The story of my wrist, and the pot of boiling water (Finally, my own pain science metaphor!).

img_5765

Using metaphors to explain how pain works

One of the original reasons I started this blog was to get the word out about the various pain scientists and educators whose work has touched my life (including, but not limited to, Neil Pearson and Lorimer Moseley).

From them, I’ve learned that pain isn’t here to make us suffer (although it seems like it sometimes).  Ultimately, it’s here to keep us safe.

It’s a protective mechanism, and sometimes it can try a little too hard to keep us safe.  A sensitive nervous system is like an overactive alarm system, or an overprotective friend.

It can “zoom in” or “turn up the volume” on pain signals it thinks you need to pay more attention to.   This is what I call the “up” dial.

Your body can also turn down the volume on pain.

There may come a time when your nervous system decides it’s more important to “turn down the volume” on pain– or even block out pain signals completely.

Normally, this “down dial” isn’t something we are able to access consciously.  It’s something our body can do automatically, in times of great danger, if those pain signals are distracting us from getting out of a dangerous situation.

Neil Pearson, for example, tells the story of a patient he once treated who had been hit by a drunk driver on the way to work.  He woke up upside down in his burning car, and realized he had lost an arm in the accident.

The man managed to extricate himself from the car, collect his missing arm, and walk back up to the side of the highway all without feeling any pain.  This is because, in that moment, his body knew that feeling pain would take away from his chances of survival– the most important thing was his getting to safety.  Once he was safely in an ambulance in his way to the hospital, then the pain set in.

Your body has the ability to adjust the level of pain you perceive.

This is a survival mechanism that normally kicks in under emergency circumstances.

However, it is something we can also learn to do consciously with practice, using various techniques to tell our body to “turn down the volume” on pain.  That is the focus of pain neurophysiology education, the approach to pain management that changed my life.

My own metaphor

The really good news about this approach is that you don’t actually have to be a neuroscientist, or even have a huge scientific background, to learn how to do it.

Somehow, once you start to switch over from viewing pain as an enemy to a friend or a guardian, it can start to make an immediate difference in how you perceive it.

That’s why I’ve been so determined to spread the word about some of the metaphors that have helped me.  However, I’ve felt a bit limited in doing this, since I’m also interested in not plagiarizing other’s work.

So today at long last, I got my own metaphor. 

It’s not particularly wild or dramatic.  In fact, it’s pretty subtle (and also makes me not sound terribly coordinated).  However, I think it does a great job of explaining in a down-to-earth way exactly how the nervous system can choose to turn pain signals out, if it benefits your survival to do so.

It’s a small thing, really.  (And actually, it illustrates to you how absent-minded I can be at times, but that’s another matter!).

I was cooking dinner, boiling some ravioli.  They looked about done, and I was starving.  So, without really thinking, I lifted the pot off of the burner with one hand, and started taking it over to the sink to drain.

Halfway to the sink, I realized the pot was much heavier than I’d anticipated.  I realized I hadn’t really been paying attention, and it had been a mistake to pick it up.   Now I felt like my wrist was about to give out, and I was already halfway to the sink.

I quickly thought through my options.  I wanted to put it down instantly, but there wasn’t a clear space on the counter.  I wanted to put another hand up to steady the pot, but the handle was too small and I would have needed a potholder.

My wrist was really starting to hurt, and for a second I considered just dropping the pot altogether.

But no.  I had a vision of scalding water splashing everywhere, including on me, burning my skin.

And just like that– that very second– all the pain in my wrist disappeared.  Nope, my body said.  We are NOT dropping a pot of boiling water on ourselves today.  

My nervous system made an executive decision, in that instant, to block all the pain out.  Ultimately, the prospect of spilling boiling water all over myself was more of a threat to my survival than the pain in my wrist.

I was able to get the pot of water all the way over to the sink without incident.  About 30 seconds after I put it down, that’s when the pain came back.

Like Neil Pearson’s patient making it safely into an ambulance, my nervous system had blocked the pain out just long enough for me to safely put the pot of water down.  Once that was over, the pain came back, to remind me that indeed, I had put my wrist through something strenuous.

It’s been a few hours and my wrist is just a little bit sore.  I know it will go away– it wasn’t a permanent injury or anything.  I just strained it a little bit by trying to carry something it wasn’t strong enough for.  (This is a good reminder that I need to pay more attention in the kitchen, even if I am spaced out and hungry!).

But I wanted to share this with you because I think it provides a good example of how pain isn’t always a clear-cut indicator of what, exactly, is going on in our body. 

Instead, it represents our body’s “safety monitoring system,” warning us about potential threats to our survival, and making sure we choose the course of action that’s most likely to keep us safe.

Of course, if you have chronic pain day in and day out, it can be hard to see pain as a protective mechanism. 

