The Broken Soldier

I took my friend, Jimison, to his physical therapy appointment yesterday.   I had no idea what the therapy session would involve – it’s only therapy, how bad can it be?   At first I was going to stay in the waiting room, but the therapist told me I could stay with him during the session.  She first had him turn over on his side, and started massaging his back near the injury area.   I saw sweat rolling down Jimison’s face as he grabbed onto the edge of the bed.  He couldn’t look at me, he had his eyes closed and I had the distinct impression that he was doing everything in his power not to scream out in pain.  This was a man in excruciating pain, and as his friend, it was hard to watch.  I often had to look away in order to maintain my composure.  The immediate thought I had was “if only the army officials looking after his injury case could be here sitting in my place and seeing this, they would come to their senses and give him the care that he is entitled to.”   She gave Jimison another “massage” which involved putting her elbows into his back.  I guess she knows what she’s doing, I hope.  After the elbow massage, Jimison sat up for a minute.  There were tremors throughout his body – reminiscient of my elderly father who suffers from advanced Parkinson’s, but worse.  A person who can withstand this much pain and still be a devoted husband to Sarah, and a good friend to me has a lot of courage.

The therapist then planted electrodes on his back and started up a machine that was supposed to cause tingling in his back, which at least in theory would give him some very temporary relief from the pain.  She claimed that the tingling sensation would act as a diversion so that his brain wouldn’t be able to process the pain.  A poor substitute for surgery, in my opinion.  Yet, Jimison was looking forward to having a half hour relief from the pain.  What struck me is that the pain is so bad, that even half an hour or even ten minutes relief was worth its weight in gold.  But what about the other 23 ½ hours?   And the rest of the week?   As it turns out, Jimison was in more pain after the therapy session.

Afterwards, we had lunch together.  If it were me, I wouldn’t be able to carry on a conversation after such a session.  I would likely spend the rest of the day in bed.  But it was Valentine’s day, and Jimsion was going to have dinner with his wife, Sarah.  After lunch, he got Sarah a box of chocolates and a card.  I asked him on the way back what his daily experience of pain is like.   He said “moderately severe to severe.”   This has been going on now for a year, and I have seen a capable, intelligent young man, and one of the physically strongest people I have ever met reduced to barely getting around with a cane, and hoping for just a half hour here and a half hour there of relief.  This is not right.  The longer Jimison goes without surgery, the worse the condition becomes, and the less reversible it is.  He is now experiencing numbness and tingling in his arms and legs as the herniated disc continues to press against the spinal cord.  The longer this goes on, the less reversible the condition will become.  Where are you, Uncle Sam?  One of your undying patriots is waiting for your help.

Brian MacPherson