A Window Into the Impossible: A Pain-Free Life

By Cynthia Toussaint, PNN Columnist

I recently experienced the miracle of living pain-free for a while, after 40 years of body-wide Complex Regional Pain Syndrome. I was astonished by what it felt like and what I learned about myself.   

In November, I had a serious cancer treatment complication, one that landed me in the hospital and forced me to suspend care. After stabilizing and returning home, I had to taper down from a course of high-dose prednisone, a corticosteroid, over eight weeks.     

The multitude of prednisone side effects were worse than I imagine hell to be, save one: my pain was gone. Okay, not gone-gone, but so damn near I forgot about it.

Yeah, you read that right. After decades of burning, radiating, life-upending, soul-crushing, never-ending, can’t-do-another-moment pain, it just wasn’t a thing anymore.     

Over the last decade or so, my life partner, John, has asked me on occasion, “What would you do if your pain just went away?”

That question pissed me off because pain has robbed me of my dreams. How dare it go away now, I would think, after destroying my life! Ebbing into my later years, I knew it was too late to reclaim what was gone. I decided it would hurt too damn much psychologically to lose my physical pain.  

I was stone-cold wrong. When the prednisone kicked in, it was nothing short of heavenly bliss to be without my constant agony. At first, it felt as though much of my lower body had been amputated, but in a good way. Poof, like magic, the tonnage of pain and heaviness were gone. Also, to my surprise, I had zero emotional fall-out.

I marveled in the miracle of standing, as this ability had been absent for many decades. I’ve spent countless hours, weeks and years staring at people in public, trying to figure out how they could stand and shift their weight without apparent torment or thought. After becoming a “shifter” myself while on prednisone, I had a clear, three-word answer: It doesn’t hurt.   

Not using my wheelchair was a trip because people stopped treating me like a child. Rather than literally gazing down with pity, they looked me straight on, eye level and all. They even asked me questions about myself, rather than disregarding the invalid while turning to John. That, in itself, was a game-changing reality, and I started to smell the sweet possibility of independence again.       

Every moment without pain was a miracle, blowing open my mind with new ideas and long packed away possibilities. For the first time, I seriously thought researchers would someday find a cure for CRPS. I mean, if they could switch much of my pain off virtually overnight, clearly science was on the edge of making this stick permanently.

If only.

Here’s the other side of the story I alluded to earlier. When my pain went away, it cruelly coincided with the most torturous time of my life. The price of high-dose prednisone was, for me, an existence worse than pain. I was in and out of psychosis, sleeping three to four hours a night with an irregular, pounding heartbeat, and a thousand other little shop of horrors. With that onslaught, my spirit broke. Add the perils of aggressive cancer and the fallout of a serious treatment complication, and the torture was just too much.

On New Year’s Eve, my 62nd birthday, I told God that if it was my time, I was ready to go. I didn’t think Cynthia was ever going to come back. “Please, please make my suffering stop,” I begged.

To my surprise, and most I know, I clawed my way back after completely tapering off the prednisone. My new miracle has me living in gratitude, despite my old pain rushing back with a vengeance, leaving me with a GOAT of a pain flare. I writhe through much of my days and nights, feeling the burning hatchet sear my joints. But, dammit, I’m me again, and, like all flares, this too shall pass.      

Thankfully, I’m strong enough to be back on chemo as the benefits of self-care are once again paying off in spades. Adding to the good news, my recent CT/PET scan came out negative. “No Evidence of Disease” to be precise! These days when I pray, I don’t ask God to take me, but rather to keep me on this glorious earth.             

I got a glimpse into the other side, the miracle of being pain-free. But the cost of losing me was too high. Heck, science tells me I’d no longer care about my pain if I got a lobotomy. No thanks.

I’m back to not wasting precious energy speculating about a possible cure. If it comes, fantastic, but I have no expectations, and accept and embrace the reality of what is right now.

Though my pain is often wretched and dark, I long ago embraced it as part of my authentic self. And to stay true to one’s self, there sometimes comes a great cost.

Cynthia Toussaint is the founder and spokesperson at For Grace, a non-profit dedicated to bettering the lives of women in pain. She has lived with Complex Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS) and 19 co-morbidities for four decades, and has been battling cancer since 2020. Cynthia is the author of “Battle for Grace: A Memoir of Pain, Redemption and Impossible Love.”

Finding a New Ketamine Provider

By Barby Ingle, PNN Columnist 

For me, treatment with ketamine was life giving and lifesaving. I started ketamine infusion therapy in 2009, flying back and forth to Pennsylvania for treatment at Drexel University Hospital. My doctor there, neurologist Robert Schwartzman (now deceased), did much of the initial research on ketamine as a treatment for Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy (RSD), also known as algoneurodystrphy or complex regional pain syndrome (CRPS).