I said it was a protective mechanism– I never said it always perfectly.

Sometimes in the case of chronic pain, the “up” dial can get stuck on.

That’s why, again, it is so important to know that your pain also has a “down” dial, and that, with practice, you can learn to access it.

I hope you found this post helpful!

For more on the metaphors which can help you understand pain, I recommend you check out my posts:

As well as:

That’s all for now!  

Any questions, leave a comment below or email me at sunlightinwinter12@gmail.com!

Pain is like Memory: Dr. Jay Joshi on Central Sensitization

Okay.  I’ve really been looking forward to publishing this post.

Here, we’re revisiting the same great talk by pain physician Dr. Jay Joshi.  In my last post, I outlined what Dr. Joshi says are the four main categories of pain.

Central sensitization is the type that is, unfortunately, the least understood.  And it’s also the type that’s had the biggest impact on my life to date.

What is it?

Central sensitization is a process through which the central nervous system learns to become more sensitive to, or amplify, pain signals.

I struggled with it for years and thought I was crazy, because I had pain that came and went throughout my own body that most of the doctors and physical therapists I saw couldn’t explain.

Central sensitization is a form of memory.

Generally, we think of central sensitization as a sort of a disorder, because of course, it causes so much pain and suffering.

However, as I’ve touched upon in previous posts, central sensitization actually has its roots in some of the same neural mechanisms that allow us to learn new things and store memories.  We “learn” from pain just as we learn from anything else, and our nervous systems can be changed by it.

As Dr. Joshi says:

“Central sensitization is what happens when the brain is exposed to certain experiences or certain memories.  It’s life… it’s being a human.

When you have a certain memory that forms it, becomes part of who you are… it becomes part of your experience.  And your behavior changes as a result of that.

This is not something that happens randomly…  This is something that happens to the neurophysiology of your brain.  It forms memories.  Those circuits get hardwired on your little ‘hard drive’ that’s known as a brain.  The same thing that happens with pain, when you have a chronic pain stimulus.”

The process of central sensitization is not separate from our brain’s other functions– rather, it belongs to them.

I found this happened to me so often, over the years, before I even knew what central sensitization was.

I’d have a painful experience– the first one was when I threw my back out at age 21— and it was like my nervous system was determined not to let me forget about it afterwards.

According to Dr. Joshi, this is exactly how central sensitization occurs, after a painful or traumatic event:

“You have a painful experience, and usually one of the first things that happens is your brain says ‘hey don’t do that again.'”

It’s trying to protect you from doing the same thing that might have caused you to become injured in the first place.

But what happens when that signal doesn’t stop? 

In cases like mine, this process can go on indefinitely.  Your brain keeps trying to protect you, telling you not to repeat certain activities, long past what’s actually necessary or conducive to your well-being.

This is called the wind-up phenomenon— when the brain’s protective mode stays on, and never gets the signal to turn “off” like it should.  Instead, it just keeps repeating the message of “don’t do that again”– even if it’s something that, technically, should be safe for you to do.

Once this process, the pain can sort of build on itself, like a snowball effect.  And you can remain in pain, long after the original injury that might have set all this off as healed.

Does all chronic pain cause central sensitization?

Dr. Joshi explains that chronic pain is likely to lead to some degree of central sensitization.  (This is significantly higher than other estimates I’ve heard, such as Dr. Elliot Krane’s figure of 10%).

However, I think Dr. Joshi’s explanation makes a lot of sense.  After all, when you experience chronic pain, you’re basically bombarding your nervous system with opportunities to practice sending pain signals.  Why wouldn’t it get better at doing so, the same way you can get better at playing the piano or riding a bike?

Central sensitization is still a part of my life.

I don’t expect to ever be able to totally reverse the process that first began, for me, at age 21.

However, I was able to make a lot of positive changes and gain back a lot of control over my body through pain neurophysiology education, which I write about a lot on this blog.  (Basically, it involves teaching your nervous system what it’s like to feel safe again, so that it can turn the “volume” back down on the pain).

There’s a lot more to say!

Dr. Joshi has some great thoughts on how to improve the medical profession’s understanding of central sensitization, as well as ketamine infusions– a potentially powerful treatment for patients with central sensitization.

I’ll be sharing more on this coming up– hope you liked this post!

The push & pull of when to keep going, and when to rest

Yesterday I was trying to drive home in rush hour traffic, along a route I wasn’t familiar with, and I ended up taking one wrong turn after another.

For those that know Boston, I was trying to get on Storrow Drive West, but somehow ended up going up Route 1 North, over the Tobin Bridge.

I took an exit and tried to turn around, only to find I kept making more wrong turns.  I thought I was going up a ramp to get back to Route 1, only to realize I was driving on something I wasn’t quite sure was a road.  (By the way, normally I’m a very good driver, it was just a weird area!).

