Bill McCue (Plano, TX)

Whack! Whack! Whack! by Bill McCuey Bill NcCue

When I was in 4th grade (circa 1956), my mother, father, brother and I moved to a small, World War II vintage house in Bristol, Connecticut. It had two small bedrooms, a bathroom, a living room and a small kitchen. My father turned half the basement into a workshop.

I remember watching television in the living room and hearing the Whack! Whack! Whack! of a hammer. The sound came through the floor and the heating vents. Whack! Whack! Whack!

There were times — more than my Dad would admit — when the Whack! Whack! Whack! was interrupted by an ever-so-brief pause of silence followed by a staccato yelp:

“SWEET JESUS!”

After an even shorter pause the Whack! Whack! Whack! would resume.

My brother and I called those “Sweet Jesus” moments and defined our approach to pain management over the years.

During the early months of my version of PRP I had a much pain as any other PRP patient. My “Sweet Jesus” moments came whenever I moved into and out of my bed, or onto and off of the toilet. Just a few seconds of intense discomfort. Most of the time I just thought SWEET JESUS to myself.

When I finally got to the point when I would go to Walmart, first as a passenger and later as the driver, the maneuver to enter or exit the car, from standing to sitting — and vice versa — usually required an audible “SWEET JESUS” to the dismay of passersby and shoppers.

However, as my journey  progressed I remember getting into my car and feeling just a hint of discomfort. It was a “Baby Jesus Moment” that heralded a true healing milestones.

Tierney R (Virginia Beach, VA)

I know exactly what you’re talking about because I have those “Sweet Jesus” moments. Sitting down while getting into the car is one of the moments; swinging my legs to get out of the car is another. “Sweet Jesus” is the reason I take morphine and oxycodone on a daily basis. The pain isn’t there all the time but the medicine is available on a continuous basis for those times when I stretch my legs in an uncomfortable way, or the myriad other ways in which PRP causes “Sweet Jesus” moments for me. They don’t last long…. just enough to elicit a yelp of pain. Thank God my husband is usually by my side to gently lend a hand. “Sweet Jesus”, I know you well.