I Was Kicked Out of a Support Group for Having Chronic Pain

By Ann Marie Gaudon, PNN Columnist

Recently, after the death of my mother, I registered to participate in a grief support group. The group met in the evening, which is good for able-bodied day workers, but a very poor time for me as far as chronic pain goes.

After working and the efforts of the day, my body is tired and worn down; which is a terrific setting for pain and other symptoms to come visit. I knew the group’s meeting time would be difficult, but was determined to do my best – and let me be very clear, I did just that.

The problem was, I proved to be all-too-human and they proved to be all too discriminatory.

By the 6-week mark, I had missed two meetings. Both times it was due to pain. I couldn’t get in or out of my car and was in no shape to stand for two hours. The furniture was too large for me to sit in with my back against the chair and my feet on the floor. No support is a no-go for my back, so I must stand in most places I attend. It’s nobody’s fault (well, maybe furniture makers) and I’ve adapted my life to it. Last time I checked, I was 157 cm tall (5’2”) and don’t have the height to sit properly in standard-sized chairs.

Anyone who knows me well knows that I have multiple pain conditions. It all started when I was 19 years old and much more has come my way as I age.

Anyhow, back to my sins of being human. The morning after I missed the second meeting, I received a telephone call to tell me that I had missed too much time and it would have a negative effect on the group’s bonding. I could not return. That was their policy.

At the time of the call, I had just gotten out of bed, my head was brain-fogged, and I wasn’t really registering the message. It took a little bit for my brain to kick-in and realize I had been kicked out! I was hurt and angry. but mostly I really wanted to advocate for everyone in pain. So I decided to send them an email.

“By telling me I was no longer welcome, you chose not only to dismiss my grief, but also to dismiss me because I am not an able-bodied person. These dismissals are not only unkind and quite the opposite of support, but also inflict moral injury to a person who is already suffering,” I wrote in my email.

I also said that I didn’t want or expect a reply. However, someone took the time to write back an extremely ignorant and dismissive email. I would gladly share it with you, but curiously the email ends with this legal disclaimer:

“This communication may contain confidential & privileged material for the sole use of the intended recipient. Any unauthorized review, use or distribution by others is strictly prohibited. If you have received this message by mistake, please advise the sender by reply email & delete the message. Thank you.”

I was so utterly shocked at being kicked out of a “support” group for having an invisible disability that I needed to speak with someone who knows about these things. Now I really needed support!

I was grateful for the opportunity to explain my experience with Kattlynne Grant, who is working on her second Masters and a PhD in Disability Studies at Brock University in Ontario. In addition to studying disability, Ms. Grant also lives with an invisible disability. I found her to be a great support for all of us:

“Just by the fact that someone responded to you when asked not to, it seems that they were more concerned about defending themselves and not hearing you as a person,” she told me. “By telling you that this happens to everyone who misses two sessions shows they really miss the mark of the implicit bias built into that policy – where it favours a certain type of embodiment over others because it assumes/expects a ‘normal’ level of function.  It is very exclusionary to those with disabilities, as it means that those who may struggle to keep with normative embodied expectations will not have access to their services.”

Someone within the support group organization took the time to shift the blame onto me and argue that I was in the wrong for not making them aware. Aware of what, my disability? What would they have done with that information? 

We all signed an agreement that we would do our best to attend all eight sessions. I did so wholeheartedly and meant it. I was never not committed to the group.

The facilitator said they realize that sometimes “life happens” and if we must miss a session, to just call ahead and let them know, which I did.  Nobody said two strikes and you’re out – not that it would have made it right. I’m only saying this because it was not even part of the conversation.

I was wholly offended to get a finger pointed back at me with passive aggressive statements such as “all we ask for is commitment” – which is all that I gave. I felt like I had been swept back to a time when disabled people were seen as a scourge on society, with no ethical or legal rights.

It was all very upsetting and offensive. I am upset to even have to share this with you, but it is what I need to do. I am being totally honest when I tell you that I was blind-sided when I was kicked out.

Ms. Grant had more to say about to these types of experiences.

