Personal Narrative Of Pain Is A Funny Thing

I fought the thoughts of not being able to breathe and allowing myself to have a panic attack. I have never been very religious, but it got to a point where counting didn’t help and the moment that destroyed my health replayed over and over. It was the few seconds prior to blacking out, to when I looked up at my rearview mirror and saw a truck coming right for me because he fell asleep. These thirty minutes of darkness symbolized the endless emotional and physical pain I had endured and my return to the darkness, which I cannot explain. So I prayed, hoping that even though I couldn’t remember all the verses, it would end the spinning and the torture. These moments of fear were more than claustrophobia; it was also a concoction of sadness. Sadness, that uncovered my weak and fragile human being self to the world because I had still not healed. As these thoughts deepened, the bed of the MRI machine began to move outward and I knew it was over. I hadn’t realized that my body was trembling until they took the thick white sheet off me. It revealed my shaking legs covered in Goosebumps and so, I pulled my fuzzy green socks up and with their help got off the bed. I wondered if that’s what it was like to live through a traumatic event or was it me being dramatic? Either way, I shut the door leaving the loud and terrible noises behind me. As I walked out, I could never see myself laying in that room again, unable to escape the endless

Instead of focusing on the pain, I’d focus on my goals of being a leader and captain of the swim team, becoming a four year varsity swimmer, breaking a minute in butterfly, and making it to states. These goals motivate me to work harder, push through the pain, and set a good example for the team. As time progressed, I have gotten better at handling the anxiety of meets and now I barely get nervous for my events. Over the years, swim taught me a lot about myself and life. It has shown me that when you think you can’t go on you really can; all you have to do is keep pushing because the outcome is always worth it. It’s helped me with time management as I do have a lot homework during the season and very little free time to complete that homework. Swim has also made me much stronger mentally: I’ve learned how to stay positive even when everything is going wrong. It has shown me to be a leader, even when I questioned my own commitment. Swim has proven to me that I am powerful, and I can do whatever I set my mind too. My dedication to this sport has made me a much better athlete and more importantly a better

It was the aftermath of the Friday night game that I’ve given any signs of an injury, and my family and close ones felt sorrow for me and the following Monday. Throughout my life, peers and elders engraved an image onto me being that sports held a bright future for me, and it will lead to the true path of greatness, and one single injury puts me an aggravating, melancholy rut. Viewing my teammates playing angered me since the injury forced me into a world of therapy for the rest of the season. All the promises I made for myself were undone, athletic scholarships, the path to greatness, and my only school pastime and passion flowed throughout my body and into a pipe dream.

My knee suddenly feels as if someone set it on fire, and I instantly know something terrible has happened. My body quickly goes into shock, and I succumb to a sea of blackness. Awaking I hear a loud, sobbing sound of a wounded animal, slowly realizing that sound has come from myself. I open my eyes to see my mom, Coach Pendleton, and the athletic trainer leaning over me with questioning looks, as if they can not see the pain that I am feeling. All three are shouting questions at me as the red and black crowd sits silently with horrified faces. The trainer’s mouth is moving but I have no idea what she is saying, and it is as if I have lost my hearing, because the pain is too much too bear. Finally, I start to regain my thoughts and I can hear the trainer asking, “can you locate your pain for me?” I point to my knee, which is already swollen like a balloon. My mom and Coach Pendleton slowly help me to my feet and carry me to the sidelines like a child, where my team is staring at me with tear-filled eyes. I overhear the trainer talking in hushed voice with my mom, saying, “ I am concerned with the amount of swelling in the ACL area of her knee.” My stomach drops as I consider what she's just said. I will miss many games of my senior year, in the sport I love. My heart slowly shatters as I sit

All my life I have always had an intriguing interest for baseball, I started at a very young age with tee ball and playing all the way up until my senior year in high school. Even though I’ve played all these years of baseball, I’m going to tell you about my junior year and our championship run. It all started in the offseason, in which we use to get ready for our season in the spring. In the off season we start with throwing witched turned out for to be my biggest conflict, while throwing in the off season I tore a muscle in my right throwing shoulder which was a tremendous setback for me and my preparation for the season. The doctor started me on a rehab program and lucky shortly after my rehab I was ready to get back out there and prepare for my season.

Have you ever gotten hurt before and had to visit a specialist to get you back on your feet? Well, I have. As a dancer, it is a known fact someone you know is going to get hurt at some point in their career. It is important as dancers to understand what our options are. Dancers should see specialist for many different reasons and at different points of their injuries as well, which it is why it is important to understand what specialist do what.