And then, the next thing I know, I ended up in Chelsea, driving up this beautiful hill towards a residential area, and I look out and see this as my view:

Don’t worry, I pulled over to take these photos!

For some reason, it got me thinking of all the twists and turns in my journey.

All the times I’ve been mad at myself for trying too hard (like starving myself and running a billion miles a week cause I was afraid I was going to get fat).

And all the times when, looking back, I was afraid to try too hard and so gave up too soon.

***

Honestly, what I think now is that you just never know what lies ahead. And blaming yourself and giving up are, in a way, just our attempts to try to have control over a difficult situation.

The older I’ve gotten and the more I’ve learned, the more counter-productive I’ve seen that self-blame can be.

I‎t just isn’t useful; it doesn’t prove a point; it doesn’t get us any closer to the answers.

The truth is that there are answers I’ve found through hard work, and there are answers I only found because I happened to stumble upon them.

The one thing I wish I could really change, though, is all the times I held back because I was afraid of looking too hard. As if giving in and admitting I truly had a problem was the same as giving in to it, when actually that’s what it was going to take for me to overcome it.

Sometimes the right path will look like the wrong one, or the one that couldn’t possibly work (like me driving on a road I wasn’t quite sure was a road).

You just have to keep going and have enough faith in yourself to know that, ultimately, you’ll figure it out if something is or isn’t right for you.

***

Someone asked me the other day how I found my physical therapist Paula– the person who finally really helped me with the SI joint.

The answer is simple, but also complex.

Technically, I found her because I happened to do a Google search for “physical therapy sacroiliac joint” and the name of my hometown (where I was living at the time). The website for the practice she worked at popped up, with her online staff bio, where it listed the SI joint as one of clinical interests. Simple, right?

But there are so many more layers to this. Such as the fact that she’d been working there for over five years, and somehow never came up in any of my millions of Google searches. (I’m still not sure how this happened, if someone redesigned their website at just the right time, or what).

I’d looked and looked and thought I knew of everyone in our area, but somehow, I’d missed her.

***

I wasn’t going to look at all, actually.  I’d already seen FOUR other physical therapists, all of whom had either failed to help me, or made things worse.  I felt done.

It was my ex-boyfriend Tim who convinced me to look again.   He pointed out that maybe this was just what it took for me to find answers.  He got me to see that maybe four physical therapists wasn’t really that many.   Not if my entire life was on hold.

He told me about one of his friends, who, for years, suffered from constant sinus infections.  This friend saw multiple doctors who said there was nothing they could do, yet he refused to take no for an answer and kept seeking out other opinions.  Finally, he saw a specialist who told him that by luck of the draw, he’d been born with nasal passages that were too narrow.  This doctor was able to fix the problem with minor surgery.

So there are no hard and fast rules here. There’s no way to guarantee an easy answer.

The only guarantee is that if you waste time judging yourself, or being afraid to admit that you really have a problem, or assuming that no one will be able to help you… you’ll be more likely to push away your chances to find answers.

I finally found Paula through luck, probably because my search engine results changed.

But I also only found her because I had someone who cared about me to tell me I was judging myself and my situation too harshly; that I was jumping to conclusions about not being able to find help.

***

This started off as a post about finding answers, but in a way this post has turned into somewhat of a thank-you to Tim, as well.

So thank you, Tim. (We’re still friends and I’ll be sending him the link to this after I hit publish).

I hope you all are able to believe in yourselves and keep fighting.

And I hope you also, in one way or another, have a Tim.

Seeing things clearly, without that added layer of judgement on top

I struggled with what to say on my blog this week, but I finally landed upon this idea as the thing that resonated with me at the current moment.

Something I’ve been realizing, more and more every day, is how much time I’ve spent judging myself for the problems I’ve had.  Not actively trying to solve them… just judging.

On some level I didn’t trust myself.  After all all of my difficulties in getting diagnosed and treated… at some point, I developed the belief that whatever health issues I was having, no one would really be able to help me.  My issues would probably always be too complex for any one person to truly understand.

From there, it became a self-fulfilling prophecy that played out from one issue to another.  Compartment syndrome, central sensitization, sacroiliac joint dysfunction.   I didn’t really believe there were answers out there, so I didn’t try that hard to look.  I gave up before the fight was over (until things got so bad that I finally didn’t).

Now I realize that, just because other people doubted me, I didn’t have to doubt myself.  And maybe, just maybe, I didn’t have to wait for things to get so bad before I took action.

In a way, my issues are too complex for any one person to understand, other than me.   I did have to step up, do my own research, and keep track of so many things myself.  But now I see that that’s a reflection on our health care system, not on me.

