About six weeks ago, I found out I have a fairly significant shoulder injury. The current belief is that it’s a torn labrum, although even after two MRIs, they still aren’t completely certain about the extent of the damage. What they do know is that there’s likely scar tissue floating around in there, pressing against my radial nerve, and I feel it constantly. The pain runs from my shoulder down to my fingertips, and it doesn’t really let up. It hovers around a five or six out of ten all day, every day, just enough to wear you down slowly and consistently. Every once in a while, I’ll move my arm just right and find a position that feels almost normal, but those moments are rare.
What’s been more frustrating than anything is that nothing really touches it. Advil doesn’t help, Tylenol doesn’t help, and even oxycodone barely makes a dent. At some point, I stopped taking most of it. If it’s not giving relief, I’m not interested in the long-term tradeoff. The reality is that we won’t fully know what’s going on until they get in there and take a look, and surgery is scheduled for the week of May 11th. If I’m being honest, that date is doing a lot of heavy lifting for me mentally, because without it, coping with this would be a very different story.
Being a present dad in today’s world is already a challenge, and being a physically limited one is something else entirely. If I’m honest, I think the hardest role in this situation might belong to my wife, because while I’m dealing with the pain, she’s carrying the weight of everything that I can’t do. That’s not easy to watch, and it’s even harder to accept. The truth is, she’s my hero right now. The way she’s stepped in, without hesitation, without complaint, just doing whatever needs to be done, it’s something I don’t take lightly
It’s not the big things that get to me the most, it’s the small, everyday moments. Picking up my daughter and getting her into her car seat is something I can still do, but only with my left arm. My right arm, my dominant arm, is basically unreliable right now. Things you don’t think about suddenly become complicated, writing, making coffee, pulling up my pants. I’ve developed a new appreciation for anything with an elastic waistband. Some things, like opening jars, pull-top cans, and tying my shoes, are next to impossible. I will say there are some really helpful videos, often made for stroke recovery, that have taught me how to do certain tasks one-handed.
Routine tasks like pouring milk, washing dishes, cooking, or folding laundry are still possible, they just take a lot longer, and that adds up, not just physically but mentally. I’m used to being active, I’m used to being capable, and right now everything feels like it’s happening at half speed. The surgery can’t come soon enough.
Running a business with my wife adds another layer to all of this. There’s no pause button, things still need to get done, decisions still need to be made, and more often than not, she’s the one picking up the slack. That’s been one of the harder parts for me to sit with, not being able to contribute the way I normally would or carry my share.
There’s another part of this that I don’t love admitting, but it’s real. The pain doesn’t just stay in my shoulder, it creeps into everything, my patience, my tone, my reactions. I’ve caught myself being short with my daughter and short with my wife, the one person who is doing more than anyone to keep things moving right now. It’s not their fault, not even a little bit. It’s the constant drain of the pain, the way it wears on you over the course of a day and lowers your threshold without you even realizing it. That doesn’t excuse it, but it does mean I have to be aware of it, catch it when it happens, and try again in the next moment, because they deserve better than that version of me, even when I don’t feel like my best self.
A few days ago, I made a shift. Not a dramatic one, just a decision. There’s a lot I can’t control right now, the pain isn’t going anywhere and the timeline is what it is, but there are still things I can do. So I’ve started focusing on those. Small adjustments, like asking my daughter to come to my left side when she wants to be picked up, or trying to involve her in little tasks around the house, even if it’s more symbolic than helpful. I’m letting go of the idea that everything has to be done the way it used to be, and maybe most importantly, I’m asking for help.
That last one doesn’t come easily. We’re fiercely independent people, and this has a way of forcing you to reevaluate that mindset. Friends have already offered to help with things like pickups, errands, or just taking something off our plate, and we’ll be taking them up on that after the surgery.
My step-mom is also coming to stay with us for a few days, which I’m incredibly grateful for. Knowing that support is there, even if we haven’t fully leaned into it yet, makes a bigger difference than I expected.
Pain is a strange thing. Everyone experiences it differently and everyone tolerates it differently, and I’m not particularly good at it, physical or emotional. What I’m learning, though, is that sometimes you don’t get to eliminate pain, you just learn how to live alongside it. You move through your day with it there, you look for moments that pull your attention somewhere else, and you take whatever small wins you can get.
For me, right now, that means holding onto the things that remind me this isn’t permanent, a date on the calendar, and a three-year-old who still wants to be picked up, even if it takes me a little longer to get there.
