The sound of agony

I have learned what my voice sounds like in agony—when something animal overtakes my composure. When I no longer have control over the quality or shape of that noise, because its release has become a valve of some sort, relieving the pressure of pain. It invites others to witness my suffering which, depending on my context, is either to my embarrassment or my comfort. That particular noise that escapes me is not the helpless scream from a horror movie damsel. It is not the guttural growl from a testosterone-fueled action movie hero. It is not even the controlled whimper I typically employ with small pain. It is a holler that bellows like a bear caught in the metal teeth of a trap.

That feral cry has been ensnared in my chest for decades, but it learned an easy escape route during the last few months. You see, about five years ago, my husband started a justice and peace center, and at the turn of 2017, he was able to hand it off to the co-director. These were all wonderful developments, but in the transition period, he was working without a salary or benefits. I made enough money to keep the household going, but I didn’t have health insurance.

In the meantime, my shoulder was dislocating. Usually, it slips out, causing that instant cry before I can quickly pop it back in. But lately, it has been coming out fully. Completely. I do not know what is happening until the pain overtakes me. I look down and that knob that typically sits beside me betrays me and is suddenly in front of me. The muscles--I’m not sure what my muscles are doing, because it feels like my heart is beating there, inside my shoulder. My blood pressure spikes. Then I have intense muscle contractions, like I had while giving birth. I try to breathe deeply, to tell myself that the shoulder will go back into place, as I try to move my hand out and then behind my head.