Everyone is rushed; insurance companies don’t pay for long enough visits, let enough adequate treatments.  (I personally feel that most of these efforts to reduce costs on the front end ultimately end up driving up costs on the back end, as people develop more serious conditions that could have been monitored or treated before they became more serious.  But I digress).

There was never any real reason for me to lose faith in myself.  My problems were real, and they had real answers.  (And you know what?  Even if they were in my head, mental health concerns deserve to be addressed too).

It’s like that quote from Eleanor Roosevelt:

“No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”

For so long I gave so much of my power away… why?

There are so many bigger things happening in the world.  Why am I wasting time judging myself and holding back, when I could actually be contributing to something larger than myself?

For anyone who’s been struggling to make sense of what’s been going on in the world, I stumbled upon another amazing quote today, that was just exactly what I needed:

22195474_1582684825088140_2310980932586532929_n.jpg

I love this, so much.  Do justly.  Love mercy,  Walk humbly.  Nowhere in there does it say “second-guess yourself for trying to heal and then do nothing.”

I’m done trying to see things through the lens of “perfect” or how things “should be.”  I want to see things clearly (both in terms of the way I see others, and myself).

Judging yourself is really just a waste of time.

I want to have compassion for others, and maybe, for the first time in my life, also for myself.  I guess right now I’m learning what that means.

***

This post isn’t supposed to be about just me (although it kind of seems like it, now that I read it over).  It’s actually supposed to be about getting “me” out of the way.  To stop getting caught up in a cycle where I judge myself instead of doing things, for myself or for others.

If you’re reading this, I hope you know what I mean, and that maybe this post was helpful to you, too.

Healing our bodies, and the things that ripple across generations

IMG_3999

A little over a year ago, I started a second blog to focus on what I’d come to think of as this weird hip problem I’d had for years that no one seemed to understand (sacroiliac joint dysfunction).

Among friends, I usually tried not to talk about it too much, because I didn’t think anyone else would want to hear about it.  Sometimes I wondered if it was all in my head, since so many of the doctors and physical therapists I’d seen didn’t seem to know what I was talking about.  I was embarrassed to tell people about it, since only my chiropractor seemed to believe it was a real problem (and you know how skeptical I am about most things alternative health).

I started My Sacroiliac Joint Saga one warm day in May.  I’d had an absolutely awful day, and was just about reaching my breaking point with this problem and thinking I might need surgery.  I didn’t really think anyone would want to read what I wrote, but I left it set to “public” just in case.

But a funny thing happened.  Once I actually gave myself permission to focus on the issue, instead of judging myself for it, I found I had a lot more time to problem solve.

I used the mental energy I’d once devoted to questioning myself instead to research the problem from every possible angle.  Not everything I read was helpful to me, but by giving my full energy to the problem, instead of wondering if I was crazy, I ended up finding the answers I needed.

And it turned out there were people out there who were familiar with this problem– patients who had experienced it themselves, and doctors and PT’s who treated patients with it, and were even contributing to research on the problem.  I just hadn’t had the luck to come across any of them.  Looking back, I think the reason why is that I stopped searching too soon.

***

Last spring, I wrote a post called “Inner Limits,” about how I was coming to realize my past with an eating disorder was haunting me more than I knew.

Internally, I had set certain limits for myself on how much time or energy I was willing to spend focusing on fixing a “problem” with my body, and so I held myself back.  I did my exercises, I went to the chiropractor once or twice a week, I maybe read one or two articles a month on it, but that was it.  Other than that, my main focus was sticking to my routine, as if pretending I didn’t have a problem could somehow limit the effect it had on my life.

But really, as I wrote in the post, there was more I could do.  I could do more exercises; I could do more stretches.  I could spend an hour a day researching, if I really wanted to.  I had the time… for some reason, I just wasn’t.  Because I was afraid to devote my full attention to it.

Funny, right?  Here I’d been working on this blog about my journey with central sensitization, and how much it took me to find answers for it, and how for so long I’d felt misunderstood when I had a legitimate medical issue.   One of the main messages of Sunlight in Winter has always been “Believe in yourself.  Your pain is real and you deserve help.”

And yet here, the same patterns were playing out with my sacroiliac joints.  Deep down, despite what I’d already been through, part of me was still afraid that if I fixated too much on my body, and trying to “change” it, it would trigger the same level of obsession that drove my years of starvation and overexercising.  So I held myself back.

***

I haven’t written much about my family history on this blog, and I probably won’t say more than this anytime soon.  But in the past few years, I’ve come to realize that some of these thought patterns of self-doubt didn’t start with me.  Often we learn them from somewhere– usually, consciously or not, from our families.  These patterns can be passed down, and I think they very much were in my case.  There were things that happened in my family long before I was even born, that sent out ripples across generations.

