Feeling a bit less pain

October 1, 2012

I’m trying to focus on feeling a bit less pain.  In general I’ve had plenty of good days, but I’ve also been having bad days.  On this blog, though, I’ve been focusing almost entirely on the negative aspects lately.  Of course, there’s a reason this blog is called Chronic Rants.  Yes, I like to rant.  Yes, I think that sometimes it’s necessary to rant.  But it’s also necessary to focus on the good parts too, to make sure we don’t just wallow in negativity.  I sometimes have to make an effort at that.

So today I’m thinking and writing about having less pain.  The pain really skyrocketed last month, thanks to the change of seasons.  I’m not sure exactly when this week the pain went back down to my pre-transition levels, but I love that it did.  I know that it might not last, but I’m going to focus on it while I can.

I think there’s a tendency, especially with a new symptom or a new diagnosis, to expect a complete “cure” of a particular problem, and anything less isn’t good enough.  Over time, that attitude changes.  When you’ve suffered from level 6 pain (remember that good old pain scale?) for years and then it shoots up to a 9 for a while, going back to a 6 feels great.  Sure, my fingers still curl more than I’d like, it’s hard to rest my hands palm down, and I can’t carry heavy things, but so what?  And the truth is, I had many years of pain at levels 8 and 9 on a daily basis, so I’m actually able to do a lot now, thanks to hydroxychloroquine, that I couldn’t do before.  I can hold a pen and write a full paragraph, I can hold a knife and cut vegetables, I can pick up a pot of water and pasta and drain it in the sink, and I can type with two hands.  This is fantastic!  Is it perfect by a “healthy” person’s standards?  Nope, far from it.  But for me it’s heavenly.

I have a lot more tough topics coming up, and I won’t shy away from those in my mind, in my heart, or on this blog.  But today, it feels good to focus on having a bit less pain and feeling a bit happier because of it.


The chronic illness-depression connection

September 28, 2012

A friend of mine does suicide prevention work.  And she needs your help.

From time to time I pass along information to my friend that I think might be useful.  Sometimes it’s a blog post, or a tweetchat, or just an idea.  Other friends do it too, to give her ideas for new angles.  Recently I sent her a blog post from someone else’s blog that I thought might be helpful and she wrote back and asked if I’d give my personal perspective on living with a chronic illness.  I’ve always been completely open about my health stuff when someone asks, but I don’t talk about it too much otherwise.  I’m not trying to hide anything, I just want to focus on things other than my health sometimes.  So when we met up this week, I found that first I had to explain what it really means to have a chronic illness.

We met up in person to talk about chronic illness and its intersection with depression.  This is an area that gets talked about a lot in chronic illness circles, but I don’t hear much about it in mainstream mental health care.  As it turns out, they do talk about it in her office, but she didn’t feel they’d examined it thoroughly.  So we talked for over an hour and we covered a lot of areas.  We talked about the depression that is a part of the illness, the depression that’s a side effect of medications, and the depression that comes from the pain, isolation, frustration, etc.

I talked about being told the symptoms are all in our heads, about the self doubt, and about not having a diagnosis for years or decades.  I talked about the strain it puts on relationships and the difficulty dating.  I talked about the lack of control over my present and the lack of control over my future.  I talked about rare conditions taking longer to get a diagnosis, but then not having support groups available after diagnosis because of the condition’s rarity.  We talked about chronic illness causing PTSD.  We discussed autoimmune-type diseases versus more well-known chronic illnesses such as heart disease or diabetes.  We talked about society’s judgment on us: society saying that we caused our illness or that we’re worthless because we can’t work at a job, etc.  We talked about stigma from government and from individuals.  I talked about our own feelings of worthlessness.  I talked about wanting to contribute to society in some way.  We discussed how hard it can be to connect with family and friends when we can’t do “normal” activities.  We talked about how hard it is to “keep a positive attitude” when the truth, the reality, is that things will not get better, and they will most likely get worse.  And of course we talked about the 5 stages of grief.

She was blown away by all of this.  When I talked about being in pain all the time until a few years ago, it became clear that she hadn’t realized that it was literally all the time.  When I talked about the relief of having a few minutes at a time without pain, she was shocked.  This is a woman who has always tried to understand, but she simply didn’t because no one had ever really explained it to her.  Now she’s learned a bit more.  And of course, she wants to help.  She can not help with the physical symptoms, but she can create practitioner trainings and outreach programs and also write on her blog in order to help our mental health.  And in return, we can help her.

So here’s where you can help.  I am only one person.  I told my friend about my own experiences and about those of some others in the community, but of course I can’t talk about everyone, nor should I.  Instead, I encourage you to talk about how your chronic illness affects your mental health and vice versa.  Write a line or 2 or 20.  Comment here, email me (msrants at gmail dot com) or write to me on Twitter (@CIRants) and I’ll be sure she sees it.  This is a good chance to assist someone who wants to help our community, so let’s give it our all!

Part of the email from my friend:

In my work, we do talk about chronic pain and illness in relation to suicide, but we haven’t done a thorough job of examining the issue, I believe because we’re not sure the best approach to take…. I’d love to talk with you about ideas/approaches for addressing this issue and possible interventions/programs. Or, if you know of folks you think would be good to talk with – people living with chronic conditions, health care providers, etc. who I should talk with, please let me know.


Could I be healthy?

September 13, 2012

When I wrote a couple weeks ago about being hopeful that maybe my health could improve one day, that was based on my own gut feeling (so to speak) that I could get better.  My doctors have not expressed that kind of hope in many years.  My new naturopath has seemed more optimistic, but she has never spoken about our end goal, and I was not ready to ask.  I was afraid to ask.

Today I steeled myself.  I took a deep breath.  I stared blankly at a spot on the opposite wall.  And I asked: “What do you think my prognosis is?  What’s our goal?”

She surprised me with her answer: “That you’ll go back to work, and that at the end of the work day you’ll still feel good and be able to do things.  That you’ll go out and do things on weekends.”

Obviously she misunderstood, so I clarified: “No, I mean, what’s our realistic goal?”

Imagine my shock when she said that yes, that’s the realistic goal.  So of course I asked when she thinks that might happen.

“Within about 1 year from now I expect you’ll be back at work.”

What?!?  I had figured she had a positive outlook for my recovery, but this was more than I had expected.  I didn’t quite believe it, and I still don’t.  1 year seems like such a short time.  After all these years of my body destroying itself, could I really be “cured” in 1 year?  Of course, I wouldn’t really be “cured,” but to be so much healthier seems like the ultimate cure to me.

Of course, she thinks that 1 year is too long.  She practically apologized, explaining that if I had gotten treatment sooner, before my conditions had taken such a toll on my body, then she could have reversed their affects more quickly.  Still, she has helped me more in the last 3 months than my other doctors have in the last 8 years.  And she says that we’ve “only scratched the surface” in terms of treating me.  So maybe it’s possible?

1 year.  12 months.  I can’t seem to grasp this.  Could it be possible?  Could I be relatively “healthy”?  Could I work full time and support myself, and still have the energy to see friends, pursue hobbies, date?  It just doesn’t seem possible.  When I wrote about my hopes before, they felt like a far-off dream.  I figured maybe in a few years, if I was lucky…. but 1 year?  That feels so soon.  Next fall.  Dare I hope?  What if it doesn’t happen?  Would I be too crushed?  But then, what if it does?

Some people dream of buying a bigger house, or driving a fancy car, or flying all over the world in a private jet.  I only want my health and my loved ones.  Could I really be within reach of having it all?  Could I be healthy?


Health insurance “options”

September 4, 2012