Monday, March 18, 2013

Scintilla Project: Character

Prompt: Describe a time when the content of your character was tested.

I originally wrote this post at the end of last year but it seemed apt to share it for today's prompt.


Hot metal spikes stab deep into my cheek bone with the force of a pneumatic drill. Meat hooks tear at my flesh and the weight of the large rotting carcass they carry suddenly overpowers me. My whole world is turned upside down as though Quentin Tarantino and Roald Dahl have cast me in a sinister version of 'The Twits'.

In this altered state of reality everything appears normal but is anything but. Badly furnished doctors’ offices become the norm where the ticking of the clock is always too loud and time takes on the appearance of a bad car wreck. The waiting is almost as unbearable as the pain. 

While my house begins to resemble a small pharmacy, and the list of side effects I experience reads like a bad novel, I acknowledge that now is not the time to be an anomaly.

Blood work and tests, CT scans and MRI's, surgery and acupuncture . . . . . nothing alleviates the pain and I feel the blackness closing in, trapping me in some kind of living hell.

Days turn into weeks, weeks roll into months and the sofa becomes my life raft. I cling to it desperately . . . . . sleep my only respite.

For over a year his grip remained strong. Even as my fingers weakened and I began to lose all hope his determination never faltered . . . holding on . . . holding the two of us, knowing that if he could keep going we'd find a way through.

Misdiagnosis after misdiagnosis eventually led them to a label . . . . 'Atypical Facial Neuralgia' also commonly referred to as the 'Suicide Disease'. Not that giving it a name helped.

Every direction I took I faced yet another road block and the blackness continued to close in. Not the comforting black of a night sky but a thick dark all consuming black that wrapped its gnarly fingers around me, choking the air from my lungs and plunging me into depths I'd only ever heard about in hushed whispers.

The person I was no longer existed. No thoughts. No feelings. Just excruciating pain and whether I had the strength to make it through one more minute.

With no obvious way through I wanted out and so I began to let go . . . to release my grip. First one finger, then another but I could hear something in the distance. It was a voice. It was his voice telling me "you are strong”, "you are the brave".

I was slipping, slipping, slipping. My fingernails bloody and broken from trying to claw my way back . . . my muscles tired and weak from the long fight. Every fiber of my being wanted to let go but that voice was like a niggle that I just couldn't shake.

Then up ahead I saw a flash of light. Not in the aaaaaah, singing angels kind of way but more a twinkle of light that you know deep down holds the promise of hope. Moving towards it I held my hand to my eyes, shielding them from the sudden brightness and there he was saying "you are strong", "you are bravest person I know". What he didn't realize was that it was his own strength and his own bravery that saved me.

The Scintilla Project

11 comments:

  1. Wow! What devastating pain! You described it so well, I was afraid I'd have a migraine by the end of reading this post! I sure hope they got to the bottom of this and that you are no longer suffering. Your photo sure adds to the post.

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  2. How your words can be so beautiful when such pain is so raw... I do not know. I, too, hope you no longer suffer such agony.

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    1. I still suffer with facial pain but it is no where near as excruciating as it was as its worst. I hope I never have to experience that level of pain again, it's what nightmares are made of.

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  3. So very real, Kathryn, a stunning and frightening description! I hope you never have to experience that again.

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  4. Your words are moving me from deep within.

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  5. Your words are moving me from deep within.

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  6. I cannot even imagine what it means to experience this kind of constant, excruciating pain. That you could turn that into something written so beautifully speaks volumes. I am glad that you at least have some respite now.

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    1. It was a rough road and one I didn't think I would see the end of. Thankfully I found a medicine concotion that takes the edge of and even though I still have bad days with pain they are nowhere near as bad as there were then.

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  7. As heart-rending this time. I can't imagine the journey you have made through the pain.

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    1. Thanks Brenda, its a journey I never imaged myself being on but it's now a part of who I am. Thanks for all your love and support.

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  8. Oh Kathryn, you've been through so much! I can only hope this condition will lessen its excruciating grip on you and give you some peace. And comfort. I'm sure it has made you stronger, inside and out!

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