Tag Archives: pain

Let’s Ask: Managing Chronic Pain

Hey there, we’re Mackenzie and Theresa, health-conscious sister-friends who were probably separated at birth. Mackenzie is a newly minted Occupational Therapist, and Theresa is a person living with multiple chronic illnesses: rhuematoid arthritis (RA), fibromyalgia, irritable bowel syndrome (IBS), and migraines. We thought we could offer a dual perspective on pain, so we sat down at one of our favorite coffee shops with some delicious tea and cake and, as per usual, the conversation turned towards health.

ML: You told me long ago and far away that you were misdiagnosed at first, and your pain was kind of brushed aside by your pediatrician. What was that like?

TD: Yeah, when I first developed RA, I was 14, and my pediatrician told me it was just growing pains. My mom had had similar pain when she was younger, so I just thought it would go away with age. I was also sleeping like 18 hours a day, and people kept telling me that’s just how teenagers are. But I was always tired. My joints were tender, and I was super sensitive to cold, but I was under the assumption that this was kind of normal. So I questioned it a little but I didn’t really pursue it. Honestly, I was too tired to pursue it.

ML: That’s a really common question: how much of what you’re experiencing is normal, especially when it comes to pain? One thing that will help you identify “good pain” from “bad pain” is how chronic it is.

TD: Yeah, chronic pain is usually a sign that there’s a problem. For the record, “chronic” means the pain happens more days than not. Which is a definition I wish I had 11 years ago!

ML: Pain is, at a fundamental level, your body trying to tell you that something’s wrong, so it’s important to know what kinds of sensations are linked with what structures in your body.

Pain Sensation Body Part Involved
Cramps, dull ache Muscle
Sharp, shooting Nerve root
Sharp, bright, lightning-like Nerve
Burning, pressure-like, stinging, aching Sympathetic nerve
Deep, nagging, dull Bone
Sharp, severe, intolerable Fracture
Throbbing, diffuse Vasculature (blood vessels)

Even in this table, you can see that sensations for different body parts can be very similar, like a “dull ache” can be either muscle or bone pain. But it’s really a matter of your intuitive sense of your body when trying to figure out what body part is involved.

TD: Plus, it’s really important to take your symptoms as a collection, not just as separate occurrences. Separately, flu-like symptoms, joint pain and fatigue can be any number of things, but put together they make up a pretty standard definition of RA, or similar autoimmune disorders. Unfortunately my pediatrician didn’t put the pieces together. What are some questions she should have asked, though?

ML: Some questions might include, where is the pain focused? Is it radiating? When does it happen: during a particular time of day, or during a specific activity?

TD: Right, like my RA pain is worst in the morning and improves throughout the day. My life made so much more sense once I read that “morning stiffness” is an RA symptom. IBS, on the other hand, seems irrelevant to when or what I eat and strikes randomly, like a Jackson Pollock painting.

ML: Those are some other good points to consider: Are there triggers, like something you’ve eaten or something you’ve done? Is it constant or intermittent? Having these answers before calling an MD might’ve smoothed out those appointments, Theresa.

TD: Yes, and even with these answers I still was misdiagnosed. I always encourage people to advocate for themselves if they need more testing. For me, the severity of the pain was also very telling, once I saw a more open-minded doctor.

ML: The medical world often rates pain on a 0 to 10 scale, with 0 being no pain and 10 being the most pain you’ve ever felt in your life.

TD: And that’s a very subjective scale, because what constitutes one person’s 10 may barely register on another person’s scale. I’ve met other people with the same inflammatory markers (i.e. blood test results) as me who have more and less pain based on this scale. Pain really obscures your perspective, so your own scale may change—mine definitely has. It wasn’t until my treatments started working that I realized how much pain I was actually in, and how much pain I had accepted as “normal”.

ML: And that probably affected how you were misdiagnosed.

TD:  I really, really wish I had gotten a second opinion or had the Internet to do my own research (thanks, dial-up!). And I didn’t have any ER-worthy stuff—like bleeding, fever, or fainting. So, in some ways, my diagnosis was slow because I was managing my pain relatively well.

ML: You’ve had a lot of diagnoses now. What’s your first reaction when you get a new diagnosis?