I realize now that I have been on a long road– not just with my health, but with learning to believe in myself; to trust myself.  There were events that occurred in my family, long before I existed, that have affected my life and my ability to believe in myself.

Now that I’m aware of how the past has been affecting me, I’m learning to see things differently; to create my own future and way of seeing things that’s healthy, and works for me.

I won’t always be able control what my body does (I’m sure anyone reading this blog can relate to that!).  But I can control the way I see myself, and I don’t have to let health issues affect my self-perception.  Just because a doctor can’t give me an answer for something, it doesn’t mean the problem is in my head.  It doesn’t mean my problem isn’t real.  I can’t make a problem worse by “dwelling” on it when what I’m actually doing is researching and trying to find answers.

***

I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason.  I believe that, most of the time, the best thing we can do is to try to make meaning out of something for ourselves, whatever that turns out to be.

I don’t know if all my health issues happened for a reason, but now that I look back, I  know this common thread was there all along.  Compartment syndrome, central sensitization, sacroiliac joint dysfunction.

All of these problems were real; all of them were hard to get diagnosed, and hard to find the right treatment.  But for each problem (and I know I’m fortunate in this) there were eventually answers out there.

I know this is not true for everyone who writes under the “Spoonie” banner, but for me, my major health issues have all turned to be manageable.  There were answers out there, and I probably would have found them sooner if I had taken myself more seriously, and believed in the possibility of finding answers.  Or, I should say, the possibility of being understood.

***

Over the past weekend, My Sacroiliac Joint Saga hit 10,000 total page views.  I still can’t believe this blog I started a year ago as a somewhat embarrassing side project has grown to this extent, and helped so many people.  (And I know this because of all your kind comments and messages– thank you!).

And, aside from page views, 2016 Me still can hardly believe how fortunate I’ve been to finally find answers to this problem.  When I was at my breaking point that day in May, getting better wasn’t something I could really even picture.

So let this be a reminder to me, and to you if you’re reading this, to never let our health issues change the way we see ourselves.

We are so much more powerful than we realize… we just have to be able to see it in ourselves.

IMG_4091

 

 

How I developed central sensitization: Part 5

For a few years, I was stuck: caught between all of the doctors I saw, who thought there was something wrong with me psychologically, and the fact that deep inside of me was a calm, inner voice that knew it just wasn’t true.

***

Feeling as though I’d run out of other options, I became really interested in alternative medicine.

I still wanted an explanation for my pain that had something to do with my physical body.

I wanted to be seen; I wanted to be heard: I wanted to be believed.  And the alternative medicine practitioners I saw were able to provide me with that validation.  They believed me– of course the traditional doctors hadn’t been able to solve my problem.

***

For a while, I went a little bit off the deep end.  I read just about every book I could find on energy healing.  I started taking turmeric capsules instead of Advil; I bought crystals.

I began to see traditional medicine as somewhat of a sham, propped up by the pharmaceutical companies.  And I thought anything that fell under the heading of “alternative” medicine had to be good.

***

I had a lot of reasons to reject the “establishment” view.  The establishment, after all, is what failed me.  I’d slipped through the cracks, so many times; the safety nets I’d counted on had turned out to have holes in them.  Of course, it made sense that what was “traditional” had failed me again.

***

Now, I don’t want to offend anyone by insulting or dismissing an approach that has been helpful for them.  But if I were to give you the complete list of everything I tried, well, just about every “alternative” treatment is on it.

However, the truth is that nothing I tried worked, and all of it cost me a lot of time and money.

Looking back, there were definitely times when I must have been “that crazy person,” insisting to people that they try this same new treatment I was doing, or that they consider the fact that their headaches or thyroid problem could be entirely caused by blocked energy flow in the body.

My views have changed a lot since then– the science classes I’ve taken have opened my eyes to just how much we really do know, using “regular” science.

But I still have a lot of empathy for the “crazy” people, because I was one.  I know how easy it is to believe a convincing claim from a caring person who probably genuinely thinks they’re going to to help you.  Especially if you don’t have much of a scientific background.

I used to believe some crazy shit I’d be really embarrassed to admit to you now.

That’s why, even though my perspective has changed, I don’t believe in shaming people, or embarrassing them, for trying to do something to heal themselves.  Everyone is on their own path… and some of our paths can get a bit convoluted.

***

I’m not trying to say that alternative medicine doesn’t help anyone.  I believe there are some treatments that are probably more legitimate than others (for example, acupuncture has been shown to have some pretty significant effects for pain relief, although evidence suggests it may be more due to the body releasing endorphins in response to a needle than anything else).

But at the end of the day, I was struggling from the effects of central sensitization, which none of these belief/treatment systems had any means of addressing.  There’s no way any of these treatments were going to help me, because even my original “diagnosis” was always wrong.

