Just 11 minutes after I returned from the hospital with a shattered femur, my mother-in-law kicked my crutches away. Ignoring my agonized screams, she and my husband dragged me into a pitch-black garage.

none.

Pain speaks its own language.

It is not merely screaming.

Screaming ends when your lungs give out.

Real pain is quieter.

Crueler.

It is breath trapped behind clenched teeth.

Fingernails scraping concrete while searching for something solid.

It is the low, animal sound that escapes when every nerve begs for surrender and some stubborn part of you refuses.continue reading …