“This move of shifting blame truly exposes how deeply that the ‘ideology of ability’ is ingrained within their practices,” she said. “The marginalized are often made responsible for their own adversity and exclusion, rather than acknowledging their role in this and the need for structural change.”

The Law Commission of Ontario describes ableism this way:

“A belief system, analogous to racism, sexism, or ageism, that sees persons with disabilities as being less worthy of respect and consideration, less able to contribute and participate, and of less inherent value than others. Ableism may be conscious or unconscious, and may be embedded in institutions, systems or the broader culture of a society.” 

Here is how the Ontario Human Rights Commission defines systemic discrimination:

“Systemic or institutional discrimination consists of attitudes, patterns of behaviour, policies or practices that are part of the social or administrative structures of an organization or sector, and that create or perpetuate a position of relative disadvantage for people with disabilities. The attitudes, behaviour, policies or practices appear neutral on the surface but nevertheless have an adverse effect or exclusionary impact on people with disabilities.”

Bringing awareness to the ways that we unintentionally reinforce systems of privilege and exclusion should be important to any organization, but especially for a support group. It would be a way to reduce the pain and grief of future members, not just add to them. 

Ann Marie Gaudon is a registered social worker and psychotherapist in the Waterloo region of Ontario, Canada with a specialty in chronic pain management.  She has been a chronic pain patient for over 30 years and works part-time as her health allows. For more information about Ann Marie's counseling services, visit her website.  

To Each Life Their Own

By Mia Maysack, PNN Columnist

May is Mental Health Awareness Month, a good time to write about a topic that needs more attention, but one that makes many of us uncomfortable: suicide.

I know people who have tried to end their lives. There was one who almost succeeded. I was still in decent enough health at the time to be working in the nursing field and it just so happened to be my hospital they were brought to. I entered the room in time to watch their stomach being pumped with charcoal, which is the process used to rid the body of whatever has been ingested.  

After being revived, this person's first words to me were: "Why didn't you let me die?" 

My already broken heart shattered once again into a million pieces. Being much younger at the time, I couldn't begin to understand and took the experience personally. Now I’m old enough to know that someone’s choices about their own life have absolutely nothing to do with me. 

Fast forward a few years, and I found myself in a clinical support group at a time when my pain ran rampant and dictated every aspect of my existence. That’s what led me to the textbook-based, power-point class that was instructed by low-energy penny counters. I was that desperate for help. 

During one session, we broke out into smaller groups. On one side of me, there was someone who'd lived in unmanageable pain for 40 years. They were fed up with prior authorizations, insurance hoops and failed treatment options, and confided to the group that they were making plans to move where medically assisted suicide was legal. 

On my other side was someone who claimed they had never felt suicidal and couldn't begin to relate to the other person. In fact, it made them so uncomfortable that they excused themselves from the conversation and went to go tell on the other individual. 

It's human nature to avoid discomfort, but we don't always know how to create space for others who are suffering without also judging them. 

Between these two extremes, there was me -- literally and figuratively in the middle. After class, I watched as the instructors approached the individual in a hushed whisper and exchanged a slip of paper with a suicide hotline number on it.

I witnessed this person break down -- almost as if they were being scolded -- and couldn't help but think that if it was me standing on the edge and was essentially being told to go away and deal with it elsewhere, that might be the very last thing a person would do. And how that would be such a failure on our part. 

It was then that I began my own support group network, which eventually evolved into more of a self-help resource because I personally feel that while support is important, it can only take us so far. 

Despite living in agony, I spent many years clinging to my medical career. At one point I was working in hospice, where I was confronted daily by the truest definition of suffering -- seeing patients barely hanging on for the sake of their families, despite their desire to let go. 

It was then I contemplated who is being more selfish. Is it the person who no longer wants to remain alive because they are already dead inside or those demanding that they go on living? 

There's no right answer to that question. That isn't to belittle how anyone feels on either end of that spectrum, but more a rhetorical point to ponder.  

For many reasons, these last couple of years have been the most difficult of my life and I came the closest I've ever been to ending my own life. Lack of hope is one of the most dangerous places to be. The darkness is all consuming.  

I'm someone who is known for their positivity. It is noticed when I am not acting like myself or feeling a lower level of energy.  People depend upon me to be level headed and focused on the more uplifting aspects of life, but that can be a heavy weight to bear at times. 

