I wouldn't have guessed that phantom pain would have been as bad as it's been for me since my right leg was amputated nearly a month ago, but it is. We who have it aren't accorded the same status as those who have real pain, and I can see why; no one ever died from phantom pain.
Or have they? It causes the same kind of stress as "real" pain, and wears on you in ways that weaken you. And although I haven't researched it, I'd bet there are numerous instances of those with it ending their lives.
An obvious question about phantom pain is this: Why is it pain? There have been a few times when mine has manifested itself as a convincing itch, but why isn't that always the case? In fact, why isn't the feeling one of having the missing limb massaged by an expert, gentle masseur? Ahhh ...
The obvious answer to this is probably that it's because the limb has been cut off. We're not evolved to see that as the "good" (in my case prophylactic) thing to do, so the primary readings the nerves are going to transmit are ones of pain. Pain serves to tell us that something is wrong with our body, or a part of our body. I shout at my leg, "I know! I know!" sometimes, but it does no good.
Soon, I will look into therapy. I've heard there are things that help lessen it.
It's 1970 and the Complete and Total Loser is twelve years old. His crippled right leg, stunted by three operations to remove cartilaginous tumors, has ceased growth. X-rays show that the Loser may reach a height of six-feet-two-inches. The discrepancy would be debilitating, as the Loser already wears a shoe with a lift of over three inches.
The solution is to cut clean through the bones of the Loser's left leg, five times at both the ankle and knee, shattering the growth plates to stop the leg's growth. The orthopedic surgeon is, like many bone guys, a tough man; his last name is Steel. He performs the operation with a drill and chisel and the Loser awakes in a cast that immobilizes the leg and goes around his hips. Blood leaks from four long incisions and soaks though the cast at both joints.
Even when done with clean instruments and skill, a major bone break hurts, and the Loser is in intense pain. This being a different era, they are reluctant to give much pain medication. The Loser howls in agony off and on for two weeks and is in much discomfort for another three weeks after that. He doesn't crap the first week. His adult height will be five-feet-nine-inches, and he'll wear a shoe with a seven-inch lift for the rest of his life.
The lesson learned is that pain of all kinds subsides. It takes longer than you think, much longer, but it does go away. Recently dumped by the first woman to like him in years, the Loser hurts now. He knows, however, that in a year or so he'll start keying in a name similar to hers in an email address line and when her name pops up he'll think of her for only a few seconds. Then he'll resume and think of a catchy subject line for the person he means to write.
The Complete and Total Loser, being a loser, fell hard on his gimp leg today while walking on hard-packed snow and is in extreme pain as he writes this.
The Loser has fallen before. Always the same way: left foot goes shooting out from under him, body goes down on bum right leg, which bends and twists ways it shouldn't. Much soft tissue damage followed by swearing, then swelling. For some days the Loser will walk like an amputee with a new prosthesis.
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| Snow-covered grill. |
Ah, pain. The Loser has met women who enjoy being spanked. Not by him, of course; he is a loser with women as he is in all aspects of life. The desired puzzled him at first. Then once, while alone (this was years ago), he spanked his own buttock cheek. It felt refreshing. Invigorating. It's not something he pursued in any way, but if he ever did become half of a couple and she wanted to be spanked, he'd understand.
The kind of pain he feels at the moment is not that kind. It's a sharp ache, not a bright slap. The Loser has had worse pain. At 12, he had an operation which surgically broke large leg bones ten times to slow the growth of his "good" leg. This was in the late 1960s and doctors feared getting kids hooked on painkillers, so they were stingy with relief. The Loser howled in pain off and on for two weeks, while blood seeped through his thick body cast.
Odd, how you can think when in some kinds of pain but not others. If the pain the Loser feels now were in his head, he'd be writing this. If it were in his stomach, he'd be curled into a ball, whimpering.
