When Pain is Not The Problem

One night last week just before bedtime, my ten-year-old called me over. “Mom, I have a toothache, and my gum hurts a lot too.”

I did what any mom would do and grabbed a flashlight. Shining the bright LED into his mouth, I saw a red, swollen gum where he pointed to the source of the pain. “Ouch, dude. That looks like it hurts. How long has that been going on?” I asked.

“Since Saturday.” He responded.

I called my husband over, and we both made the decision that we should probably make a trip to the dentist in the morning. It could be a cavity or even headed toward an abscess. Anxiety rose in my heart as I thought about how this might affect our next few days – the time involved, the cost, and managing his pain. We gave him some ibuprofen and ushered him to bed.

I didn’t sleep well that night, and the next morning, I felt my nerves on edge until we called the dentist’s office and settled on a 9:00 appointment. We quickly got the kids ready and gathered the school books – can’t let an appointment turn the school day on its head! And we headed out the door.

My mind raced as I thought through all the possibilities as the road moved under our tires. Would they do something today? Would we have to schedule another appointment later this week or even several appointments? How would he handle the procedure(s)? And most of all, I felt like some sort of failure for not teaching him to brush his teeth better. Cue “bad mom syndrome.”

I sat in the waiting room with the younger boys while my husband went back with the oldest. I bounced my knees with nervous energy. What were they finding? What was taking so long? In reality, they were probably not gone more than about twenty minutes, but it felt like an eternity.

When they emerged, my son made a bee-line for the video games, and my husband walked over. He shrugged his shoulders. “Everything is good.” He stated calmly. I’m sure my mouth dropped. “His teeth are all intact, no decay, no infection. It’s just his adult teeth trying to push the baby molars out. The dentist said to encourage him to wiggle them more to get the little ones out of the way.”

I blinked a few times as the news settled in. My son was growing up. He was in pain because he is growing into the man God wants him to be. Wiggle the tooth. The new one will come in. Everything is okay. The pain is not a problem.

We got back in the car, and I drove in silence as I processed this rather good news. And it revealed something to me – Pain is not always a problem. It does not always signify a problem. Sometimes it signifies growth. In some ways, I felt like an idiot for not thinking through that possibility in the midst of all my worrying. But in other ways, I wonder if God allowed this small speed bump to teach me a deeper lesson.

We are trained to look at pain as a problem. We are raised with the ideas that pain is your body’s way of telling you something is wrong. The sore throat tells you you’re sick. The headache states that you’re tired, stressed, or in need of coffee. The burning lungs might signify asthma, and the aching heart can whisper of loss. We pull our hands away from heat so we don’t get burned. We add layers if we are tingly cold. We step away from relationships that seem too hurtful.

On the other hand, the aching gums tell us we are growing up and getting new teeth (yup, I know this now). The burning muscles tell us new fibers are being added and we are getting stronger. And the rhythmic tightening of the womb tells us we are about to birth new life. Pain doesn’t always mean something is wrong. Sometimes, pain tells us that something is very much right!

The problem comes when we look at all pain from the same angle without taking time to understand its source or its message. We feel a sensation that sends a signal to our brain – “pain” is the message that is communicated from that source. But the nerve impulse doesn’t differentiate between bad pain and good pain. It’s just all sensed as “pain”.

The nervous system is incredible in its ability to warn us of a problem. God created it this way, and it is very good. I’m amazed at how quickly we will remove our finger from the poke of the needle before we even consciously realize that we were pricked. Pain is in place to protect us from further injury.

But pain is also present in growth – as in the case of my son’s tooth. His gums were being “injured” to some degree. His nerves were sending a message to his brain which communicated pain. The process of the baby teeth being replaced by the adult teeth can be painful as the mouth makes room for the larger molars. But that pain signifies growth, not a problem. So my getting worked up over a potential problem actually served to create much more stress than was ever necessary. There wasn't a problem after all!

What if, when we sensed pain, we took an honest look at it? What if, rather than working ourselves into a frenzy, we slowed down and considered all the options? What if we looked at pain as a gift rather than a problem? What if we saw it as potential for growth rather than an inhibitor to our lives? What if we pushed into it rather than avoiding it?

The adult tooth will take longer to come in if my son does nothing. The dentist said to wiggle the baby one, to work on getting it out of the way. If my son tries to ignore the pain and live his life, the pain will last longer. But if he wiggles that tooth, the new one can break through and he will grow one step closer to being a man.

