I am a very rational person. I’ve made a career as a lawyer and a judge relying on facts
and careful analysis, skeptical of religion, new age spiritualism, and all sorts of magical
thinking. But something wonderful happened that makes me not so certain.
Two years ago, out of the blue, I was hit with debilitating back pain. For no apparent
reason, I woke up barely able to stand. “Walking” was broken into agonizing short bursts,
10 feet at most, until the pain would drop me to the floor. Pain killers, muscle relaxants,
a steroid injection, massage, pool therapy – they provided moderate relief for an hour at
best, for minutes at worst.
My doctor scheduled an MRI. I was desperate for a solution, but an MRI requires lying
flat while the machine does its magic. I hadn’t been able to lie down for weeks and
could only sleep a few hours at a time, upright in a chair. Lying flat for a scan seemed
impossible, but was there an alternative?
Positioning on the metal table didn’t go well, and we talked about giving up. But without it
I had no way to get to a diagnosis. I told myself I’d come this far, and it couldn’t be
worse than the past few weeks, so we began. Of course, they don’t tell you how long it
will take. They say “not that long” and “it will be over soon.” I told myself, however long, I
have to do it.
Three minutes. Five minutes. We were up to 10 and then 15 minutes of agony. Tears flooded my face. I gasped and cried as if the techs could somehow speed things up. I held my breath, tried deep breathing and then shallow breathing, but the pain would not stop. A
minute more. A minute more. I wondered, can you die of pain? It had to be about done.
It had to be. And then the tech said brightl,y “You’re doing great. We’re just about half
way through.” Panic replaced resolve; I couldn’t tolerate another 20 minutes. I was
defeated and terrified and I needed help.
I couldn’t stop the pain, but was there a way to escape it? I remembered my scientist
cousin telling me the reason you shake your hand when you whack your finger is
because the nerve pathway that sends pain messages also carries vibration messages.
The more vibration you introduce the fewer pain messages can be received. Could I
block the shrieking pain messages simply by imagining other sensations?
I tried to ignore the whirring of the MRI and instead concentrate on a place that always
made me feel peaceful – the Outer Cape. I tried to flood my brain with sensory
memories – I told myself to see the ocean and smell the briny air. Feel the burning sand
between my toes. Touch the grasses rippling in the soft breeze off the water. Hear the
rhythmic movement of the ocean, rattling loose stones, the muffled roar as a wave
crested and then crashed. Could I fill my brain with so many imagined sensory
perceptions that some of the pain messages might be blocked?
In my mind, I walked to the water’s edge and felt the bracing cold. I stepped bit by bit
into the water, the pull of waves growing stronger. I told myself to keep my footing in the
shifting sand. And then somehow I was no longer directing my movements. It wasn’t me
leading this imagined journey. I felt my body lift, my feet no longer touching, and I was
moving. Not swimming but moving, being pulled into the open ocean, the speed
increasing. I was underwater and above the water, and I was free of pain for the first
time in weeks.
Somehow, and I know it makes no sense, but I knew that the whales we often see
spouting in the distance at this beach had come to help. To get me through the pain so I
could complete the MRI. To set me on a path of healing. And suddenly the whirring
stopped and the tech, in her earnest way, chirped, “Good job! Well done!” I was sobbing
– in pain, yes. But also with relief, gratitude and astonishment.
All was resolved, a few months later, with surgery and physical therapy. There are so
many who got me back to good health, including the whales. They heard my cries and
carried me out to sea. They took away the pain and then gently brought me back to get
well. They were only in my head, I know. But what is this power to transcend pain? I
can’t explain what happened that day but I am certain it involved something beyond my
rational analytical thinking. I am forever indebted to the whales.
Amy Ignatius is a retired Superior Court judge, living in Concord.