TD: Well, first I add it to my Pokedex of sickness! [Laughter] Then I research the hell out of treatments, fill prescriptions, etc. I’m always most interested in how to manage the pain on the daily, though.

ML: I think that’s a pretty common reaction­—wanting to make the pain go away.

TD: I think so, and it’s very pragmatic, because chronic pain can change your whole perception of life.

ML: That goes back to the idea that pain is your body’s way of telling you that something’s wrong. The problem with chronic pain, especially after diagnosis, is that your body keeps telling you something’s wrong, but you already know that and you’re trying to make it stop.

TD:  Your body is that ex that keeps leaving you voicemails and won’t stop calling.

ML: Exactly!

TD: I know what’s comforting about my RA’s medical treatment is that I’m able to treat the root cause of the pain, which is my overactive immune system.

ML: But is that always possible? Especially with chronic conditions? I know that doctors are only now beginning to understand what causes Fibromyalgia and IBS. So a lot of treatment still focuses on coping with pain, not necessarily eliminating it.

TD: For me, I’m on a lot of medications to knock out the disease processes that are causing my pain, but I still find that the pain, managing meds, and therapies impact my everyday life. I think my biggest coping mechanism besides the medications is accepting what I can and can’t do. There are a lot of things that people expect that I can do, but they’re very painful. It’s hard for me to accept that I deserve to not feel pain when it means not being involved in certain parts of the world. I’m naturally very outgoing but I tend to be more of a homebody to prevent pain-hangovers. For example, walking around the mall won’t be painful while I’m doing it, but later tonight and tomorrow, I’m definitely going to feel some pain. I have to take into consideration what I need to do the next day and make sure I can rest or medicate before deciding to embark on a pain-inducing activity.

ML: What are some other activities like that?

TD: Well, sometimes it’s the little things you don’t think about—I always make sure to carry bags on my shoulders instead of my hands, when possible. Smaller joints are more delicate and deteriorate faster, and I’m trying to keep my hands working for as long as possible! Or, for example, I like to cook, but can only stand for about 15 minutes before my lower body starts to ache, so I try to sit on a stool while I do meal prep. I also use really sharp knives so I can put less pressure on my joints when chopping things—otherwise my hands will ache the next day. Knowing how often I’d like to eat (you know, daily) that can add up to a lot of pain if I’m not careful.

ML: That’s where my field really shines in treating folks with chronic pain, I think. Occupational therapy looks at “occupation” as anything people do to occupy their time, which means pretty much anything you do throughout the day is fair game. With chronic pain, OT looks at how to restructure activities so they’re less painful and less effortful, and teaches energy conservation techniques to combat the fatigue that often comes with chronic pain. People without chronic pain don’t usually think about how exhausting pain is, but spending the day in even a little bit of pain will wear thin on most people’s patience. It affects motivation, mood, and especially the ability to interact with other people.

TD:  So basically everything. I know one thing we bonded over at first was being migraine-buddies….

ML: Yep! My migraines are chronic and they come with a lot of what I like to call accessory pains (in my knees, hips, back). They’re not the focus of the migraine, but they’re still caused by it. I notice for me that the mindfulness practice of non-judging is really helpful with these accessory pains.

TD: Non-judging?

ML: I just think of the pain not as “bad” but rather as a part of me that’s just there, and I find I can get through more of my day than if I don’t. It doesn’t make the pain go away, but it helps me work with it better. Non-judging means taking away that little voice that evaluates everything as “good” or “bad.”

TD: So, basically, making a conscious choice not to give into the “I’m in pain, and it sucks that I’m in pain” mentality. I think that falls under the umbrella of accepting your own condition. I know for me, I started being able to do a lot more and be a lot happier once I started understanding my limits and figuring out how to work within them, rather than fight against them.

We’d like to invite readers to share their stories about how they’ve coped with pain, chronic or not, in the comments below! Who or what has supported you and made your life better?

MacKenzie Lorenzato is a contributing writer, newly minted occupational therapist, baker, Joss Whedon fan, Disney guru, musical theatre lover, dog person, and tree climber extraordinaire. 