I was on the ground floor with ketamine as a pain treatment, and helped bring it to Arizona with providers like Drs. Steven Siwek, Eric Cornidez, Natalie Strand at the Pain Centers of Arizona and Freedom Pain Hospital, to name a few.

One of my favorite places to go was Ketamine Wellness Centers (KWC), which operated a nationwide chain of ketamine clinics until it abruptly shut down last week. I knew many of KWC’s staff members at their Arizona and Florida offices.

I was patient zero for KWC. I remember sitting with Gerald Gaines (now deceased) and Kevin Nicholson, the current CEO, and sharing with them how ketamine changed my life. I asked them to look into ketamine and start a clinic. They did. Kevin built up the business and eventually opened 13 clinics in 10 states before recently merging KWC with another company, Delic Holdings.

The merger hasn’t worked out due to financial issues. The clinic closures significantly affect access to care for chronic pain, depression and mental health in the communities they served. KWC was one of the only places that treated both pain and depression, using ketamine in conjunction with other modalities.

As a patient, I have been through clinic closures before and providers stopping their ketamine treatment for various reasons. Upon reflection, I have been to more than 10 clinics and had close to 20 providers since starting in 2009. It is scary to think that thousands of patients like me have to start the process all over again, but having been in this situation before, I know it can work out.

My message to the former patients of Ketamine Wellness Centers is that there is hope. It may be harder depending on where they live, but other options exist. I plan on getting the same treatment that I have since 2009. I was asked how to go about finding a new ketamine provider by another patient. My response is this:

1. Know your ketamine protocol and how it works for you

2. Call ahead of your consultation and say, “This is what I had. This is what I want. Can you do it?”

3. Don't settle for less. There are many ketamine providers now. Find the one that is a fit for you.

Getting this treatment is very personal, and you need a feeling of safety, comfort and trust. It is not just about getting your IV hooked up and going from there. You should be exploring your options, just like you did the first time with KWC.  Now you have experience and know what ketamine therapy is like. 

When I got this treatment for the first time from Dr. Schwartzman, my entire life changed for the better. I went into the hospital in a wheelchair. Seven days later, I walked out. It's helped with dystonia, strength, balance, coordination and more. The most significant area of success for me was the burning fire pain. I strive never to have that pain again. Receiving ongoing treatments helps me live with my daily chronic pain issues. 

I received my latest infusions at the Ketamine Wellness Center in Tucson a few weeks ago. At the time, I had no idea that KWC was about to shutdown. I know it's a shock to all of us former patients, and I'm worried about the employees and where they will go. Their knowledge and experience will be welcomed at other clinics.

Part of the problem with KWC is that they expanded too quickly when they merged with Delic. Ketamine treatment is not a cash cow for providers, but they can make a good living and help thousands of patients who rely on ketamine to relieve their pain, be it mental or physical.

I hear that there will be lawsuits due to KWC’s abrupt closure and lack of notice, the inability of some patients to receive their medical records, employees who have not been paid correctly, and other challenges that have come to light. This will all be sorted out. It will take time, but we already know it is worth the time, effort and energy to ensure we can receive the life-giving treatments. 

I still need to receive my medical records from KWC, but I have all of my records from other providers and have changed my treatment protocol. I am already in talks with new providers. I don't have time to wait around.

Barby Ingle is a reality TV personality living with multiple rare and chronic diseases. She is a chronic pain educator, patient advocate, motivational speaker, and best-selling author on pain topics. Barby has received over 25 awards for her advocacy efforts. You can follow her at www.barbyingle.com   

How Doctors Can Make Complex Pain Conditions Worse

By Madora Pennington, PNN Columnist

“You are teaching your child to be in pain, just like you. This is caused by anxiety, and she is learning it from you,” the emergency room doctor told Sondra Benson (not her real name) about her 15-year-old daughter.

Benson and her daughter both have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS), a condition that causes ligaments, cartilage and other connective tissue to be fragile. Pain and fatigue are major complications of EDS, and many who have it suffer from migraines. Benson’s daughter was in the ER because she was having a hemiplegic migraine, a severe type of migraine which causes paralysis on one side of the body.

That night in the ER, the doctor’s orders were barbaric. He disregarded advice from the girl’s pediatric neurologist and refused to give her medication. Instead, he had her sit in a chair — not even in a hospital bed — and told her to “wait it out.”

Because Ehlers-Danlos is such a complex condition affecting many bodily systems, patients are often labeled as “difficult.” And when doctors mistreat them or even act punishingly towards them, it can make their health worse. For patients like the Bensons, these distressing, unproductive and hostile interactions tend to happen over and over again.