Sitting in a hospital waiting room, alone, afraid; and waiting for the news; would she be ok? Would she even survive? My nerves were out of control; my heart was beating through my chest, you could literally see it thumping through my top. The beads of sweat racing down my forehead, as if I was in the middle of the Safari dessert. I have been an athlete my entire life, yet I have never felt so physically drained. I look around, my eyes opening, then closing; as if I am coming in and out of consciousness, then suddenly echoed words begin to ring around my ear drums….” Sir…...sir, can you hear me? Sir please, we need to know what happened. We need to know what happened to her. Maybe my motionless state showed my

Last September, my injury never fully got better from ballet. So, in March I heard my knee “pop” and, I could not walk on it. I was on crutches for 5 days due to the pain. I had to wear an ugly knee brace everyday and used a lot of ice. The physical therapist thought I might have torn something in my knee. I was happy to find out that nothing was torn in my knee after all.

I constantly fought this mental battle of giving in to the temptation of not playing and letting all of my teammates and coaches down, or growing thicker skin and sucking up the pain in order to satisfy the voice in the back of my mind. This period of turmoil seemed to not have an end. Then, as if by miracle, everything changed as I entered my junior year in high school. My knee pains had nearly disappeared, I shed most of the extra weight I had, I even developed my shooting and dribbling to the point where my peers began to notice the drastic “transformation” I went through. That season, I lead my team in points, rebounds, and blocks per game and made it to the semi-finals of the state championship tournament, the furthest the program had gone in four years.

A few minutes later we arrived at Cherry Hospital for our 2nd to last day of our psych rotation. While sitting in the break room waiting until it was time to head downstairs to the treatment mall, my mind began to wander. I’m not sure how much time had passed, I was completely zoned out and staring at the wall engulfed in a struggle to identify what was real in my mind. I felt like I was having déjà vu, the memory seemed to real and familiar, it was coming back vividly I could see myself like I was in a very well directed movie or an out of body experience.

After five excruciating hours of intense training and drilling of each choreographed movement, I was debilitated and slept the entire way home. I crawled into bed, staying awake only long enough to set my alarm for practice the next morning. My mind was utterly immersed in dance; I ran the dances through me head constantly, imagining each muscle contraction that would be required to execute move flawlessly. As captain of the dance team, I was required to know every movement, every count, every formation by heart as soon as it was taught to the team, even if I was not part of that specific number. Jumping out of the bed, ready for five more grueling hours of practice, I suddenly collapsed on the floor, screaming from the pain shooting up my right leg. A few minutes passed and I was able to get up and hobble around. I then made the calamitous mistake of participating in another grueling five hours of dance practice, with only a light brace to support my agonizingly painful ankle. Fast forward through two weeks of a swollen ankle, crying in pain with any movement of my ankle, doctor prescribed ice and rest and x-rays, to the horrid moment when my doctor told me I had torn a ligament in my foot: an injury which has a history of being near impossible to fully heal from. I was told to be prepared that I may never run or dance again; I may even be extremely limited when walking. The weeks turned into months of physical therapy, with little to no improvement. Every doctor’s visit consisted of the same warning: probable surgery with little hope of extraneous activity after recovery. But I defied the odds: I completely avoided surgery, got my walking-boot off after twelve long weeks, and went for a mile walk nearly pain free within a year of my injury. But probably the most important milestone in my recovery occurred one year after my injury: I got my driver’s license. Although I still live with lingering pain in my ankle, I understand

All I remember is waking up in a complete blur, every muscle of my body felt as if it had been drained of its energy. I was exhausted and perplexed and in absolute darkness… What was happening? Why couldn’t I move? And more importantly, where was I? With any bit of strength I had left, I began to pry my eyes open just enough to see the ceiling of what looked like an ambulance where a man dressed in a navy blue paramedic uniform stood before me. He was rushing around gathering medical supplies when he must have noticed me because he stopped immediately and asked if I remembered my name. What kind of question is that? Of course I knew my…. Oh my god. I couldn’t remember my name. It

Whenever individuals think of pain it is always almost a negative thought that comes to mind, for example when a dentist say you may feel a little pain the patient is most likely expecting the worse. People who tend to be overly sensitive, very emotional may over exaggerate in trying to describe or locate pain. The mindset of a person in the way they perceive or analyze a situation can determine the final outcome.

In class we have discussed the concept of pain, concluding that a conflict between what the brain anticipates occurring and what actually occurs has the potential to cause the perception of pain. Furthermore, it was suggested that genetics might have a role in the experience of pain, particularly when applied to the discussion of phantom limb pain. However, I found these inferences a bit unsatisfying and walked away with more questions than answers. Where does chronic pain come into the picture? Why is a stimulus that is painful for one person not for another? And the question that puzzled me the most: how, from a neurobiological perspective, can an individual experience pain in her arm if

Wounded people surrounded her feeling the hurt within the room as if she didn’t already feel the wounds within herself quietly choking couldn’t speak but asked “who are you waiting for?” shrieking softly but hardly did she feel the touch the touch of someone who cared Too many people have had enough but it’s nothing new she shovelled what remained of her into the waiting earth and responded “my mother” hearing others loudly whisper “aleast she had the decency to do the decent thing” she ran from the pain that she thought wouldn’t find her she shut her eyes held the little breath she held within hoping that the pain would pass right by her little did she know the pain would continue to consume her “pain in short was not her cup of