How did chronic pain become shameful and stigmatized?
How has this become the “norm” in our country and society?
Why are we placed alongside drug seekers and criminals when all we want is pain relief from an unending nightmare?
When did we become “addicts” not patients?
Why are we being punished and denied basic needs?
How did suicide become the only way out of a treatable medical condition?
My life is worth more than this!
DAMN the FDA, CDC, CMA, and “Big Pharma” for this entire mess were in! Where’s the common decency? The sympathy? The empathy?
My only hope is that the people working for the above-mentioned organizations or someone they love develops a chronic pain condition and realizes for themselves the Hell we suffer EVERY SINGLE DAY just to survive!
Always keep fighting, my fellow chronic pain warriors!
So. I have been in Pain Management for over six years now. In 2011, my migraine specialist had nothing left to offer, so I found myself in the terrifying world of pain clinics. I didn’t feel like I belonged there. Was I that sick? Did my condition(s) warrant this? I wasn’t a drug seeker! I didn’t want medication! I wanted alternative treatment, but I had tried it with no improvement.
These were my thoughts and perceptions of Pain Management at the time. After my first visit, I realized that I knew nothing.
My doctor was empathetic, compassionate, helpful, and positive. He listened to me. We discussed treatment options at length. Possible clinical trials I could join and new and exciting things down the road. I always left his office feeling more relaxed, confident, and hopeful.
So. Here we are six years later. I just received a letter from the pain management practice stating that Dr. H. was leaving the practice at the end of the month. I was devastated! I immediately burst into tears and was inconsolable for a few hours.
This man was a huge part of my small circle of support. He was my lifeline for pain relief, medication, future treatment and possibly even a cure. What will happen to me now?
I’ve called several practices, and no one can guarantee that they’ll take me on as a patient. If they do, they don’t even have openings until December.
I’m not able to stop my current meds without a long tapering routine, and am going to run out before a new doctor can see me. I’ve heard horror stories about people stopping cold turkey and almost dying. I would love nothing more than to find a drug free alternative, but not like this.
My anxiety is through the roof. My psychologist is moving out of the area at the end of this month and I’m already dreading that situation. Finding someone new that I feel comfortable with enough to open until about private issues is hard. Developing trust with a new person takes time.
I am feeling these losses as keenly as if they were deaths. Since becoming chronically ill, my support system has dropped off in great numbers. I’ve lost many people that I thought were dear friends because they couldn’t cope. So my doctors are a huge part of my life now. And stability is crucial.
I’m struggling to deal with everything and it feels like I’ll never be okay again. I’m scared, confused, overwhelmed, and angry! And alone! So damn alone!
So. I’m always being told that I need to be more active. To push myself more. To try harder. To go out even when my pain level is high. Even when symptoms are bad. Even when side effects have me in their grip. Just try. Give it a shot.
So I did. This morning I went out to my patio to garden a bit. I enjoy my flowers and being outside. It’s cooler today and there’s a beautiful breeze. I weeded a little. I watered everyone. I talked to my plants. (They don’t talk back!) I was out for less than 35 minutes. Yes, I checked.
I came inside and before I could even get to the sink to wash my hands, I was hit with a severe back spasm. It literally brought me to my knees. I sat on the floor for about 10 minutes crying and shaking from the pain. I couldn’t move. When it finally eased, I made it to the kitchen (all of 10 steps.) As I washed my hands and face, I felt a sharp stabbing in my hip area. I made it to the kitchen chair and sat down. It was agony. Stabbing, burning pain. I thought I for sure had torn something.
Eventually I made my way into my bedroom. I couldn’t take anything for the spasms or the other pain for another 2 hours. I sat on my bed and cried. Tears of pain, frustration, anger, sadness, so many emotions. THIS is why I stop trying. It’s not worth what I go through as a result.
My pain is daily. It is always there. The levels may change and I have bad days and better days. I don’t have good days. Ever!
This is my life. Until a cure or at least an effective treatment is found.
