An Effective Teacher

 

 

The funny thing about learning in this life is that you don’t know what you don’t know. You might be dancing through life thinking you know what’s up, and then bam! God says, “Lesson time.” Now you know what you didn’t know, often what you never even thought you needed to know. Sometimes, learning something new is great, like when you go to class and discover a new math concept or fresh insight in Sunday school. Other times it’s embarrassing. For example, when you think you have life figured out, then you are forced to examine your perspective. You get humbled. I didn’t know what chronic pain felt like, I didn’t know how debilitating it is, and I didn’t realize how depressing it can be. I didn’t see other people’s pain. 

I wasn’t very patient.

 Now I do, now I am.

All my life, I have done whatever I put my mind to do. If I wanted to run, I ran. If I wanted to stay up late and work on craft projects, I did just that. I danced and played in the snow; I worked and lived oblivious to chronic pain. I may have even believed that I was impervious to certain types of suffering.

After 40 years of a charmed life, everything started to change. While working at Kneaders cafe as a pastry chef, my hands began to tingle and would throb at night, robbing me of much-needed sleep. They would get ice cold, ache in my bones, and it took hours after I got home to get them to warm up. This pain gave way to what felt like eclectic shocks down through my arms to my elbows, and then my hands would go numb. Some people thought I was dramatic. Of course, I went to the doctor. He had me undergo expensive testing. I had carpal tunnel, but it wasn’t bad enough to warrant surgery, the doctor told me. I wondered to myself what bad enough looked like if it wasn’t what I was going through. I couldn’t do my job. Quitting kneaders was a blow to my pride. 

Now I see the misunderstood, the discouraged. 

Even though carpel tunnel stopped me from working as a pastry chef, I hoped it wouldn’t steal my ability to do my hobbies. I love to create, to work with my hands, using repetitive movements, soothing and hypnotic. I did the exercises the doctor recommended and took a lot of ibuprofen to keep up my knitting and sewing. I thought maybe one of these hobbies could be an option for work. So, I soon started sewing for a company selling Minky blankets. Because I am a social person and love working with kids, I also started working at my kids’ elementary school as an aide a couple of days a week. 

I see those who are trying so hard.

Again, I found myself in a similar predicament as before. Sitting sewing blankets for hours seemed to take its toll; my hands would go numb and ache. When winter weather came, standing outside all day on the playground had the same effect as working with the cold dough at Kneaders. Even though I dressed like an Eskimo, my feet and hands would get so icy the tips of my finger and toes changed color. None of this was normal, and the other aides weren’t having these same issues. 

Now I know the pain, the invisible weariness others have faced. 

After quitting my aide job and drastically cutting down on my sewing piece work, I started to feel a little better until I didn’t. One night, I woke to pain in my right foot, and when I tried to step down on it, it felt like stepping on glass. The following day I discovered it was swollen and hot on the inside and to the touch.  My left-hand middle knuckle burned angrily and looked red and chaffed. At first, I thought a spider had bitten me in two places, odd places, but I had no other explanation. These strange new symptoms were not like the carpal tunnel pains I’d experienced before. I took Benedryl, hoping I had an allergic reaction. No change. I went to the doctor, who proceeded to take what seemed to be a liter of blood for tests. Waiting for the results was torture as my swelling didn’t improve. Then to twist the knife further, my stomach churned like boulders in the spin cycle. I had headaches so unbearable I wanted to attempt medieval trephination just to relieve the pressure or release the demons, as my husband often joked when he tried to cheer me up.

Sitting in my room watching TV, trying to distract myself from my pit of despair, I received the fateful phone call. “We have your test results. It looks like you have Rheumatoid Arthritis. We can’t help you anymore. You need to see a specialist. Some of your symptoms are still a mystery, but maybe a rheumatologist can figure those out too.” It takes months to get an appointment with a specialist. My symptoms got worse. I felt like a dark, scratchy heavy blanket was over me, suffocating me. I thought to myself that this has to be a mistake. I’ve always been healthy, active, strong! What is could be happening to me and why? 

I now know the confusion and the struggle of a health crisis. The guilt of the toll on the family budget medical visits take. I know the heavy depression that can look like laziness to someone who doesn’t know.

I prayed every night for relief. My family put my name in the temple. With my rheumatologist appointment four months away, Heavenly Father heard my prayers, as He always does. A woman I served with at church had already learned the life lessons I was in the process of learning, so she saw what no one else could, what I kept hidden so as not to burden anyone. My friend saw what was invisible. She knew. She reached out to me and got me an appointment at a clinic where she had connections. The following week I was diagnosed with three autoimmune conditions, Rheumatoid Arthritis, Lupus, and Sjogren’s disease. Soon I began to emerge from the heavy blanket of depression that I felt held under slowly peeling back. Medication, supplements, and strategic lifestyle changes eased each symptom. Not gone, but eased. 

I know now and have empathy for those whose burdens are heavy, so they need allowances, and I can make room for them.

Someone saw me, so now my eyes are open. I’ve learned how to go slowly, appreciate each step I take, and respect each step others take.

Now I know what I didn’t realize I needed to. Pain is an effective teacher.