It's a blessing to be in the position that I'm in and provide the type of counsel that I do. In fact, I now understand on a deeper level why my medical career meant so much to me. Showing up for others during their most trying times and hardest moments helped distract myself from my own inner turmoil. 

The same can be said about advocacy. Showing up for others whether or not I feel up to it, guiding them to their own voice and sharing their truth  is a way to make something out of my pain. Perhaps I've endured all that I have to gift others with what I've managed to learn. If being human was just about me and what I go through, there’s no way I’d be able to make it.

Mia Maysack lives with chronic migraine, cluster headache and fibromyalgia. Mia is the founder of Keepin’ Our Heads Up, a Facebook advocacy and support group, and Peace & Love, a wellness and life coaching practice for the chronically ill. 

Where Are the Chronic Pain Support Groups?

By Carol Levy, PNN Columnist

For many years I was alone with my trigeminal neuralgia. There was no one to talk to about it, no one else who had it, and no one who could understand the terror of it. I longed for someone I could talk with, another person who would nod understandably and share their own stories of how TN was affecting them.

Years later, I was in the car listening to the radio and heard the announcer say “trigeminal neuralgia.”

My heart did a somersault and I yelled out, “Listen to that! They said trigeminal neuralgia!”

I calmed down and listened carefully as the announcer said, “The trigeminal neuralgia support group meets once a month at the City Hospital.”

It’s what I had been praying for.

I went to a few of the meetings. The people were nice and, to my amazement, the group was very large. There were 20 or 30 people, sometimes more, including spouses, family and friends of the person with TN.

There was support and encouragement, interspersed with speakers who spoke about various treatments, explanations for the pain, and even crackpot theories -- which thankfully the members objected to. Little by little, the group grew smaller; more often than not the support lessened and the number of speakers grew.

For quite some time it seemed that the group had simply vanished. Then I started getting email notices again announcing the date and time of the meetings. They had returned, but now there were only 6 or 10 people, always the same ones, and the support seemed to be more of a get-together for these now friends.

Once in a while, someone new came and spoke about their pain. They did get support, before the group turned back to its core members talking with one another. The new person rarely returned.

Then the meetings went from monthly to just 6 times a year, 3 in the spring and 3 in the fall. It was usually two meetings with speakers or information about ways to deal with the pain. The third meeting was only for “sharing.”   

For me, the support felt lacking.

I decided to go to the phone book (in my area we still get one) and look up support groups. I was gladdened to see at least 150 listed. But I was dismayed when I found not one was for chronic pain. The closest any of them came was for specific diseases that have pain as a symptom, such as multiple sclerosis or lupus.

There are many support groups on Facebook, but that’s not always the best place to find support. Some are terrific and the members are truly there for each other, but too many others become an arena for back stabbing, misinformation and drama.

There is something to be said for meeting in person with the people you have gone to for support. But why is it so hard to find a support group for “just” chronic pain? The cries for support are loud and clear, but the willingness to start the groups or go to them doesn't seem to be.

Carol Jay Levy has lived with trigeminal neuralgia, a chronic facial pain disorder, for over 30 years. She is the author of “A Pained Life, A Chronic Pain Journey.”  Carol is the moderator of the Facebook support group “Women in Pain Awareness.” Her blog “The Pained Life” can be found here.

A Toxic Violation

By Mia Maysack, PNN Columnist

On Saturday, I woke up to an experience far too common.

A column I wrote on my pursuit of holistic health had been shared in an online community for people with pain and chronic illness. The column was referred to as "shameful” and full of "bull crap." I was accused of being "insane,” a "bootstrap ableist" and “spreading hysteria.” You get the idea.

This type of toxic negativity online is mostly faceless and comes from hiding behind the comfort of a device screen. It doesn't belong in a supposedly safe space, nor does it help or improve anything. Even on my worst, most painful, dark and isolating days, I never have nor will I use that as an excuse to tear others down. 

Some people in the pain community claim to desire understanding, acceptance, empathy and compassion -- all the while offering anything but.