I DO try. I go to appointments feeling like shit. I get my Mom to her appointments without fail. We get to the food store, the pharmacy, out to eat on occasion.
This is my normal. It has been for 7 years. It didn’t start this bad. But it’s gotten continuously worse as time goes by. Yes I’m depressed. Yes I’m anxious. Who wouldn’t be in this situation? I think I do pretty well considering.
But then I’m told that I must exercise, I must push. I know my current limits. And I exceed them daily due to not wanting to disappoint or be a burden. I’m not weak. If anything I’m stronger for going through this nightmare.
So. I’ll cancel another appointment today as I lay in bed, unable to move without pain. I gave myself a shot, which at best will let me sleep for 2-3 hours. It’s all I have.
I’ll keep hoping for a breakthrough in pain management or a cure for chronic pain, Fibromyalgia, and chronic migraine. It’s out there, I know. Hopefully it will not be too long a wait.
Better days ahead, my fellow warriors. Much love. 💜
So. Long time, no update. Several things have changed recently.
I found a new psychiatrist. I wanted to see if my meds were working well enough or if it was time for a change. He tested me for thyroid condition after stating that 4 out of 10 new patients were found to have an undiagnosed medical condition.
Turns out that I have hypothyroidism. I had been tested previously as the symptoms were so similar to fibromyalgia, but my tests had been negative. Or so I thought.
After starting on thyroid meds, I looked over my prior bloodwork results. Multiple times over the past few years, my numbers had been off. Three different doctors had neglected to inform me that my thyroid was under active at the time of the testing.
I had researched hypothyroidism as a possible candidate for my many symptoms over the last five or so years. So many matched. Weight gain, fatigue, migraine, thinning hair, dry skin, insomnia, mood disorders, muscle and joint pain, feeling cold and/or hot, numbness in hands and feet, etc. I had suffered from all of these and more.
It may sound crazy to say that I was “ecstatic” to find out that I had a thyroid condition, but for anyone suffering with an invisible illness, you understand. I had a name, a diagnosis, a treatment plan, and hope. For the first time in a very long time, I had hope. If my thyroid meds helped to ease even one symptom, I would be thrilled.
Fingers crossed for much better days ahead!
So. It’s Friday. End of another week. It’s been a rough one. Five long pain-filled days. Five days of getting up every morning and failing to do what I set out to do. Five days of tears, anger, frustration, depression, and anxiety. Five days of not being in control of my own body and life. Five fucking days of hell. With no end in sight. This is my personal demon. This is migraine.
She lies huddled on the bed in the dark. Curled up in a defensive ball. Hands covering her ears. Eyes squeezed tightly shut. Shivering, trembling, terrified. Cheeks wet from silently shed tears. Alone. So alone.
He waits outside the open bedroom door, leaning on the frame. The door has a lock, but she learned long ago that using it was pointless. He got in every time. He watches. Intent. Sensing her fear. Feeding from it. Becoming more powerful for it. Her hopelessness washes over him in waves. He smiles.
She fought him for years. Fought with her very being. For control. Using her extensive, expensive arsenal of weapons. He defeated each one as if it were nothing. The guns jammed. The knives missed their mark. The arrows couldn’t pierce him. Still she tried. She was strong. He was stronger.
The screaming was the part he enjoyed the most. She raged and threatened as long as she had breath left in her lungs. Then came the pleading, begging, bargaining. She only did it when she was close to giving up. It was all she had left. But he laughed at her.
She remembered her life before he took charge. Before she became his prisoner. When she was her own person. She had a life, family, friends. One by one he took them all. Leaving her empty, exhausted, unable to fight back.
But she tried. He admired her spirit and will. But he enjoyed breaking her even more. That was his job. And he excelled at his job.
Maybe someday someone stronger than him would come along. To save her. To help her beat him. To chase him away. To soothe her broken body and mind. To let her live again. At peace. Maybe even smile again. But not today.
Today chronic migraine wins again. He is her captor. She, his unwilling victim.