Anne sat down at the table with the two painkillers and a glass of water in front of her. The pills were mocking her. She had been on the same treatment for over a month and had felt no relief whatsoever. She felt defeated: every time she looked at the pills with longing, hoping that this time they would ease the pain which had spread over her body. They never did. Image Her phone rang. The screen lit up with the name ‘Claire’. Anne switched the phone to silent. She remembered the last time she had spoken to her daughter and how angry Claire had been when she had shouted her frustration during their phone call and said, “This is the fifth time you pulled out on me, mum. Everyone keeps asking about you at the walking group. This was an opportunity for us to spend time together, remember? You don’t have to make up excuses that you are looking after grandad because that didn’t stop you before. Sometimes I feel like I am talking to a stranger!” Tears began to stream down Anne’s face. She wasn’t a different person. She was still there: the same Anne who wanted to go on walks with her daughter. Yet, she was trapped inside a useless body that endured constant pain. A body that couldn’t take a step forward without a wince and a body that couldn’t help her father out of his wheelchair, without feeling drained of energy. When it came to her body, pain was in the driver’s seat and the woman she knew herself to be, was tied up in the trunk. Still wondering whether to take the useless pills, she thought about how she had felt afraid to tell her GP the whole story. She had explained how physically hard it was to live with the pain but she had never mentioned how the pain had battered her sense of identity, making her feel she was losing herself day by day. “I will tell him next time” she whispered, knowing she wouldn’t. “Love, would you bring me a cup of tea?” The voice from the bedroom snapped Anne back to the present; the pills and the glass of water still waiting for her on the table. She crept into the room, practising a smile through gritted teeth as the pain flared again. She passed the cup to her father. “You really should go for a walk with Claire, find out how she’s doing,” he said. “I can manage for an hour or two.” The pain in her knees began to throb and she felt her eyes watering. She wanted to tell her GP. She wanted to tell Claire. Most of all, she wanted to tell her father that the person he relied on the most was disappearing. She felt that soon, anything that was left of her old self, would be smothered by this all-consuming pain. This article was published on 2024-08-22