What I’m about to tell you is deeply personal, and I’ve avoided writing this column for a few years. But I’m at the point where I feel the need to write about the ways in which pain has come to shape and dominate my every waking moment so my friends know why they rarely see me in public anymore.
I take a shitload of painkillers every day, not because they’re fun, but simply because I can’t stand or walk without them. I’ve been in pain on a 24/7/365 basis since 2003, and recently I’ve been experiencing new pain in my left side ass, hip, and leg. The physical pain is one thing, but its effect on my psychology is by far the hardest part of daily life.
I’ve come to dread waking up each day, despite the fact that I have my dream job and a loving family. When I open my eyes, I begin the process of assessing my physical state to see what kind of day it’s going to be. On a good day, I experience pain in the 3-4 range (on a scale of 1 to 10), and that’s with taking painkillers. On the majority of my days. that level ranges from 6-8.
What is my 3-4 level like? It’s the equivalent of being kicked in the thigh or having my foot stomped on. My 6-8 feels like that stomping and kicking has resulted in a fracture.
I used to love my physicality and what my body was capable of doing. I enjoyed running and working out, playing hockey and making love. Painting was fun back then, and on a good day it remains so, but in order to “get there”, I have to take a double dose of painkillers every three hours, which means my next day is shot due to simple math–if I take enough painkillers to paint, I have none left for the following day.
So that pain in the ass I mentioned is literal. Far more importantly, it’s also a pain in my mind.
Pain wears you down over time, and after fifteen years, I feel worn out. I’m tired all of the time, as pain affects my ability to sleep. I wake up every two or three hours because the pain doesn’t recede when I’m asleep. Added to this is the worry that any new pain could be a sign that cancer is recurring. I’m currently being tested to find out if the new pain I’m experiencing is cancer related, or if it’s just more fallout from my previous cancers. Either way, it’s just that much more to deal with.
Depression has become a part of my daily life, too. Ironically, depression just ramps up the physical pain, because it weakens my ability to fight through the physical aspect, and vice versa. It’s a nasty loop, one that has narrowed my world to dog walks and painting.
This isn’t a cry for help or sympathy, but rather an update to explain my reticence to make firm plans for any kind of social life with friends. It’s also not an invitation for people to come over for a visit, because I’m not up for a visit unless I ask you over. Again, think of this column as an update. Writing about it helps me get my frustrations out of my system for a while, and hopefully it will help explain my hermit-like lifestyle.
Now it’s time to walk the dog and get back to painting. Thanks for listening.
billbattenpaintings 
Hi Bill,
first of all, love your paintings. They are interesting, studied, playful and full of life.
Secondly, what a brave post.
Thirdly, your not alone. It’s society’s dirty little secret.
What you describe is harrowing, and I’ve been right there. We each find a way to deal with the pain, take it away however we can. A bottle of pills or liquids, pot, sleeping, begging. I have taken the experimental route. Osteopathy, took care of my knees and ankles. Yoga, took care of my lower back and shoulders. My arms, neck and skull are a work in progress.
I hope you use this wonderful energy that you have, the one that made you post this personal insight and keeps you walking your dog, that helps you paint such fascinating imagery. To keep trying, to know you don’t have to live like this. There is more.
Thanks for the kind and thoughtful words, Sara. I find the pain has made me appreciate the fragile beauty that is always present in life, and it also makes me aware of the simple yet profound pleasures that come with a stripped down life. The still life paintings tend to be where my daily experiences, and my journey through the cancer wards and my tunnel of pain find expression–hence their slightly hallucinatory quality. Painting and my family keep me happier than I thought I could be given the physical limitations that have impacted all aspects of my life, aand both keep me looking for more out of myself, my practice, and life itself.
I hope you have the same success with your neck and skull as you have had with the rest of your conditions, and that you continue to enjoy the paintings!
I so enjoy your paintings. I like the Peterborough one up the hill, being that I am not there anymore but my children are, it is kind of nice to see ‘ordinary images’ of how I recall the place. Would be good to meet for coffee next visit. Hope all is well.