What do you need to wiggle today rather than worrying about or ignoring? It’s natural to want to avoid what hurts us, but what if engaging is what it takes to see a friendship blossom? It’s easy to worry when we don’t understand cause, but what if taking time to understand brought clarity? It’s tempting to pretend everything is okay, but what if getting honest with ourselves is how healing comes?

We have a choice in how we handle our pain. We can worry about it. We can try to avoid it. Or we can wiggle it and see what potential lies under the surface.

It might just be that a new tooth is ready to emerge! 

"But it Hurts So Bad!" The Crucial Choice to Courageously Push Into the Pain or Hold Back in Fear

Thirteen hours! It has been thirteen hours of irregular contractions that had gotten stronger and led us to this point. This is not what I expected for the birth of our sixth son. None of my other labors had lasted this long, but it was finally time – finally time to push my little man into this world.

Finally, Time to Push

I assumed a comfortable (that term is relative) position in the birthing tub and waited for the next contraction. As it washed over me, I bore down into it just to the point of comfort. That’s what we had been taught in Bradley Classes and had worked before in our other births. I felt pressure and knew that was a good thing.

That contraction passed, and our midwife decided to get heart tones again. As she placed the probe on my belly, I breathed deep preparing myself for the next contraction. Lub dub, lub dub. My ears couldn’t escape the incredibly slow rate of the heartbeat of our little boy. I took a deep breath willing that the rate increase. It didn’t. My midwife assured me that it was just his descent through my pelvis and didn’t seem too worried.

The next contraction started to build, and I inhaled before bearing down again. I felt the familiar burn as his head came lower. I opened my eyes and caught my breath about to push again, when I noticed a bright red gush of blood. (Being a nurse, my brain immediately went into diagnosis mode.) I knew I hadn’t torn since he was not yet crowning. The only other probability of that kind of bleeding was that his placenta had detached as I was pushing. Suddenly, I realized that our little boy still inside me was no longer receiving oxygen from my body. The only way to help him at this point was to get him out and get him out fast!

Pushing Through

I didn’t even wait for the next contraction before starting to push again. His head descended and began to crown. The pressure, the burning! Guttural instinct made me want to wince and hold back. It hurt so bad! But I knew in this moment, the best way to protect my child was to push into that pain, no matter the cost to myself. I took another breath and began to roar like a mamma grizzly as I pushed into all of that pressure. My body stretching, burning, aching. I was scared, but I knew that in this moment, courage must overcome that fear. Bravery must prevail.

The worship music that I had playing provided encouragement for me to grasp as I let out a gasp and pushed again. Finally, his head emerged. The midwife was now instructing me to continue pushing to release his shoulders and abdomen. I heard the intensity in her tone and knew I could not rest just yet. Another breath, and this push took everything I had. His shoulders corkscrewed and released, and he slipped into my husbands waiting hands. The midwife helped to untangle a tight cord around his neck before I was able to lift him out of the water and bring him close.

Is He Okay?

When he emerged, he did not gasp, he did not grunt. He was blue, flaccid, and floppy. We immediately started rubbing his back, stimulating his little body for some sort of response. The midwife felt his cord, and his heart rate was present, but low. Panic rose in my chest. Had I done enough? Was he going to be okay? I wanted to cry, but the time was not right. We needed to get him breathing. The midwife started to pull out her resuscitation equipment. Another few seconds passed and then a mew, a grunt, a grimace. We were getting a response. That first cry allowed me to breathe a sigh of relief. His tone and his color were improving. He was going to be okay!

My son is now five-days-old and is doing well. It has taken me a while to process through this birth experience – so different from all of my others, and not exactly what I expected or dreamed for our last  birth, but as I’ve prayed and thought through the painful and fearful aspects of this birth, I’ve come to realize that the decision I was faced with that day is a decision that I’m faced with many days of my life.

When something hurts me, I have a choice to push into that pain in strength and courage or retreat in fear and self-preservation.

The Choices We Face

We all face these choices. The pain we encounter isn’t always physical like the pain of childbirth. Sometimes it’s the wounds from words or actions of a spouse, a parent, a close friend. It might be a disappointment of a dream unfulfilled – an engagement or marriage that falls through, the dream house that couldn’t be financed, the job that you were let go from, the empty arms when you long for a child. Maybe it's the pregnancy that was not in your plans or you're facing a chronic disease that does cause physical pain, fears, and so many unknowns. It could be you've lost a loved one, and the thought of continuing alone is terrifying. Or maybe it's an upcoming opportunity that is causing nervous fear that you might fail – a talent show, a job interview, a promotional venture, or a big move.

