Limping A Mile in Someone Else's Shoes

The old saying goes something like this: Don’t judge someone else until you have walked a mile in his shoes. It’s good advice. You never know what someone is dealing with unless you are in the same position they are. It’s easy to be judgmental from a distance.

I have made a discovery these past few weeks. Although I consider myself to be a compassionate person, I haven’t been nearly sympathetic enough to people who have back and leg pain. During my recent trip to the Mayo Clinic, doctors hit a nerve in my lower back during a procedure to inject dye into my spinal column.

That nerve runs down my left leg. My lower back and left leg have been in immense pain, and my leg has been almost useless at times. Who knew one nerve could be so important? Apparently the nerve knew it, and is committed to making me know it.

I have had headaches, severe ones, for more than five years. I know pain. But this is a different pain. Your head just kind of goes along with the rest of your body. It’s not in charge of moving anything. Your back and legs are a good bit bigger than your head, which means the pain can spread out over a wider area. That’s not a good thing.

I’ve discovered I move a lot more than I knew I did. Every little movement is painful, and, well, you just have to move sometimes. Getting in bed is a chore. Getting out of bed is a chore. So is standing and sitting and walking. Getting in and out of the shower. Leaning down to kiss your child goodnight. Stretching up to reach something. Bending down to pick up something. Just going about your day requires movement, and each movement is painful.

It’s been an eye opening experience for me. I’m getting better, thankfully. But I know that there are many people that don’t have the hope of getting better. Their injuries are permanent, and they deal with this kind of pain daily.

It is so frustrating to not be able to do even the most simple things without pain. It wears on you, both physically and emotionally. I haven’t been able to drive for the last few weeks. The loss of that independence is something I feel deeply. I don’t like being a burden on others, being dependent for every little thing.

But I have the hope of knowing this is temporary. I will drive again. There are many people that won’t ever be able to drive themselves. They’ve lost their independence, but don’t have the hope of getting it back.

This experience has been sobering to me. My family and I have dealt with a lot in the past few months, and we have a lot more to deal with in the coming months. We didn’t need this added roadblock, more frustration, more pain, more to deal with.

But it has made me stop and consider the many people that live their lives with this kind of pain, with no hope of getting better. I’ve been pretty caught up in my own troubles lately, wondering what the future holds and trying to plan ahead for what is to come. I’ve not had a lot of time to think of others.

Then this nerve injury happened, and on top of everything else we were dealing with, there was one more thing. I thought I was overwhelmed already. I thought I was at the end of my ability to cope already. But my thinking has changed, and I realize how selfish I have been.

Though I am almost constantly in pain, I can move through my day. My head just sort of comes along with me as part of the package, whether it’s hurting or not. I have found a new empathy for folks that have to endure the agony of back or leg pain. It affects every part of their day, and it affects them every single time they move.

I know people who have problems with their back, and I know now that I’ve not been nearly sympathetic enough to the challenges they face. That’s going to change, starting now. I’ve limped a couple of miles in their shoes, and now I understand.