All the Best Intentions. At Exactly the Wrong Time.
As you know, this week started with very real and incredible heartbreak for me. And I think it’s pretty funny the things people said during it.
When I got my very first kidney stone, I didn’t know what it was, and I literally thought I was dying.
One moment things were just fine. I remember I was goofing around with my brother at the urinals in a bathroom at the marina of Lake Powell. Now, don’t be weird about that. Brothers goof around anywhere and everywhere. I guarantee he probably pushed me from behind while I was peeing, and I probably pretended to peek over the stall and make some comment about, I don’t know, whatever brothers do to tease each other. And yes, we were both adults.
I just know I was happy. Life was good. I hadn’t a worry in the world. And suddenly, my back started aching. At first it was minor. It just felt like a strained muscle or something, no big deal.
Within four minutes, I was on my hands and knees outside of the bathroom, violently throwing up from the pain which had suddenly consumed me. I had never had pain like that, and I had never felt pain like that. It was like a horned and sharp-toothed monster was trying to violently eat its way out of my innards.
My family gathered around to figure out why I suddenly was in peril (was it that obvious?). I told them through gasps, “I don’t know, something is very wrong inside of me.” They were the only words I could get out before I threw up once more.
There were no hospitals within hours. There was, however, (somewhere nearby) a little health clinic at the lake. And I mean the kind which is setup in a tiny makeshift hut of sorts, meant to deal with bumps and bruises; certainly not with failing organs or other such trivial things.
My family somehow got me there. They took me inside. The medical person on staff took one look at me and smiled. “It’s just a kidney stone.”
Just a kidney stone? JUST a kidney stone? Did this woman not understand that something inside me was in the process of killing me? They put me on an exam table. My chest puffed upward as my back arched in more agony and pain. My family who was in the room with me all immediately felt at ease after hearing the diagnosis, even in the midst of my obvious and forthcoming death. Good thing it was just a kidney stone, I’m glad YOU all feel better about THI… The pain hit again. I screamed out loud inviting death to come quickly. The medical person told me not to worry, she’d just shoot me up with some morphine and I would love life again. Good God f*** yes, don’t talk about it, do it now! I couldn’t talk, only think desperate thoughts.
She gave me a shot of morphine. I looked around as I waited for it to set in. My family was smiling. The medical woman was smiling. They were all talking about life like life was okay. Another giant hunk of my insides was suddenly ripped to shreds and I screamed. “Hmmm, it’s okay,” she said. “Sometimes the pain is so bad that you need two shots of morhpine.” She was still smiling that frickin’ smile while I writhed in anguish. At this point my family smiled and nodded and touched my arm and told me everything would be okay. NO, it WON’T. NOOOOOOOOO. IT. WOOOO… ARRRGGGHHHHHH!!”
After that one, she shot another dose of this supposed miracle drug. Again, after giving it time, it didn’t even touch what was happening inside of me. She said, “that’s weird, I’ve never seen anyone need more than two. Let’s do one more.”
At this point, my family started… joking. To me. About the situation. I don’t remember what they said. I don’t remember what they did. But in that moment, they thought humor and light-heartedness about the worst and most painful experience of my life, while I was in the middle of going through it, would make things… better? The medical lady person put another shot into me just as the kidney stone bit through a most sensitive part of my insides. I screamed a mighty scream. I collapsed into the table again. And again, my family made jokes to try and make things… better? They said all the right things. At exactly the wrong time.
The third shot did nothing. Again. The life-ending pain cycle continued. And finally I involuntarily screamed at my family, “STOP JOKING AROUND, FOR THE LOVE OF…”
And that’s one of the last things I remembered. That was just before she put the fourth shot of morphine into me. My next memory was waking up in bed, at home, some five hours away. How I got there, I don’t know. What happened between screaming at my family, I don’t know. All I know is that I woke up feeling fine. And better. And healed. And good. And I could laugh again and enjoy life again and be myself again. Still a little raw inside, perhaps, but much, much better. It was at that point that I could laugh, and appreciate everyone’s help, and everyone’s amazing support, and everyone’s attempts to cheer me up.
And dang if I haven’t learned that genuine heartbreak after a breakup up is no different. At all.True heartbreak is a level of pain you do not see coming. It is a level of hurt you do not see coming. It feels like a different yet very similar horned and sharp-toothed monster trying to violently eat its way out of your innards. You lose all sense of normalcy. You feel like it might kill you at certain points. Nothing is funny, and I mean nothing. And not only is it not funny, you don’t want to find anything funny. Ever again. You just want it to go away with whatever proverbial shot of morphine you can find so that you don’t have to feel the excruciating pain anymore.
After I wrote that heartbreak post, it opened the floodgates for all the best intentions at completely the wrong time.
Over text and on the web, people shared memes, everyone told me it’ll be okay, everyone told me I’d find real love again, everyone told me that it would pass, everyone told me that it wasn’t meant to be. Everyone said all the right things. At exactly the wrong time. IT WILL NEVER BE OKAY! I DON’T WANT TO FIND A DIFFERENT AND BETTER LOVE! THIS IS NOT GOING TO PASS! I AM DYING RIGHT NOW! PLEASE UNDERSTAND THAT…. ARGGGGHHHH!” The pain would hit deep and hard once more.
Then the well-intentioned humor started. That came mostly from people I know in my everyday life. Jokes about dating, jokes about breaking up, jokes about what I could do to get over it, jokes about all sorts of things, from so many people. Everyone joked all the right things. At exactly the wrong time. IT IS NOT FUNNY. IT WILL NEVER BE FUNNY! STOP JOKING AROUND, FOR THE LOVE OF… ARGGGGHHHHH!
Hahaha.
All the right intentions. All at the wrong time. That is what we do to each other. I do it to my heartbroken friends. They do it to me. We all do it to everyone. Why?
Here’s what I’ve learned about true heartbreak. It passes all on its own. With time. I don’t know how I got to feeling better, and excited about life again, and over the pain and heartache, but I know that I just woke up yesterday, and I felt so much better. Still a little raw inside, perhaps, but much, much better. It was at that point that I could laugh, and appreciate everyone’s help, and everyone’s amazing support and everyone’s attempts to cheer me up.
It’s not funny to me, but it is something I can most definitely laugh about with other people the way I have always laughed at the hardest things in my life. Looking back at that first kidney stone is now one of the funniest memories I have. I doubt this will ever be a hilarious memory, but it certainly will be something I look back on with fondness for the lessons learned and the opportunities it opened up.And yes, I promise that I do actually really appreciate all of your love, and support, and humor, and memes, and advice. SO much. It just took me a minute to get there.
And family, thanks for laughing at my pain back then in the little makeshift medical hut at Lake Powell. I mean, through my pain. You were laughing through it, right?
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