Oh my aching back!

What to do when pain becomes part of the norm as we age

Since I fell on my butt on a patch of black ice, nearly 15 years ago, I have had ongoing problems with my back. Like so many of us in those years called the Third Age, when we’re aging but still capable of an active, engaged life, my discs are ruptured, squished, and otherwise misaligned, impinging on the spinal nerves, and causing those horrible shooting pains down my legs called sciatica. It turns out the fall also caused a hairline fracture of my spine. Ah well. For many months I felt like the little mermaid, for whom every step was like “treading upon the points of needles or sharp knives.” But a combination of yoga, massage therapy, Pilates, anti-inflammatories, prescription pain meds, and time eased the discomfort. If I’m very careful, I get a recurrence infrequently. I’ve recently added acupuncture to my arsenal of pain relief. I’m very lucky.

But I had a flare-up this weekend – probably caused by lots of stress in my life and dressing up to go to the ballet for the first time since the pandemic, which meant I wore shoes I haven’t worn in three-and-a-half years. And won’t wear ever again.

Yesterday I saw the acupuncturist, who gave me not only heat and needles, but also lots of sympathy. “Oooh, I know how that feels,” she said. And, “oh man, you are really spasming. That has to hurt!”

I’m not sure which helped more – the treatment or the sympathy.

When my mother-in-law was in her eighties, she would laughingly say that she had just gone to an organ recital with a friend. What she meant was that they had spent much of their visit talking about what was happening to their bodies. They shared and compared new aches and pains, diagnoses, and medical treatments. She always seemed to feel better afterwards. I understand this so much better now. In previous ages, my friends and I talked about career, relationships, raising kids, fashions, politics, our worries about the future, not necessarily in that order. But in the Third Age, we not only spend a larger portion of our time making, going to, and following up on doctors’ appointments (provided we’re lucky enough to have good insurance coverage and access to great medical care), but these appointments, results, and treatments for all those organs often predominate. I learned in my own unscientific research on women’s friendships how healing these connections can be. But formal studies have also shown that empathy, that is, the ability to understand and share other people’s feelings, can have a positive impact on the a wide range of illnesses, from diabetes to cancer.

It's not just that empathy makes us feel better emotionally. It can improve our chances of following a prescribed health plan and can also be beneficial to our physical well-being. Studies have shown that feelings of pain can be reduced by positive “social touch,” such as a hug or a massage.

One of the interesting changes for me as I’ve gotten older is that I no longer seek to get rid of every ache and pain. In fact, I know that’s not possible, and I’ve come to accept the presence of discomfort, if not outright pain, as an ongoing part of life these days. But extreme pain can keep us from enjoying life. It interferes with our ability to move, play, and even think. I know I’m extremely lucky, because mine is low key and not a daily occurrence. My husband, on the other hand, has severe arthritis that hurts all the time. He’s not a complainer, but I can see his discomfort in the way he moves – even in the way he sits still.

It’s an interesting reflection on humans, however, that someone’s empathic response to my discomfort is almost always soothing to me, while my husband finds it off-putting. “It’s infantilizing,” he tells me. I think he also works hard to keep the pain on a back burner of his psyche, and when someone comments on it, even in a kind way, it rushes to the front of his mind. He does appreciate a good massage, but not if it’s given with sympathy.

Still, I’ve noticed that when we get together with friends, we always start with an organ recital. That’s one time that my husband doesn’t mind talking about what’s going on with him. My guess is that our friends know better than to baby him, but there’s a genuine connection and a sense of being cared about that he takes in.

I’ve also noticed that these conversations can get out of hand, but someone in the group almost always stops us before that happens. A simple joke almost always gets us moving in a different direction. Someone will say, “So, what about those Red Socks?” as a signal that it’s time to talk about something else. Or someone will introduce a political question that gets us on another track.

That’s important. Too much talk about our aches and pains can devolve into a “pity party” and undo the positive effects of the social connection. And for some of us, talking about problems seems to magnify them. My friend Susan, for example, tells me that she has had tinnitus for years, and that she has pretty much learned to ignore it, except when she’s talking about it. So, she prefers not to bring it into a conversation, if she can help it.

What about you? Have you ever noticed whether talking with someone who genuinely cares and understands helps you feel better? Or does talking make it worse? Do you have a particular friend who you can talk to about these things? As I found in my research on friendship, a surprising fact about friendships is that not all friends are able to give us everything we need or want from our relationships. One friend, for instance, might be good at empathy, but another might be better at helping you distract yourself. If you, like Susan, feel better when you're distracted, it's also important to let friends know that you don't want to talk about something. Saying it directly, even with a little humor when you can, is a great way to set and protect your own boundaries.

I’m going to be opening up a chat segment for subscribers, just as soon as I figure out exactly what is involved. I’ll send you complete instructions directly from Substack, and you’ll be able to answer questions like these, comment, and talk about your own experiences in response to my essays. You'll also be able to opt out of any extra emails notifying you when a chat is open, if you prefer — I do not want to add to the mass of unwanted mail in your inbox!

But for now, till I get the chat going, try this: think of a friend who you might share your “organ recital” with. Ask yourself how you would introduce the problem, and think about how you would want them to respond. If you feel comfortable with it, go ahead and try talking with them. If not, try journaling about the feelings, since journaling is, in a way, like talking to someone else.

Just don’t forget that when you give an organ recital to a friend, it’s important to listen to theirs as well. You might even find that hearing their story can help you manage your own discomfort.

Photo credit: 123RF stock image #172189368 photographer: jomkwan

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