I read in Yahoo! Shine about the difficulties of women who took antidepressants to cope with the myriad difficulties of motherhood, modern life in general, what have you. The word “shame” was used. Immediately, I thought of my own situation. I don’t think I could be called “depressed,” but I do suffer from chronic lower back pain and have had this condition for close to 13 years. It informs every aspect of my daily life. If my back hurts too bad, I can’t do heavy housework or mow the lawn. I can only stand up and do kitchen work for a certain, usually short, period of time. Activity at first is helpful, but then it begins to ache slowly, spreadingly, until I find that taking another step or staying upright is more than I can withstand.
So I turned to the pain doctor, who prescribed me tramadol. It works, sometimes. Sometimes it doesn’t. Part of the problem had been that I would try to get by without it, taking one pill when I needed two, or skipping a morning dose and toughing out the pain, thus diluting the pain-killing effects of an evening dose, when I just couldn’t take it anymore.
Even with the regular tramadol doses, I still have periods of intense, dull, aching or even spasming pain in the lower half of my body, radiating from my lower back into my hips and legs. But the tramadol helps mask it well enough to keep me on my feet and working when I need to be. So why be ashamed? Well, to tell the truth, I’m not really ashamed of it in an emotional sense. I simply wish I didn’t need it. I wish I could just do the regular yoga, pool physical therapy and strengthening exercises I do and control the pain by physical means. In the back of my mind, I’m convinced that, somehow, I should be able to manage this. But then the pain comes back and slowly drains me of energy and often squashes an otherwise good mood.
Then I pop the pills. And wish I didn’t have to.
Another problem is the family I married into almost 20 years ago. They are hillbillies, proud, loud and opinionated. And, in the opinion of the matriarch of the family, my mother-in-law, anyone who takes prescription opiates or opioids (not that she knows the difference between them) is an addict and must automatically be treated as a child or subhuman. You can have several advanced degrees, but if you take a painkiller such as tramadol or hydrocodone or anything derived from or peripherally related to morphine, then you are automatically judged to be ruled by the need for drugs, all drugs, bad and good, especially the illegal ones. You become one big, walking (well, staggering), drug-popping unit instead of a human being.
That’s why I have to lie to my in-laws and tell them I do physical therapy and yoga and undergo various harmless tests and treatments like a TENS unit, carefully leaving out the drug aspect. These are people who give tramadol to their cats to relieve the poor little feline’s pain. But God forbid a human being take it.
Recently, I bought some ½” plywood to put under my sagging mattress, and when the M-I-L asked what it was for (to support my aching back), she opined that if I would just get off my ass and work, my back would feel better. She then turns around and tells my husband that he should be ashamed that his wife gets out in the yard and does all the work while he does nothing, except of course, earn money. There is no reasoning with someone like that.
So, even though I don’t feel particularly ashamed of taking pills, I have to act as if I am, or I risk losing face and status in the family hierarchy (not that I really have that much to begin with). But this insidious and duplicitous lifestyle leads me to wish I really didn’t have to use pain pills, so I could be a simple and truthful person.
I should perhaps mention that the family is right up close; the in-laws next door on one side, and the M-I-L’s sister on the hill next door on the other side. I see them daily and I have to deal with them daily, often having to negotiate to borrow a vehicle to get to my appointments and gym/therapy sessions when my husband is at work.
So I ask myself; is my secret shame really the need for tramadol to control my chronic pain? Or is my shame the necessity of lying on a daily basis, which undermines my self-image and philosophy of truth in everyday life? If you were in a similar situation, would you lie or would you open yourself to the judgment of such people?