Theresa Dee is a contributing writer, Bay Area native, and a big ol’ geek about thrifting, tea roses, fantasy-sci fi, and intersectional politics. Reach her at: theresa.dee.writes (AT) gmail (DOT) com

Photo by Andy Sutterfield

Photo by Rob Adams

Let’s Go Get The Shit Kicked Out Of Us By Vulnerability

After Dr. Brené Brown gave her first TED Talk, about the power of vulnerability, she woke up with a “vulnerability hangover.” She hid in her house for three days, ashamed of confessing that she’d had a “breakdown” to the over 500 attendees. Knowing her video was headed for the Internet, she told a friend she anticipated another couple hundred people seeing her admission but, “If 500 turns into 1000 or 2000, my life is over.” Her talk has since been watched over 12 million times.

[ted id=1042]

When I think about vulnerability, I imagine something raw and tender. The kind of thing I might boast about embracing but, more often, actually find myself cowering from. When I watch a TED Talk like Brené’s, or read some quotes on Tumblr, I think, “YES! That sounds amazing! I am going to start being vulnerable right now! I am going to let go of all my insecurities immediately, accept my imperfections, be kind to myself, really let go of who I’ve thought I should be for all these years, and embrace the imperfect reality of who I am!” Boom. Done. I am vulnerable. And yet, just saying the words “imperfect reality of who I am” sets off a wave of discomfort. Because that’s the reality of vulnerability: it can be really uncomfortable.

[box] “To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.” ― C.S. Lewis [/box]

For most of my life, just like Brené, I thought I could “outsmart” vulnerability—that if I just locked it up in a box, made all the right choices, and checked off all the boxes on my list of impossible expectations, I could be perfect. And, obviously, perfection was, well, perfect and when you’re perfect, there’s no need for vulnerability. If only that was true. But I did not see vulnerability as a strength back then, I saw it as a weakness. A big, undefined, pain causing weakness. And this unknown thing was so scary to my brain that the idea of even exploring it was enough to get me to bury anything tagged “could be painful” so deeply, that once I started searching, it took me almost a year before I was even looking in the right place.

The fear that vulnerability induces in me is the kind of terror that dictates my actions without me even realizing it. So, first, I had to not only recognize, but also accept, that so many of my actions were defenses. As if that wasn’t vulnerable enough, then I had this exposed raw, tender, place that I was supposed to stay with and sit with! Patience in my life before: not fun. Patience while sitting with discomfort caused by vulnerability: excruciating.  In her TED Talk, when Brené talks about the “whole-hearted”—the ones who believe that what makes them vulnerable makes them beautiful, that vulnerability is not comfortable or excruciating, just necessary—you need to know that when I started this process, I was not one of them. Whether I was willing to articulate it or not, I was one of the ones who always questioned if I was good enough and I was pretty sure I wasn’t.

[box] “[The whole-hearted] talked about the willingness to say, “I love you” first, the willingness to do something where there are no guarantees, the willingness to breathe through waiting for the doctor to call after your mammogram. They’re willing to invest in a relationship that may or may not work out. They thought this was fundamental.” ― Dr. Brené Brown [/box]

Some of the most seemly confident, happy, and/or successful people can still have this voice in their head that makes them believe, in spite of their “accomplishments,” that they are not good enough. On the outside, I denied that I had low self-esteem. Because, honestly, I didn’t think I did. But that was because I only gave weight to the parts of me that I showed to other people and I didn’t count all the things that I only thought to myself.  Look in the mirror and pay attention to your thoughts: Are they kind? Are they accepting? Or do they scan for every flaw? Do they plot how to hide away the things you’re most ashamed of? Do they berate you for not having done more to “fix” something that you consider “wrong”? I was feeding my own insecurities without even knowing they were insecurities. And, worse, I just accepted them as limitations to myself. This was “the way things were” and nothing and no one were ever going to change that. Well, I was right about part of that, no one else was ever going to change the way I saw myself, but I could.

[box] “When you’re raised with the belief that perfection is possible, it’s very hard to let go of that.” – Hannah “Harto” Heart [/box]

Alright, so finally I start digging up my insecurities, I acknowledge them with a curt head nod, and I start trying to sit with them in a very large room (in which I do my best to never directly look them in the eye, because, ow.) Finally, we get closer, we’re not cuddling on the couch or anything, but we’ve started having marginally polite conversations, and then I realize it’s not enough to be aware and sit with my insecurities by myself, to really heal, I have to accept them: out loud. I have to let them be seen by others.