So many also demand change without the realization they’re contributing to the very problems they claim to want to resolve. It would seem the only fingers being lifted are to spread hate -- as opposed to directing that same passion toward legislative reform, writing a bill, calling Congress or signing a petition, for example.   

If we're not physically healthy enough to contribute fully to life, then bullying should be the last thing we’ve got the energy and time for.   

This takes me back to the very first (and last) "support group” I attempted to be a part of prior to starting my own. It’s prestigious, well known and in cahoots with many other affiliations.

Because I'm not spiteful and feel there's already enough hurt to go around, I won’t name or put them down.

In that group are thousands of people from around the world who could attest to the way I felt all my life. I hoped that that I’d finally came across a place where I belonged.

But when confiding to these people about a treatment plan gone awry (I still live with the repercussions to this day), they turned on me -- claimed I was just attempting to scare them, making things up, and that I should've kept the information to myself. Even my medical background was called into question, despite the grief I was still enduring over loss of career.

To make matters worse, prior to me even seeing any of this, the group’s administrators muted further commentary so I wasn't even able to defend myself or the way my words had been twisted. But they still left it there as a spectacle for all to see. It struck me to the core for multiple reasons, so I ultimately chose to step away and haven't looked back. 

Those of us who have come to a point of using our last bit of energy to reach out cannot afford being pushed off the ledge we are already on. The fact that isn't being contemplated or taken into any consideration is a sickness in itself. This toxic negativity is real and may be why my approach is internalized by others at times, even though that's not the whole picture of who I am.

How I live with multiple intractable, lifelong and incurable diseases is by continuing to study and having an intimate relationship with science via my own body chemistry.   

Whether it's a convenient truth or not, there's merit to the parasympathetic system. There’s power in working through trauma, taking ownership over our thoughts, approaching ourselves as a whole person and not allowing the conditions themselves to dictate our identity.

I've often been asked how I am able to live my life under the scrutiny of what I go through.  I don’t claim that I’m fixed, cured or have anything close to all of the answers. But I do know that instead of complaining, wallowing, and holding onto anger and resentment -- I choose to not allow this to define me.  My heart is poured into service, volunteerism and fighting for human rights -- for everybody, even those who throw dirt on my name. 

We are not wrong for how we feel. It's reactionary to lash out or play the blame game by turning on each other. It only intensifies the battle we're already in. Just because someone else's journey looks different and doesn't align with yours does not excuse, justify or make it acceptable to judge, ridicule or belittle them.

As long as those toxic violations remain a part of our approach to ourselves and one another, we shall remain sick.  

Mia Maysack lives with chronic migraine, cluster headaches and fibromyalgia. Mia is the founder of Keepin’ Our Heads Up, a Facebook advocacy and support group, and Peace & Love, a wellness and life coaching practice for the chronically ill.

From Hopeless to Helping Others

By Jory Pradjinski, Guest Columnist

My chronic pain journey began when I injured my back in 1987, while I was managing an auto repair shop.

I was trying to remove a large pallet from a delivery truck and the pallet was placed sideways in the truck. Another guy and I had to use a large crowbar to leverage the pallet 90 degrees so it could be removed. We had done this many times before. However, when I was ready to turn the pallet I felt something pop in my low back and I ended up in the emergency room. I had herniated my L5-S1 disc.

The doctors tried different types of treatments, but nothing worked. So in 1989, I had to go through back surgery with a fusion. That first fusion didn’t work and I ended up having a second and third, which also failed. Finally, the fourth and fifth fusions were successful.

There were a grand total of five fusions, plus two follow-up procedures, over the course of 7 years before my L5-S1 level was fused. But I continued to have pain that just kept getting worse.

I lost support early on after my second failed fusion, which left me feeling isolated. I knew my family and friends couldn’t understand. With no support system, I retreated into myself and experienced depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder, dissociative amnesia and a year of suicidal thoughts. I had a hard time keeping a job due to failing concentration levels and extreme pain. I went on disability.

