Dealing with Chronic Pain by Changing One’s Focus

When you can’t turn to drugs, there is still something you can do to tackle pain in your life.

Image by Arpit on pixabay.com

As someone who sits in front of a computer for long hours for a living, I have lots of little aches and pains. My back, my legs, my wrists, my feet… they all hurt after a long day. Now, I do all the things that they recommend, too. I exercise, I get up regularly and change tasks, and I’m always ready for cleanup duty and chores.

Yes, I also try to minimize the time I spend working in front of a screen. Having done this type of work for 25 years in my previous job, gritting my teeth through carpal tunnel, using more pain meds than I should have, and sweating my way through physical therapy, I should know better. Unfortunately, today technology is everywhere. If I’m not sitting in front of my computer screen, I’m on my phone. Even when I exercise, I use apps to track my progress. This lifestyle is taking its toll, and now that I’m middle-aged, I can feel it.

This is also the case for most small business owners. Despite all the tech and automation in their lives, QuickBooks reports don’t create themselves, while inventory lists can’t just check out for the rest of the day. Whether we want to admit it or not, screen time is hurting us, especially over the long term.

This is why pain management, especially for those pains that just won’t go away anymore, is so important. How can we deal with these pains without drugs or surgeries? Well, I may have stumbled onto one way that can help, but the revelation didn’t come right away. As it turns out, my father had something to do with it.

An Interesting Coincidence

One discovery I made many years ago is that when I go walking or hiking, I can typically push myself farther and faster when I listen to music. I’ve written about Using Music to Improve Productivity before, and this led me to experiment more with music. I didn’t realize it then, but music was also a way to cope with the pain of exercising. After all, fatigue is also a form of pain. I have figured out since then that the music I listen to also impacts how far I can walk. The more I enjoy the music and the more it makes my mind wander, the longer I can walk.

Years ago, when my father spent endless hours doing repetitive work, printing, sizing, matting, and framing art for his art business, he also listened to music all day long. We had boomboxes in every room of the house, and there were CDs everywhere. He also listened to music on those endless drives across the country, traveling to distant art shows. He even told me one time that his art would not have been possible without music.

He would never admit it today, but I know that creating the art and traveling with it took a tremendous toll on my father’s physical health. Yet I never once heard him complain about chronic pain and the physical hardship of being an artist. Looking back at it now, I know that two things made this possible: the music, but also the art itself – the beauty of it, the passion in it, and the joy it brings to people.

I never considered art as being much more than that, back then.

What I Learned from My Father

As my father grew older, it became more obvious that the art business had really taken a toll on my father. Growing old only made all this even more acute. My father had always been hard of hearing, but his hearing has diminished significantly more recently. The man who loved music could no longer enjoy it, and this was the first of many heartbreaks for him.

His heart is also no longer as strong as it was before. My father always loved to travel, originally with the company he worked for, where he visited distant places like China, Venezuela, and the Ivory Coast. Then, when he was an artist, he attended art shows in every major US city, while still taking time to visit distant places like Morocco, Dubai, and the Netherlands. After he retired from art, he became a traveling lecturer and taught classes on art, culture, and history. He loved doing this, too.

Unfortunately, now that he is much older, that isn’t possible anymore, and I have to believe that this is incredibly difficult for him. My father always thrived on talking with people anywhere, having lively debates about science and history, and he would always enjoy events and outings. Sadly, this is now rare because of his heart and his hearing.

One of the things that is so painful as people age is the inevitable dulling of the senses. It is something we don’t understand when we are younger. Only those of us who have had a few health setbacks in life may understand this a little better. You know, when your body’s check engine light comes on too soon... But most people can’t quite understand what the loss of an older person’s senses is like.

This age-related dulling of the senses has another impact that we seldom realize. It becomes something that isolates us, confines us in our own thoughts, and disconnects us from the world around us that everyone is still enjoying. It brings emotional stress and that is also a form of pain, pain that we then bear in addition to the physical pain of old age.

So, how can we deal with this?

One of the things I noticed recently is that my father especially loves reading large, coffee-table-sized books with images. At first, I worried that he might be losing his eyesight too, but that’s not the reason. He loves large-format books because they contain large, beautiful photos.

