Do you feel alone sometimes?  Maybe is seems that no matter how many times you say something, people just aren’t hearing you? This is not unusual, and you aren’t alone.  Often when we are grieving, we just don’t feel the strength we need to keep fighting the same battle. When this happens, we usually must keep trying until someone hears. I have a big example from my life.

Many years ago, I started having problems with my knee which was painful and swollen and a challenge to deal with. I went to different doctors, acupuncturists, massage therapists, physical therapists, and surgeons. One surgeon finally told me that I had a torn meniscus that he could repair it and I would be cured, after more physical therapy. After the surgery, he told me my meniscus was not torn but the lining of my knee looked like thick red shag carpet and that he didn’t know why it looked like that. Recovery from the surgery was tough because my whole leg swelled so much that my skin split.

Years went on with no relief. I took lots of anti-inflammatory drugs, but to little avail. I learned to not sit on the floor ever, to walk slowly, and to just put up with the pain. I always mentioned it to whatever doctor or therapist I saw. I had cortisone shots in my knee and more physical therapy, but it continued to get worse. Finally, the swelling was so bad that I could not pull pants up over my knee. I researched and found who was supposed to be the best doctor to deal with knees. He decided to drain the fluid from my swollen knee to provide relief. What he pulled from my knee was not the clear yellow synovial fluid he expected, and he sent me to a general surgeon.

The new surgeon had an MRI done that indicated lots of blood free in my knee. As I told him my history, he stopped me when I said red shag carpet.  He told me that the combination of what the MRI showed and the description I told him of the carpet, he told me that he was almost certain that I had Pigmented Villanodular Synovitis. His surgery confirmed his diagnosis. He said that hopefully that the surgery and some radiation treatment would do much to lessen the symptoms, but he wasn’t sure, and since it could lead to amputation, he sent me to an oncologist.

Fortunately, I had a dear friend who was an oncologist. He also was brilliant and loved to learn new things, so he read everything he could find that had been written on the diagnosis, which didn’t take him long because at that point, not much research has been done. He was, however, able to calculate the amount of radiation I required to deal anything left of what was left of the giant cell tumors that had resided in my knee for so long. I did the radiation, did more physical therapy, and I am much better though I still have pain and am unsteady walking.

Why did I tell you this long story? Because it took me years of reaching out for help with little results.  That often happens to people who are grieving. They most commonly try to deal with grief in isolation, not wanting others to see how broken they feel. Or they don’t feel like talking to anyone else at all. When they do come to a point where they would like to ask for help, they are unsure of where to go, so frequently they delay getting support and suffer more alone.

My advice is to keep searching. Keep asking. Eventually someone will say “I know just who you should see.” Or you will read some books dealing with grief, from self-help type books to fiction that deals with people grieving. And hopefully you will talk to friends who have also dealt or are dealing with loss.

After my first husband to die transitioned, I didn’t try much of anything. In my lonely cocoon, there was no room for someone to join me. I was lonely, but I mostly hid from anyone who could comfort me. I gradually did what my mother would have said by “pulling myself up by my bootstraps.” Though I never was for sure what that meant, I did start to take care of myself anyway I could figure.  When my second husband to die transitioned, things were so different. I had experience to help me. I had learned much about what I didn’t want to do, so I started again.

I wrote much with just me as an audience about how I was feeling and wondering what I could be doing. And I read much, every grief book I could find. And I was finding much that wasn’t helpful, but some that was. Since my writing was helping me, I started teaching my writing techniques to others who were dealing with grief and loss.  The more we talked together, the better we all felt. And I am still teaching people how to write to deal with grief.

And the unexpected gift that came to me in all this process was that I learned that just because I have had much loss in my life doesn’t mean that I have too always be sad. I learned the value of a smile shared with someone, even a stranger.  I learned that it feels good to share conversations and laugh. I learned that I could take good care of myself. And I do.

Learning all this has allowed me to smile again regularly and to reach out to help anyone I can along the way. My intention it to provide comfort support, love, and happiness to anyone I touch who is dealing with grief. I am here to help you.

 

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