I felt better, emotionally, when I was given an explanation that had to do with my physical body… but ultimately, all of the treatments fell short.

After all, there was no way any school of thought was going to help me, if it didn’t even have a name for my problem.

To be continued in Part 6!

To read this series from the beginning:

Can music block pain signals? Music-induced analgesia

3320139093_3afa687cc9_o

I, personally, have known for a long time that music could help reduce my pain levels.  It’s just something that I always knew intuitively. Listen to music (good music, of course) –> feel better.

That’s why I was so intrigued when I found the following post from my friend Jo Malby on some of the science behind how music can lessen our experience of pain.  (I’m sharing it here with her permission, of course!).

Jo writes:

“The joy we derive from listening to music we love, much like anything that brings us joy, is always beneficial in helping us cope with chronic illness and pain. According to ongoing studies, researchers have found that there are many reasons for pain patients to listen to music they love.

Outside of the times when pain is too fierce or your body too sensitized and flared-up for sound or vibration, music can be a useful coping tool, though not only for the joy and escape music brings you.

With real physiological changes in the brain, listening to your favourite music can have a significant, positive impact on perception of chronic pain, as well as the pain itself, with some studies even finding music resulted in less intense pain levels.

Music also reduces anxiety and depression, both often natural consequences of unpredictable debilitating chronic illness and pain, and both difficult to manage and treat. Though it’s often under used as an natural anti-depressant.

Research has drawn its theories on how nerve impulses in the central nervous system are affected by music. Anything that distracts us from pain may reduce the extent to which we focus on it; music helps us shift our attention from the pain but it’s also emotionally engaging, especially if the piece has memories or associations.

With even the rarest of tunes now online — from YouTube to Spotify to Soundcloud to more exclusive sites — search for some of your favourite sounds or create playlists with songs that specifically help you through particularly difficult times or when pain is especially severe, and you need to calm it and your state of mind.

Personally, nothing gives my mood a lift like a little Billy Holiday, Dusty Springfield or Aretha; if feeling frustrated, Chavela Vegas (anger’s better in Spanish). More recently, Mozart’s been on repeat. I love music. (Almost) every genre. Find what you love. Play it. See if it helps you cope, lifts your mood, or offers a momentary sonic escape from the complexities that come with pain and chronic illness.

Scientists now know that listening to music involves a huge portion of the brain — auditory areas, of course, but also motor (movement) areas, the limbic system (involved in emotions), and areas of the brain believed to be responsible for increased creative thought.

Anything that lights up areas in the brain other than pain may also be helpful to reduce that pain.  ((Sidenote from Christy: this reminds me of some of the really cool resources I’ve linked to from Neil Pearson!)).

These effects may not be powerful enough in isolation but added to your pain management toolkit, using music when you are feeling frustrated or sad, depressed or angry, lost or alone, all can help you cope, feel better emotionally, and even lessen a tiny bit of pain.

A study conducted by Peter Vuust, of the Center for Functionally Integrative Neuroscience (CFIN) at Aarhus University, Denmark, found that fibromyalgia patients experienced less chronic pain after listening to their favourite music.

Additionally, recent studies on music therapy and chronic pain conditions found that music reduces anxiety, depression and pain— just from listening to music.

The effect is often referred to as ‘music-induced analgesia‘, and though that analgesia may be more subtle than profound, anything that helps you must be embraced.”

Some additional links:

The Conversation: How music can relieve chronic pain

BBC News: How music can reduce chronic pain

Prevention.com: More music, less pain?

Body in Mind: Music modulation of pain perception

And for more from Jo:

Jo Malby is an amazing writer living with and sharing her experience of complex regional pain syndrome (CRPS) on her site The Princess in the Tower.

She also runs the site Inspire Portal, where she shares resources to provide creative inspiration to writers (and other artists!).

Definitely check out more of what she has to say!

A Clearing

img_0027

So I’ve been clearing out all the old stuff from my storage unit.  Finding so many reminders of all the plans I once had.

The high-heeled boots I bought senior year of high school, right before the Halloween dance.  My friends and I were all going to go as “sexy cops.”  (I know).

My running “spikes,” as our cross-country team called our specialized lightweight racing shoes.

It’s bittersweet, to look back and remember all of the optimism I had towards my goals– goals I would never reach.  Especially when I can recognize that some of those goals were pretty unhealthy.

Why did I need to wear high-heels?  They were only making things worse, as I was developing compartment syndrome.

Why did I need to run?  I truly loved it… but at the same time, I wasn’t truly listening to my body, and ran it into the ground.

So much pressure, to be thin, to be pretty.

So now I’m clearing out my storage unit, and there are just so many clothes.  So many clothes, in just about every size.