JORY PRADJINSKI

The Transition to Alternative Treatments

In 2006, while I was still having treatments on my back, I was rear ended at a stop light by an inattentive driver of a pickup truck going 50 mph. The accident affected my C5-C6 and C6-C7 discs, gave me a severe concussion, traumatic brain injury and a bruised skull (which I will have the rest of my life). I tried traditional medicine, but it failed to relieve the pain in my arms and hands. My doctor referred me to chiropractic and massage care, which relieved the pain somewhat.

In 2013, I fell face first at home after tripping on a cord. This dislodged my L4 vertebra. I went to an orthopedic surgeon who said they don’t do surgeries for that anymore. That was a welcoming statement to hear. After several months of rest and pain management, the vertebra went back into place. The surgeon then referred me to a chiropractor and several months later I changed to my current chiropractor, which was the best thing I ever did.

She helped me believe in what might be possible. If it hadn’t been for that fall, I don’t believe I would be where I am today because she gave me the hope and treatment that I needed. There truly was a silver lining in this situation.

I worked on reducing my weight, realizing the extra weight was adding to my pain levels, and ended up losing 57 pound. I did not use any special diet or exercise, just changed what I ate. Then, I had to get off the pain medications. I was up to 60mg OxyContin twice a day, plus oxycodone for breakthrough pain. I went through 5 months of withdrawal from the OxyContin.

The changes in my body from the chiropractic adjustments helped me get off the pain medications. The weight loss and getting the medications of out my system also had big impacts on my body. Along the way, I started getting massage therapy, dry needling, supplements, a natural muscle relaxer, an anti-inflammatory, and an herb for pain relief. It was a tough journey during this transition..

Founding ‘Hope Instilled’

I kept having the repeated thought in my head that this is not the way my life should be. I started to think, “I’m here for a reason. I must have experienced all these things for a reason.”

That's when I came up with the idea of Hope Instilled, a non-profit that provides resources and support to people living with chronic pain and illness. Having survived with no support network during my own journey, I wanted to help others with peer-to-peer support groups, which are often a missing link in pain management programs.

We are now building support forums on our website which allow anonymity for members. This also allows us to create different forum topics. We are looking to connect with local pain treatment centers and clinics. Our Facebook group has grown to include members from around the world. All the growth we've experienced came through word of mouth.

I have a positive and optimistic attitude towards life now. There are experiences I’ve endured which have made me enjoy rainy days as much as sunny days. Because I’m alive each day is a blessing.

When we find out we’re not alone there is some healing which begins deep inside. Throughout my journey, no one reached out to me and pulled me up. No one encouraged me to keep going. I was totally alone and survived alone. I look to do my best to help others not face a similar path.

Jory Pradjinski is a chronic pain survivor and the founder of Hope Instilled. Jory is a strong advocate for speaking up and speaking out about chronic pain, chronic illness and mental health conditions.

Pain News Network invites other readers to share their stories with us.  Send them to:  editor@PainNewsNetwork.org. 

The information in this column should not be considered as professional medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. It is for informational purposes only and represents the author’s opinions alone. It does not inherently express or reflect the views, opinions and/or positions of Pain News Network.

Stay Engaged Socially If You Are Chronically Ill

By Barby Ingle, Columnist  

It is so important to stay active with your social life when you are living with chronic pain or a disabling chronic condition. It is so easy to isolate ourselves, which can lead to an increase in anxiety, depression and frustration.

Work at not isolating yourself from friends and family. Here are a few ideas that my husband/caregiver and I use:

For Patients:

• If prayer is helpful, keep doing it
• Keep exercising (or start)
• Look for support wherever you can find it
• Maintain a healthy lifestyle
• Socialize as much as possible
• Take in good nutrition
• Remember your caregivers are going through similar challenges

For Caregivers:

• If a patient is grouchy or depressed, don’t see it as an attack on you but as a reflection of their pain
• Learn as much as you can about the patient’s condition and the available medical options
• Remember the patient is not doing this on purpose and is going through many challenges
• Try not to take a patient’s anti-social behavior personally
• Try to avoid being either too babying or too harsh toward a patient
• A patient may feel less guilty if the burden does not always fall only on you. Try to find others to help with their care.

For Both of You:

• Discuss options with a loved one when they are ready to talk about them.
• Join or form a support group. This may be other family members or friends. This will allow you to take a break.