Terror doesn’t come close to describing how I feel about doing this. Because this is not the kind of “being seen” where I get to admit my flaws and then get patted on the back with some reassuring comment to make me feel better. This is the “being seen” where I admit them to a large room full of people and then we all just sit there awkwardly in silence together. Not because it’s awkward, or shameful, or even anything revelatory that they are seeing, but because am so scared of the risk, I create my own fear-fueled reality. But when I figured out that I was actually sitting in the middle of a boisterous vulnerability party and my shame was just sitting on top of the mute button, every thing changed. Of course this also required something else I had been in denial of: the ability to really trust. Because finding self-confidence in your imperfections requires a kind of trust in yourself and others that is not the kind of trust you give your friends when you tell them about that one time you waited outside a hotel to stalk the Jonas Brothers in college, but the kind of trust that is choosing to go on television, naked, to do an interview in which you willingly hand over a flashlight and say, “Please, examine me.” And I do mean choosing, because that was my turning point with vulnerability, when I realized no one was going to roll out a red carpet and escort my vulnerability to the party. That I was going to have to drag her out myself, sometimes kicking and screaming, every day, for the rest of my life.

[box] “We can let the circumstances of our lives harden us so that we become increasingly resentful and afraid, or we can let them soften us and make us kinder and more open to what scares us. We always have this choice.” — Pema Chödrön [/box]

Vulnerability is a choice. It’s about making the choice to accept my imperfections, my mistakes, my failures, even when it really stings, when all I want to do in the face of criticism is launch into one of my “Whatever, you’re wrong!” or “OMG, I’ve failed at everythinggg” monologues. When going on Facebook to complain seems like so much more fun than apologizing, when sending an angry and defensive email makes us feel better than admitting that maybe the other person is actually right. It’s never starting a thought with, “I know I said I was going to be vulnerable, and that I need to sit with this discomfort, but that sucks and it is uncomfortable, and I don’t want to feel this, so just this once…” It’s not seeking out a drug hit of sympathy from someone by making sure, “You still love me, right?” It’s not justifying my mistakes so that I can make them again. It’s not going numb in an attempt to forget, ignore, or deny. As Brené says: we cannot selectively numb emotion.  If we numb out pain, grief, shame, disappointment, we also numb our happiness, gratitude, and joy. That’s why taking a risk is such a vulnerability, because the inherent definition of a risk is that there is no certainty, and without certainty, we risk failure. And vulnerability is all about embracing your successes and your failures. It’s actually being yourself in the face of possibly losing everything because of it.

[box] “To let ourselves be seen, deeply seen, vulnerably seen; to love with our whole hearts, even though there’s no guarantee, to practice gratitude and joy in those moments of terror, when we’re wondering, ‘Can I love you this much? Can I believe in this this passionately? Can I be this fierce about this?’ just to be able to stop and, instead of catastrophizing what might happen, to say, ‘I’m just so grateful, because to feel this vulnerable means I’m alive.’ — Dr. Brené Brown [/box]

There’s an ancient Japanese art form, called Kintsukuroi, that repairs pottery with gold or silver lacquer with the understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken. That’s the biggest truth of all this. I still do not have this figured out. I will probably never have it all figured out. I will succeed and fail at vulnerability, and in life, again and again and again. The point it not to actually figure it out but to make the choice to go on that journey, to be broken and put back together. So I am trying, and stumbling, and trying again. And even when I fall into my old patterns, and cycle through the same loops, I just remember that it’s not about the loop, it’s about how much more quickly I can get out of it. And every time I make that choice, as hard as it can be in the moment, I always look back and feel better, stronger, and more alive than I ever did before.

[box] “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” — Theodore Roosevelt [/box]

If you’re interested in reading more about these ideas, I strongly encourage you to go read all the Pema Chödrön you can get your hands on (apparently the Buddhists have had this vulnerability thing figured out for over 2,000 years) and watch Brené’s other TED Talk, about listening to shame. Brené has also written several books that I have yet to read but are waiting for me on my bookshelf. Or just go watch Love Actually.

Photo by Remi Coin

Photo by Remi Coin