My size 2 clothes– the last clothes I bought before my health issues spun out of control and a medication forced me to gain weight.  At the time I thought it was horrible, but now I can see it was a blessing in a disguise.  It took something overpowering, and dramatic, to truly break me out of that way of thinking.

Chronic pain finally pushed the obsession with being thin out of my head.  There was no room for anything else; there was only survival, from one minute to the next.  I’m not sure if anything else could have done that– not without it taking years.

***

But I’ve held on to my old clothes all this time.  I loved them, because they were my way of telling the world, at 16, that I was an adult.  (An adult that wanted to dress just like Buffy!).

mpddt1b8ktm2cvghyrfd

My outfits, at the time, felt like works of art.  Handbags, sweaters, dresses– everything perfect.  My mom had picked out all of my clothes for me as a kid, and in the cutthroat world of high school girlhood, it took me a while to define my style.

Once I did, my clothes became my way of making a statement.  I discovered that the better I looked, the more power I had in the social world of high school.   If I looked perfect, it was harder for other girls to make fun of me.  My clothes became my armor.

When I gained weight at first (right after high school ended), I held on to all my old things because I thought I’d eventually be a size 2 again.  Then, once I realized I never actually wanted to be a size 2 again, I continued to keep them simply because it felt strange to part with them.

They’d helped me to define myself as an adult.  At one point in time, they’d protected me.

And they’d been waiting for me for so long, like a lost bookend, marking where I could find the life I’d been waiting to come back to when things finally got better.

I wasn’t ready, until now, to let them go.

But I don’t need or want that life anymore.  I no longer feel like I need to wear high heels in order to be a true girl.  I don’t want to put on eyeliner every morning like it’s war paint.

And I don’t need to weigh 115 pounds, or to be able to see the outline of my hip bones perfectly, in order to be attractive.

I just want to be me.

San Francisco, Revisited

29862769902_1d1dbed312_k

It’s so interesting for me to go back to San Francisco.

As you may remember, I spent a few weeks in SF back in June, following a good friend’s wedding in Napa Valley.

I actually just wrapped up another trip out there. I spent most of September in SF, staying with a friend and trying to investigate whether I’d eventually want to move there for work and/or grad school.

***

The city of San Francisco is symbolic for me, for a number of reasons.

Back in 2005, one of my friends from high school (CA) and I had planned to travel to the Bay Area and visit our friend Karen, who was attending Stanford University at the time.

Our trip was actually planned for the same time of year– September.

However, I’d just had my surgery for compartment syndrome that spring, and at the last minute, I freaked out and canceled my plane ticket. After all I’d heard about San Francisco’s hills, I just didn’t think my legs were ready, and I didn’t want to take a chance. So CA flew out by herself, and I stayed behind to mend.

I was 19 at the time, and although I didn’t know it yet, I actually had somewhat of a long road ahead of me. As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, I didn’t travel at all in the first half of my 20’s, and it was only in the second half that I started to ease back into it with local trips, such as camping in the White Mountains of New Hampshire.

As most of you probably know, I developed my problems with central sensitization (CS) around that same time, shortly after my leg surgery. I definitely don’t think the surgery caused the CS, but as something that the body perceives as a “trauma,” it may have been one of the precipitating events.

I’ll talk more about why I developed CS in the future, but for now, what I want you to know is that for the next five years, I didn’t travel at all. The second five years, I got back into it slowly, but only local trips, and not by myself.

So now, at 31, after everything I’ve been through: compartment syndrome surgery, discovering pain neurophysiology education, struggling to heal my sacroiliac joints…. it feels almost like I’m living in a dream world. To be able to travel to San Francisco and walk around to my heart’s content– it’s like I was transported to a parallel universe.

img_4673

Here was the moment when it really hit me, how far I’d come:

I was walking from my friend’s house to the gym, and I ended up walking up some really huge hills. Like, gigantic hills– the kind you think of, when you think San Francisco.

And I was just doing it. I wasn’t sightseeing– I hadn’t set out to “walk the hills.” I was just trying to get from one place to another, like anyone. Like a local.

And it was okay.

I mean, if anything, I got a little bit of a wake-up call about maybe needing to do more cardio. But after all the years I’ve spent only being able to work out in a pool, it was such an amazing feeling to be moving through the world, as fast as I wanted, feeling my heart pumping. I was free.

It was a feeling I’d forgotten– to truly push my cardiovascular system to its limits with each footstep, out in the wind, out in the sunshine. For the past few years, I only got to experience that feeling within the safe, weightless environment of the pool.  While I am so grateful for my pool workouts, my trek on this day brought back a form of muscle memory. With the thud of each footstep, I was awake. I was back.