I believe that human connection is so important. When we connect with others and when we have support, we cope better, our pain levels don’t flair as often, and many other health benefits kick in.

We are meant to interact and be a part of society.

I have worked with many chronic pain patients over the years who isolated themselves. Either they or their caregiver came to me asking, “How do I get past this depression?” or “How do I get past all I have lost?”

One woman, who became a good friend over the last 10 years, was injured in her early years of life. She didn’t realize she was isolating herself and that she had stopped maturing psychologically or connecting with others.

Slowly and over time, she changed her patterns of social interaction, concentrated on her feelings, and practiced better daily living (posture, nutrition, stopped smoking). I encouraged her and her caregivers to be more social and pay more attention their feelings. She is now a social butterfly, both online and offline! 

I am also aware that social media or negative online support groups can be very draining when you don’t put up limitations and pay attention to your energy levels.

Find a good balance in life whether you are the patient or their caregiver. Remember you too can have a more meaningful social life that can make a difference for you and everyone around you. 

Barby Ingle suffers from Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy (RSD) and endometriosis. Barby is a chronic pain educator, patient advocate, and president of the International Pain Foundation. She is also a motivational speaker and best-selling author on pain topics. More information about Barby can be found at her website. 

The information in this column should not be considered as professional medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. It is for informational purposes only and represents the author’s opinions alone. It does not inherently express or reflect the views, opinions and/or positions of Pain News Network. 

A Pained Life: When Support Hurts

By Carol Levy, Columnist

Last week there was a meeting of my local trigeminal neuralgia support group. I like the people and want to see them, especially because we meet only 6 times a year, including one lovely summer picnic at a member's home.

It takes me an hour by train to get to the meeting. Lately, I find myself using that as an excuse not to go.

The truth is I don't want to go because of an issue that seems to haunt most support groups: the people who have gotten better or cured, leave. So we never hear the stories of success.

When my pain was bad I needed to hear those stories. Now that my pain is better, I do not want to listen to the reminder of what once was.

I had a spontaneous remission of a large part of my pain, the part most typical of trigeminal neuralgia: touch induced and spontaneous pain (and in my case constant too). I still remain with eye movement and eye usage pain, which are very uncommon with trigeminal neuralgia.

I have become an outsider to the group in the sense that I "only" have the eye pain -- yet I remain an insider because it is still trigeminal neuralgia.

I think about what I would do if I no longer had any pain.  Would I continue to be a part of the group? Would I want to be somewhere, when the only point would be to be reminded of how bad my pain was?

I think of people who lose a lot of weight. You read two kinds of stories: “I threw away all my plus sized clothes so I will not be reminded or tempted to go back to my former size.”

Or the antithesis: “I keep all my large sized clothes as a reminder so I won't go back to those days when I was so unhappy and physically miserable.”

Of course pain is different. Once it is gone, it's gone.  And when it's gone I want it to be completely, totally done, gone, and finished. Attending the support group becomes only a reminder of how devastating and debilitating the pain was.

The eye pain keeps me disabled, but the ending of the other parts of the pain has made my life more manageable.

I no longer fear the slightest touch to my face, even a wisp of hair, much less a raindrop or something touching the affected area of my face. To listen to members of the support group describing the pain they get from the slightest of touch is to take me back to a very dark and torturous place, a place I do not want to go.

It's a conundrum.

Support is so very important, not only to be there for one another, but to be with those who truly understand, who have been in my shoes and I in theirs.

The sharing of hope, to say to the group, “A major part of my pain is gone. It can happen”.  The proof that hope is not just a fairy tale matters. A lot.

But, as much as I hate to admit it and I feel very guilty about it -- I am still too selfish and fearful to be the one to carry the message.

Carol Jay Levy has lived with trigeminal neuralgia, a chronic facial pain disorder, for over 30 years. She is the author of “A Pained Life, A Chronic Pain Journey.” 

Carol is the moderator of the Facebook support group “Women in Pain Awareness.” Her blog “The Pained Life” can be found here.

The information in this column should not be considered as professional medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. It is for informational purposes only and represent the author’s opinions alone. It does not inherently express or reflect the views, opinions and/or positions of Pain News Network.