Osler's Razor

Apparently, breaking a bone can hurt a lot. I have never given birth, so I'm pretty sure that what I felt when I broke my ankle this week isn't as bad as it can get, but it was pretty bad.

Pain, physical pain, may be not the worst of things. After the break, but before the doctor set the ankle, the moving van came to my house from Texas. Sitting in my new house, surrounded by boxes but totally unable to move or unpack them, the awful helplessness made me feel a tiny bit of despair. Not a lot, just a little bit. That was overwhelming and awful and unfamiliar-- and it felt like a slippery slope into deeper negative feelings. It only lasted a moment (my life overall is pretty great), but that glimpse was a gift, a brief chance to see something and feel something that tears apart so many people.

Pain isn't the same as despair. I know many people who have suffered injuries or handicaps that cause great pain, but I never see a hint of despair in them. Conversely, I know many people who often despair, but rarely is this related to physical pain.

Despair seems much darker than pain. When I was lying on the ground right after the ankle gave out crying in excruciating pain, I was still able to laugh and even joke. Despair does not allow for such lightness, even in moments-- it is a dark blanket cast heavily over all of one's being.

Finally, it is easy to reconcile at least some forms of physical pain with a loving God. After all, pain is necessary, to tell us that something is terribly wrong with our body. Despair, however, seems apart from and contrary to the spirit of a loving God. One component of many people's despair is the sense of being forsaken-- by friends who don't call or write, by the world at large, and by God.

Pain is simple and secular. Despair is hard and spiritual. Perhaps that is why our culture is pretty good at "pain management," but not so great at "despair management."