BALENTINE MEMOIRS

I wrote down these thoughts on January 11, 2017, the day after I learned that getting Chiari decompression surgery was my best (and likely only) option if I wanted to fight this pain that bookends my days.   -- Every second is precious. I'm alone. Have I always been alone? At least in my questions of pain, of suffering, of the broken situations that consistently reveal their ugly mugs I am. I'm only alone so far as I keep this to myself.  If I don't invite people in, I'll be stuck navigating this wilderness with no help and no compass. Amy is with me every step of the journey. I'm sitting at the Blue Line, a glorious hole in the wall hockey-themed bar as I wait for Amy in the River Market in KC wondering if I could stomach the pain for now or for an extended period of time. Can I buck up and be tough? Is it more brave to have my melon cracked open and sewn back together? What's the right move here?  Everyone in this place moves about me, clueless to my

There have to be thousands upon thousands of pain sufferers in the world.  By “pain” I’m more thinking of physical ailments, injuries and malformations that lead to a life invaded by acute and chronic hurt.  Emotional and mental pain is no less prevalent or important in my mind, but I currently find myself in the miserable club of the physically tormented – so I find authority to speak and comment freely as a card-carrying member. It is so hard to describe a pain that nobody can see, and likely, a pain that no one you know will ever feel.  You describe the pain to people because, sure, you want some sympathy.  But more than that you want them to understand how this has changed you.  If you gave a friend a tour of your house while you were renovating the kitchen, you would spend quite a bit of time explaining why you were doing dishes in the bathtub and why your microwave was next to your couch in the living room.  It is as if you are saying, “I’m not really crazy.  I just have to