In each place that we are confronted with pain and fear, we are also met with a choice: to push into or run away from.

I don’t like to presume the worst, but in the case of the birth of our son, had I not risen to that challenge and pushed through the pain, he very well could have wound up brain injured due to lack of oxygenation. Or worse, it may have resulted in his death. And my lack of pushing through that pain in the moment would have caused tremendously more pain in the long run. My holding back would have been more comfortable for me in the moment, but it could have caused permanent pain on behalf of my son – or in my own heart had I lost him.

So what do I do when we face these fearful and painful circumstance and it’s easier to want to run?

Courage over Fear:

Realize Fear is About Me, Not Others

My desires to hold back my efforts in pushing were to facilitate my own comfort. Had I given into fear, it would have been all about me. I loved my son. I wanted what’s best for him. In order to push past the fear, I had to get my eyes off myself and consider my son as more important that me (Phil.2:3-4). 

Realize I’m Not Alone

One of the verses that continued to come up during my labor and birth was Isaiah 41:10. “Do not fear for I am with you. Do not be afraid for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you by my righteous right hand.” It’s easy to give into fear when I think I’m all alone. In those moments of pain, I had to grasp onto the faith that God promised he would never leave me nor forsake me (Deut. 31:6). I could lean hard into him when I was afraid knowing that I was not on my own.

Realize That the Outcome Does Not Stop at Me

When our son finally emerged from the water and into my arms, I immediately faced fear again of whether I had done enough. I remember as a teen and young adult, my dad would encourage me to work like it all depended on me, but to trust like it all depended on God. Or my pastor would state that God’s sovereignty does not undermine man’s responsibility.

As I’ve grown in my understanding of these exhortations, I’ve realized that the truth of what they were saying was more balanced than I initially understood. My trust in God doesn’t give me a right to be passive and simply wait for him to move, and sometimes that’s the temptation. Okay, You’re God. If you’re in control, what are you going to do to get me out of this? But had I taken that approach in the birth of my son, he would have been oxygen starved much longer than he was. I had to work. I had to put in effort even though it hurt. Then, I had to trust God with the results.

When I work hard, and push into the pain in strength and courage rather than running away in fear, the results may not always turn out perfectly. Sometimes, I may walk away feeling like a failure. Many times, I may have more questions than answers. The friendship may never blossom again. The disease may take over and take my independence away and suck the life out of me. The job may fall through.

But if I don’t try, if I don’t take a stand in courage, if I’m unwilling to push through the pain, I may never know the joy of the new life it might bring about on the other side. Courage over fear, my friends. Courage over fear!

“Have I not commanded you to be strong and courageous? Do not be afraid or discouraged, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9

(The song that’s playing in my head and heart!)

To risk? To Dance Again?

I found them in the corner hidden in the darkness, covered by the uniforms that have defined my life over the past several years. I pulled them out and held them up to the light trying to remember their former glory. I inhale deeply, coughing as I choke on the dust. I blow swiftly across them - a tornado of powdered dirt swirls in the wake of my breath.

They were blush pink at one point, weren't they? The silky ribbon laces no longer hold the gleam they once did. The light now absorbed from neglect rather than reflected. Finding a rag, I pick it up and start rubbing vigorously - a desperation of sort has overtaken me! In my haste, dust fills the room, burns my eyes; I glance away. It's hard to breathe, and I am tempted to forget the whole thing.

As the dust settles, I catch a glimpse of the side I was cleaning . . . soft, pink, satin fabric is now evident. I turn it over in my hand noting the pointed shape, the hard toe, the leather soul. I continue about my work, more carefully this time out of consideration for both my own sanity as well as the fragility of the fabric I'm working with.

As I carefully wipe off each ribbon, I look inside and memories come back unbidden. The blisters, oh, the blisters! And how many times I had fallen. No, grace was not natural for me. My toes bled, my muscles ached, and I was insecure before others as I walked around on pointe'.

I'm half tempted to pretend I never even found them - to shove them back in their deep corner with the cob webs. But then a light in my mind started just a s a glimmer then grew akin to daylight - Amidst the pain, I was alive, alive and free! I was who I was created to be. I lifted my treasure up and held them to the light. Was I brave enough? Was it worth the risk? Would I tie on my ballet slippers once again?

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