This is when it dawned on me. Those books contain photos from museums and galleries housing the greatest art in the world. Other books portray the most beautiful landscapes, the most amazing architecture, and the most enchanting historical sites. The large nature books, too, contain the most incredible and majestic fauna and flora on earth.

These are all photos of amazingly beautiful things in our world. Some of these he has seen, but many he never had the chance to. Now with these books, he can. They bring joy, they bring peace, and they make him forget the isolation and the pain that he is suffering.

What my father discovered, and I finally understood, is that the beauty and majesty of the most amazing things in our world are all images that soothe the mind. Yes, they bring peace, but they can also heal pain.

So, is it really that simple? Can this be put to the test?

Testing the Theory

As it so happens, I had a particularly painful experience on one of my walks a couple of weeks ago. I tripped on some cement stairs and scraped my shin on one of the steps. It hurt about as much as you can imagine. I was nowhere near my home, so I had to stop right then and there in agony. I had a choice, either scream and curse my misfortune, or take a step back from the pain and try out my theory… I’m actually amazed I had the clarity of mind to think of it then, but I did.

So, I let my mind wander. I looked up and concentrated on the trees above me. I thought about how green the leaves were as they contrasted against the bright blue sky. I thought how majestic these trees were, towering over me. I thought about the hundreds of tiny animals and plants that must live in those trees, from the smallest insect to the birds that feed on them. I thought about the raccoons, possums, and owls that make their homes in those trees.

I even noticed a pair of tiny birds frolicking between the branches, maybe a mother-father pair tending to their nest. I admired the way the sun shone through the rustling leaves, and I could feel the warmth against my face. I realized how fortunate I was to be able to take this all in, in peace and serenity…

When I returned my thoughts to the thing that had stopped my walk: the burning pain on my shin that I had momentarily completely forgotten. I could still feel it, to be sure, but it wasn’t nearly as intense as it had been just seconds before… or had it been longer than that? I can’t really remember. What I do remember is that I was able to stand up and slowly continue on my walk and head home.

Second Test

More recently, I was doing some chores around the house. I was in the middle of replacing the stop valve in one of our toilet tanks while I balanced the lid on my lap. It slipped off and landed on my foot, not so hard as to break anything, but hard enough to be accompanied by a healthy number of expletives. It hurt like hell, and I was on the point of tossing that &^%$% lid into the bedroom, but I stopped myself and decided to hobble over to the bed and just lie there for a minute instead.

My foot was throbbing, but I scanned the room for something beautiful to focus on. Then I saw the painting we have over our bed. It is a simple maritime painting of a wave breaking on the rocky shore, and not much else. That said, it is masterfully done, with the light seemingly shining through the wave, the dark and light colors of the furious water contrasting beautifully against a darkening evening blue sky. The strokes of the paintbrush had so masterfully captured every nuance of color.

I then saw the signature and remembered that this was painted by my late uncle Albert Buikema. I remembered some of his other amazing paintings. I remembered that my parents have one of two ducks that is also incredibly realistic. I also thought of another painting of his that I have downstairs, hanging over the mantle. It is a beautiful clearing at the end of a muddy road, as seen after a storm. It has a distinctive golden glow from the sun, almost as if to prepare us for the inevitable rainbow to appear if we just wait a little longer…

This time I had to work a little harder to focus my mind, but when I thought back to my throbbing toe, it wasn’t throbbing anymore. The pain was still there – definitely still there – but it was noticeably less intense than it had been. So, the theory held.

Both times that I turned my mind to something beautiful or amazing, it had a noticeable impact in reducing the pain that I felt. I’m sure this remedy isn’t as powerful as a full dose of doctor-prescribed codeine, but that also has serious side effects, and it can take a bit longer to work, perhaps even too long. The focus method, on the other hand, is much more immediate; it is freely available to anyone anywhere, and it works.

Now, I’m not done testing this theory out – it’s not like I’m walking around looking to hurt myself – but for now, this has been a welcome discovery. You can try it yourself. We can’t always avoid pain in our lives, and some of us indeed have intense pain to bear, but if this works, even a little bit, then it’s worth trying. I sincerely hope this helps others suffering in silence, too.

As another welcome thought: this is also a great opportunity to add some beautiful art to your home, you know, for that next time you drop something on your own toe.