The thing is, this isn’t really meant to be a post about physical accomplishment. Instead, it’s about my unexpectedly “Returning” to an aspect of life that I was prepared to live without.

I had made peace with not being able to move the way I wanted. Not being able to travel, and more or less being stuck in place, taught me to try to always notice the beautiful little things around me. I’m not saying I succeeded all the time, but it was a skill that I worked at, and I got better at it.

I had to learn to savor the little things– the colors of the leaves in fall, the glitter of sunlight filtering through the trees, the taste of really good coffee– because it was the only way to make up for the things I’d lost.

Over time, it started to come more naturally. Maybe I was just getting into a better place in my life, emotionally. Maybe I was just growing up. Or maybe it was all of these factors.

But the point is, it happened. I learned to live without running, without traveling, without feeling free in a geographical sense, because I realized there were more important ways to feel free.

Now that that kind of freedom has come back to me, it’s like an unexpected bonus. And I view it gratefully.

Save

Save

Save

The ‘Tyranny’ of Positive Thinking

530957751_089fb615b8_b

A friend posted this article about the pitfalls of positive psychology on Facebook this morning, and gosh– it resonated.

I’ve honestly been annoyed by the concept of positive thinking for a long time. It seems like most of the time, when someone tells urges you to be more “positive,” what they really mean is that they’re tired of listening to you.

The whole idea of trying to “block out” negative thoughts never made sense to me. If you have a problem, shouldn’t you try to solve it? Pretending the problem doesn’t exist isn’t going to make it go away. You have these feelings for a reason. It’s gut instinct trying to tell you that something is wrong and needs to change.

As someone who’s spent a lot of time battling health issues that appeared to many people to be “in her head,” I’ve probably been accused of dwelling on the negative more than the average person. (But probably not more than most of my fellow health bloggers– I know you guys will know what I mean!).

***

I had never really considered how that mindset might be unique to where I live (the Northeastern US) until I spoke with my friend M., who is from Costa Rica. She told me that, since moving to the US several years ago, she feels a definite pressure to sweep problems under the rug and always appear cheerful– a pressure that was not there back home.

In Costa Rica, M. says, people have more of an understanding that problems are part of life, and that we all need to find someone else to listen once in a while. When you’re experiencing a crisis, it’s not so much a reflection on you as a person, like it is in the US. It’s more that it’s your turn to go through an aspect of life that everyone experiences occasionally.

***

Well, this Newsweek article totally backs M. and me up.

The author, Morgan Mitchell, cites several studies that have demonstrated that there are drawbacks, and even potential dangers, of positive psychology (and its less-nuanced cousin, positive thinking).

For example, Mitchell cites a recent study by Karen Coifman et al., which found that “when people acknowledge and address negative emotions toward their relationships or chronic illnesses, it helps them adjust their behavior and have more appropriate responses. Those negative emotions, in turn, benefit their overall psychological health. ”

That’s exactly what I’ve been saying. You need to fully experience the negative emotions you have, so that you can process them and then get to a better place emotionally.

Mitchell also references a study by Elizabeth Kneeland and colleagues, which “concluded that people who think emotions are easily influenced and changeable are more likely to blame themselves for the negative emotions they feel than people who think emotions are fixed and out of their control.”

In other words, people who view their own negative response to a given situation as a reflection of their own shortcomings are most likely to feel badly about themselves. To me this seems like a complete waste of energy– instead of judging yourself for your emotional response to something, wouldn’t it be better to focus on doing whatever it takes to create a better situation?

***

As much as I know “positive thinking” annoys me on principle, this is still something I’m struggling with. To let myself experience a difficult situation and, instead of judging myself for the way I react, to recognize that there is actually some wisdom in that reaction. My truest and deepest self is letting me know that this situation is not okay for me, and I need to take steps to change it.

It’s okay if things don’t always work out. It’s okay if something you thought was going to be great turns out not to be.

***

One of my favorite bloggers, Beauty Beyond Bones, wrote a post about a similar situation the other day. She found herself in a professional situation where she did not feel respected, and was not being compensated adequately. After some time, she made the difficult decision to stand up for herself, despite the potential consequences it could have for her career. She wrote,

“Our actions, whether consciously or unconsciously, communicate messages to ourselves. What do we think we’re worth? Do I allow someone to walk all over me? Am I completely upending my life to meet the needs of someone who doesn’t even respect my time when I’m there?

I am worth respect. I am worth honesty. I am worth dignity.”

This is what I believe. Sometimes, when you really just feel awful about a certain situation, and the feelings don’t go away– those feelings are there for a reason. Instead of wasting time judging ourselves, or fearing others will judge us for our response, we need to trust that inner voice that tells us where we need to be.

Trust Your Nervous System photo courtesy of Cliph

Save

Save

Save

Save