The aftershocks seem to have slowed a little, and they are not as powerful so hopefully things will settle down a bit. We still don’t have water, so we’re having to use our emergency stash (60 litres!) and boil it to wash, do dishes etc. Even when the water comes back on, we’ve been advised to boil the water again because there’s damage to the sewers.
I feel OK in myself, in that I’m not fearful of the quakes (a bit fatalistic really, but there is so little time to react when a quake hits, there seems little point in being afraid – you can’t do anything!), but I am very tired and not sleeping all that well.
I think the difference for people in Christchurch now, compared with the previous two big earthquakes is that the adrenaline rush that was there last time hasn’t been available this time. There’s less energy reserve to draw upon and the daily hassles of dodging potholes and cleaning up liquefaction and working out which shops are still open and where they’ve relocated to – all of that practical ‘stuff’ that is usually there in the background – these things take cognitive effort. Routines and habits make life easier, mean the brain can be freed for more important things. For me anyway, the routines and habits are disrupted and require thinking and planning and time.
I ask myself how are these changes I’m working through any different from the sort of changes in “how to do” that a person with disability needs to make? How often do clinicians forget that doing things “differently” takes mental effort – and in pain management, we’re often asking people to do almost everything in life “differently”. No wonder there are times when people who have limited resource to draw on (maybe fewer social supports, fewer original habits and routines, mental health problems, less flexibility in the ways they are able to view their world) struggle to cope with the demands of both a pain problem (which already makes demands on them) AND our suggestions for change!
I’m off to work shortly, to work with a group of people who have chronic pain and who have been incredibly courageous in wanting to keep going with the last week of their programme despite the earthquake. They were given the choice to stop, to defer the programme and return again, but they chose to stay. That is strength and resilience folks. I am so lucky to work in this field, with the team and patients I work with.
By now, if you’re a regular reader of my blog, you’ll know that I’m from Christchurch, NZ, and yes, we’ve had a few earthquakes recently! I’m happy to report that while we’ve had some more damage to the surrounds of our house, and there are a few more cracks in the ceiling and bricks, we’re pretty well off. No serious damage done except a rather disrupted night!
My nerves are a bit frayed and I keep monitoring any deep rumbling sound or rattle of the windows just in case it’s the beginning of another one – and yes, it’s a bit wearing. I’ll keep blogging but will keep the number of posts down, as I have been, just to reduce some of the (internal) pressure I put on myself to post often!
It’s tempting to say something a bit trite like “we’re all tough here” or something but really, it seems to me there is little I can do to change our situation, much to be grateful for, and more reasons to be positive than not. So if being tough is equal to being occasionally grumpy, tearful for a moment or two, laughing often, taking time out, and finding good things to appreciate, then I suppose I’m being tough! This is life, and life can randomly throw challenges as well as delights. That sounds awfully philosophical, but seriously folks – that’s my way of getting through and being OK.
While recovering from my postconcussion syndrome, I learned a lot about saying no and letting go. I’m not usually prone to doing this, so it was a surprise to me to find out that not only could I do it, but I have carried on doing it and enjoying it! I don’t have any literature to support today’s post, but my own personal experience (an N of 1 study!).
I wonder how often in rehabilitation or pain management, we even think about scheduling time for the people we work with to just do nothing. I think sometimes we might under-estimate the amount of energy that goes into following a programme of therapy. Here’s just a little from my experience.
Every day I was going to work for half a day, returning home to sleep for an hour and a half. Then I would do my speech language therapy for about 20 minutes, then need to stop and rest for another half hour. By then I would have a thundering headache so would go for a walk or do some bellydance practice to shake it off, then need another 30 – 45 minutes to rest to recover. (more…)