over here lately. It's been hard to pinpoint the reasons why precisely. I realized that I am experiencing pain. I've never called it pain before, treating it like a situation, without emotion. I wasn’t in pain, I just couldn’t put weight on that wrist or turn my head to the left. Given that the pain resulted from the most mundane of activities, it didn’t seem to merit The P Word. People hurt if they’ve been injured, not from picking up their toddler. I was even resistant to seeing a physical therapist because that’s for people who are hurt, not me. I’m fine.

I’m seeing my experience as pain (on varying levels of the pain scale), and I realize that the pervasive pain affects me. If I can't turn my head, and my jaw is stuck, and my right elbow can't bear any weight from the shoe untying incident of 2019, I get to the point of "can't even." In that state, I don't deal well with Ian asking me to sign his coursework folder after having thrown out all the coursework because he already looked at it all and it wasn't worth keeping. 

I'm working on recognizing my condition and dialing down the reactions I have to external discomforts in addition to the ones going on inside me. (But why? Why would you ask your mother to sign an empty folder? Why??)

It could be seasonal. I have Facebook memories reminding me of prepping for Rich's first surgery in 2012, my beloved cat Hiro drowning in 2014, and the election in 2016. While it wasn't on Facebook, November of 2017 was a non-stop argument between Shrop and me. It's getting cold and dark outside, and I don't do well with either. It's not just physical pain we're navigating.

Ian is having a hard time too, and we're working on sorting out why. At the moment, I suspect he is going through a growth spurt. His legs have been hurting for several days. And much like my physical discomfort having far-reaching effects, he's managing a lot over there. Ian has been very emotional lately, crying over minor things.

Tuesday was election day, so he was home with me. He was hungry but wasn't sure what he wanted to eat. Nothing sounded good, and he was afraid to decide on food that didn't sate him, lest he waste it. I gave him several choices, but the options themselves were stressing him out. So I just walked away for a bit before I started one of my Mom Monologues (TM) entitled "If You Come To Me With A Problem, Don't Refuse Every Possible Solution I Offer While Continuing To Wail About Your Problem." It's a classic. 

I heard a thump in the kitchen, but I have a 10-year-old half-giant child as well as two large dogs. Thumps are not uncommon. A few minutes later, I walked into the kitchen and found Ian curled on the floor, crying. He was stuck and despondent. 

I sat on the floor with him. I told him that I understood. I told him I wasn't mad at him, and I know that he's struggling. After a few minutes, I pulled things out of the cabinet for him to look at and consider. We decided on chicken tenders, even though those take time to cook. He had two helpings. He felt better. After he ate, we walked together to the polling location because getting outside and walking can help reset things. 

He got stuck again this morning. We have worked on a new morning routine where I get help from Ian and Shrop (when he's there) so that I'm not all alone making the entire morning go and trying to get out the door by 7:38 am. Ian ground the coffee beans and filled the French press. He also fed the dogs, including their meds. He asked for specific foods but ran out of steam to finish them, which is fine. We were doing ok. 

Then he followed me into the backyard in his sock feet. That started me on my doctoral thesis of "We Don't Go Outside In Sock Feet, Particularly When We Are So Sensitive About The Lumps In Our Socks That We Must Try On Every Single Sock In The Laundry Basket While In Tears To Replace The Ones We Got Wet Outside After Protesting That The Socks Are Just Damp And Not Actually Wet." I didn't use Powerpoint slides but give me an hour and I could.

I hugged the top of his head while he went through every sock at the bottom of the stairs. "I gotta go." 

I made it about a mile away when he called me in tears.

"I didn't get to give you a real hug, and when I ran out to the driveway, I could see you pulling away at the end of the street." 
“Where are you now?"
"On my bike, halfway to Grandma's."
"Meet me in the driveway. I'm turning around."

I didn't need to go through an entire day with the last contact with my son being his sobbing over a hug. He didn't need the last image of his mother today being her driving away while he desperately needed a hug. We needed to fix this. I’m glad Ian called so we had the opportunity to fix it.

We stood in the driveway and hugged for a long time. Eventually, I suggested I could make fart noises to stop his crying. Ian laughed. I followed him to Grandma's with my window rolled down, coaching him on how his day was going to be good. 

I think I'm going to buy some more sun lamps. I'm going to remove unnecessary obligations. We have a lot going on right now, all of us. We're in transition, and while the change is all good, and we're not actively dying, there is discomfort in the process.

I'm a stand for being with a person through their discomfort. Many times people skip that step in favor of finding the fastest solution. But I believe people need to feel heard about their pain, in whatever form it takes. I'm not perfect about this. See my previous monologues and Powerpoint presentations. But I very much believe in it.

I'm learning to say "ow," and I'm learning to hear the people I love when they say "ow."