Mark Davis

To some, the number of broken bones, ripped tendons, surgeries, infirmities, scars and near death experiences are subjects of debate for odd verbal jousts with bragging rights going to the winner. I too have been known to show off my most recent scars — like heads on the wall from magnificent hunting conquests. Although I’ve been asked more than once to refrain from showing some uncomfortably low injuries requiring extensive surgery that ended with stitches, staples and glue.

Maybe it’s a family thing. We’ve had some amazingly nightmarish scars to show on just about every crooked branch of the Davis family tree. Those namesake timbers dominate our tree considering my aunt on my mother’s side married a Davis and my wife’s maiden name is also the same as mine.

Please hold the jokes; I’ve heard them all.

Despite many illnesses and injuries when I was younger, for the past five years I have traveled down the worst health-related hardscrabble path of my life. I feel sorry for my primary physician. He has more than 600 patients yet has recently seen me in his office whining like a petulant child on a biweekly basis.

He and his caring staff have treated and comforted me through injuries and illnesses, some worse than others, since the day I first walked through those glassy front doors. While enduring kidney stones may have been the single worst pain I have felt, it was short lived. By far the most impactful injury I have and continue to face is the chronic pain in my deteriorating back. Even more so than the tiny stroke that took my right eye, the now years-long fight with long Covid and the ripped bicep that left me unable to type for weeks, my back has left me feeling vulnerable and weak.

The Cleveland Clinic says that chronic pain that lasts months or years and can affect any part of your body. It interferes with daily life and can lead to depression and anxiety.

“The first step in chronic pain management is to find and treat the cause. When that isn’t possible, the most effective approach is a combination of medications, therapies and lifestyle changes,” the famous organization said.

Multiple guided injections, ablation, physical therapy and pills have not stopped the pain. It’s the first thing I feel in the morning after long nights of rolling around searching for a comfortable sleeping position and remains with me through every waking hour until making it difficult to get to sleep after the sun sinks. I’m learning just how chronic pain can mess with your head.

Just a few years ago I would drag family and friends on long drives through the mountains. Now I can barely walk after two hours on the road. Being restricted in such a beautiful place makes me neurotic.

I love to play disc golf. I used to practice or play at least two to three times a week. Now I play once, without much if any practice, and I pay for my lifestyle choice the rest of the week.

It has made me not want to tote around my giant professional cameras and lenses, used to photograph our beautiful wildlife and landscapes. And covering events has become an exercise in patience.

During my career, which began in 1982, I have been fortunate enough to be paid to do sports photography. Being on the sidelines and front rows of exciting competitions — from the peewees to the pros — has made the past four decades go by fast. I’ve forgotten more dogpiles and jubilant tears of joy and defeat than I can recount. However, at a recent Pioneers game I could only last four innings before the pain sent me packing.

Chronic pain has definitely changed my demeanor. The lack of sleep has caused memory issues, not to mention changes to my attitude. The grueling hours of constant throbbing has made me angry. I have lashed out at friends and family and on occasion been rude to those trying to help. Later I cringe with shame when thinking about how I acted.

There’s no excuse, but the constant pain drags you down. Some days I just want to stay in bed and rotate heating pads and ice packs despite loving my work. Truth be told, I should probably have two jobs to help pay my insurance deductible, but even one can be too much to bear some days.

As my annoying whining hits a deafening pitch, I am reminded there are those who have it much worse and still are able to live with few complaints.

I recently saw Donna Sullivan, who suffers with a bad back, volunteering at a community event. I cringed watching her serving up side dishes, but I was inspired by her resilience and her ability to smile at each of the hundreds passing her station.

I watched Bonnie Rouse taking her scooter off-road to tie yellow ribbons on trees to honor veterans. She doesn’t let her disability slow her and greets everyone with her famous smile and a hug, despite having lost her leg.

I saw first responders pick up Tyler England’s seemingly lifeless, broken body after a tragic automobile accident and now I see him often as he coaches youth baseball. He is wonderful with the children and happiness is apparent in eyes that I thought would never open again.

I watched Jim Carlson dress up as Santa and had hundreds of children clinging to him while suffering from painful arthritis. I could see him wince in his final years in the red coat, but I knew how much he loved bringing joy to the children.

I visited Frank Fagan in the hospital immediately after he had enough hardware used to fix his back to build a go-cart. In a blink he was back on the road trucking and back in the saddle cleaning trails with the Shoshone Back Country Horsemen.

Then, just this past week, my sister Rebecca lost her leg after an infection from a broken foot couldn’t be controlled. She has been through other amputations from cancer, but this time she had told her family she would rather die than lose her leg.

In the end she chose life and, as I write this, a lump gathers in my throat and my eyes fill with tears knowing how hard the choice was for her and how brave she has been through the long ordeal.

I think of these people and I am humiliated by how poorly I’ve dealt with my pain. These folks and many more have inspired me to live life as large as I can with thoughts of their heroic efforts guiding my way. I pray for them all, and many more, to find relief from their pain.

The fact is, life is short. Some are more fortunate than others, yet it is the least fortunate who make the most out of the worst moments of their lives who inspire me on a daily basis. They are the potentates of pain and could teach us all lessons on how to endure the pangs of life.