The cumulative effect on EDS patients of such negative experiences has been termed “clinician-associated traumatization” in a recently published study in the journal Qualitative Research in Health. In interviews with 26 EDS patients, 89% said that clinicians had disrespected them and treated them unprofessionally. Another 92% said clinicians had invalidated them.

Patients treated this way become reluctant to seek medical care. They have classic PTSD symptoms, such as triggers, flashbacks, irritability and hypervigilance. They’re also left with psychological wounds. They doubt themselves, become fearful of doctors, and lose trust in the healthcare system. They’re also less likely to follow orders and stick to treatment plans.

‘They Don’t Believe Me’

After being denied appropriate medical treatment in the ER, Benson’s daughter now resists going to the doctor. “What’s the point?” she says. “They don’t believe me and aren’t going to help me.”

Undoing the damage from events like these is not easy or simple. Despite having therapy for her medical trauma and being on antidepressants, the teenager still struggles with her self-esteem.

The study by researchers at Indiana University’s School of Medicine is groundbreaking for showing that trauma can come from difficult medical appointments and counterproductive treatment. Traditionally, medical trauma has been described in limited ways, such as the anguish that comes from a sudden brush with death, like an accident or cancer diagnosis.

Trauma for a medically complex patient begins early and accumulates over time. The patient struggles with mysterious health problems and is unable to get a conclusive diagnosis. This may go on for years, as the patient sees specialist after specialist with no clear answers. Doctors may treat such patients with suspicion. That makes the patient doubt themselves and weakens their desire to seek answers and treatment.

Even when they get a correct diagnosis, patients may not fare better. The repeated disrespectful, humiliating and hurtful encounters with doctors whittles away at their confidence and sense of security.

“We have found that negative encounters lead to a breakdown in the patient–provider relationship, even when experiences are primarily of inadvertent slights or… insults and invalidations,” wrote lead author Colin Halverson, PhD, an investigator at Indiana University’s Center for Bioethics. 

“Repeatedly being dismissed as ‘exaggerating’ and ‘inventing symptoms’ causes patients to lose faith in the healthcare system and in their ability to assess and advocate for their own best interests. This results in anxiety about returning to specific clinicians and avoidance of healthcare settings altogether. Ultimately, this means that patients suffering from clinician-associated traumatization experience worse – but preventable – health outcomes.” 

The EDS patients interviewed for this study thought that the clinicians who had mistreated them were clueless about the harm they caused. Many believe that insufficient education in medical school about treatments for their disease brought out this behavior. Their lack of knowledge made them behave badly and arrogantly.  

Benson has come to the same conclusions from her own experiences and those of her daughter.  

“I think the medical profession could use some empathy classes and training on chronic, long term, with no cure illnesses,” she told me. “We overvalue doctors and give them god like complexes, so when they don't know the answer, they feel threatened and act foolishly.” 

Madora Pennington is the author of the blog LessFlexible.com about her life with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. She graduated from UC Berkeley with minors in Journalism and Disability Studies. 

Algorithms Now Determine If You Get Medication

By Crystal Lindell, PNN Columnist

Did you know that secret algorithms are being used to determine whether your pharmacy is allowed to stock certain medications?

Algorithms are computer software programs designed to select, calculate and carry out certain actions – in this case the amount of opioids and other controlled substances that pharmacies can keep in stock to fill prescriptions with. And if an algorithm decides your pharmacy has used up its monthly allotment of a controlled drug, there’s almost no recourse for you as a patient.

The situation was recently brought into the spotlight by The New York Times article, “Opioid Settlement Hinders Patients’ Access to a Wide Array of Drugs.”

As The Times explains, the $21-billion opioid settlement brokered between the three largest U.S. drug distributors and 46 states includes a provision that forces the distributors to place strict limits on the drugs they supply to pharmacies. In addition to opioids, any medication labeled as a controlled substance is now subject to these restrictions, including Xanax, Adderall, muscle relaxants, and more.

“Before the settlement, pharmacists said, they could explain to a distributor the reason for a surge in demand and still receive medications past their limits. Now the caps appear to be more rigid: Drugs are cut off with no advance notice or rapid recourse. As a condition of the settlement, distributors cannot tell pharmacies what the thresholds are,” The Times reported.

So, like I said, secret algorithms are effectively deciding your medical treatment. And it’s not even based on you as an individual. It’s based on how many people in your region are taking the same medication.

Predictably, the situation is causing a lot of problems for a lot of people. The Times found that a number of groups have been affected, including:

1. “College students far from home trying to fill their Adderall prescription.”

2. “Patients in rural areas where it is customary to drive long distances for medical care.”

3. “Hospice providers that rely on local pharmacies for controlled substances.”

Let’s take a moment to truly absorb that last one. While the The Times used the term “hospice providers,” we all know what that actually means: hospice patients who are very sick or terminally ill.

So, it doesn’t even matter if you’re on your deathbed, you still might not get pain relief. And the decision for denial, to paraphrase how a pharmacist might explain it, is basically: “A bunch of your neighbors already got morphine, so you can’t have it.”

While the exact metrics used to deny shipments aren’t public, the drug distributors have addressed the issue on their websites, and explained how they’re tracking prescriptions.

“The algorithm will flag order lines of unusual size, frequency or pattern based on a pharmacy’s own order history or when compared to peers,” AmerisourceBergen explains. “Any order lines that are flagged by the algorithm will be automatically cancelled and reported.” 

Again, none of that is based on what any specific patient is experiencing.

All of this would be upsetting if it were only impacting opioid medication, but the fact that it’s been extended to other common prescriptions – that weren’t even part of opioid litigation -- is both enraging and scary.

Doctors do not give prescriptions for any controlled substances out easily, so if a patient is being prescribed any of the meds, then they need them.

Now, you may assume that at the very least, pharmacies are calling doctors once they hit these new thresholds so that the doctor can at least try to prescribe something else or send the prescription to another pharmacy.

You’d be wrong.

As the The Times reports:

“Psychiatrists in California were so alarmed by patients’ stories of unfilled prescriptions that they sent a survey to colleagues in December. They received reports of dozens of such problems, said Dr. Emily Wood, chairwoman of the government affairs committee of the California State Association of Psychiatrists.

Dr. Wood said that patients who take a stimulant for A.D.H.D. sometimes need anti-anxiety pills or a sedative at night to sleep — but that pharmacists now tell them they cannot have the combination.

“Pharmacists aren’t calling the doctors to work it out,” Dr. Wood said. “They’re just not filling the prescriptions.”

Pharmacists are being put in an impossible position, being forced to essentially serve as police agents without any say in what they’re enforcing. And it’s upsetting that the task of reaching a doctor to ask for a different prescription is now falling on patients with conditions like ADHD, a disorder that makes tasks like that especially difficult.

I couldn’t find much about how these algorithms were created, so it’s unclear if doctors were involved in creating them. But one thing we do know is that your personal doctor definitely wasn’t involved. And your personal needs were not a factor.

Your medical treatment is now being determined by drug distributors, state attorneys general, lawyers and computers — none of whom have ever met you or your doctor.

The thing that most people in the United States don’t seem to understand — but may be about to learn — is that to the DEA anyone who uses a controlled substance above a certain level must be abusing them. This is evidenced by the fact that this policy is even leading to restrictions for hospice patients and none of the parties involved are trying to fix that.

As the The Times reports, “Although the tighter restrictions have been in place for months, the government has offered little remedy for patients.”

It’s easy to believe the myth that restrictions on controlled substances are there to help keep us safe. That they are only meant to keep these medications from people who might misuse or abuse them.  But how is it safe to make a patient quit Adderall cold turkey, even when they have a valid prescription for it? How is it safe to tell rural patients that they need to drive hundreds of miles to another pharmacy? How is it safe to deny pain relief to a dying cancer patient? It’s not.

Everything about this situation is so inhumane. We’ve had incredible medical breakthroughs and finally have medications available for health conditions once considered untreatable. But it doesn’t matter. The masses still can’t have them. We must continue to suffer for whatever time we have left.

And for what? What is the reward for our suffering? Apparently, just more suffering.

Crystal Lindell is a freelance writer who lives in Illinois. After five years of unexplained rib pain, Crystal was finally diagnosed with hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos syndrome. She and her fiancé have 3 cats: Princess Dee, Basil, and Goose. She enjoys the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Taylor Swift Easter eggs, and playing the daily word game Semantle. 

Finding Hope in Possibilities

By Mia Maysack, PNN Columnist

My journey in advocacy began and revolved around healthcare reform. I’ve since stepped back from that pursuit, the main reason being that the medical-industrial complex isn’t the only system in need of dismantling. It didn’t make sense for me to focus solely on one aspect, but rather all of them, and the ways in which they are polluting the same corrupted river.

My efforts started out fixated on neurological disorders, because that’s what I’ve endured for most of my life. But I believe each diagnosis matters equally, and whether I’m able to personally relate to them has always been irrelevant to me. I still care about everybody’s dignity and I believe most patients appreciate my efforts.  

I’ve met some of my absolute favorite individuals through this work, but a large percentage remain stuck in their grief and mourning or wrapped up in their pain identity. I get that because I’ve been there.

Despite my patience and understanding, that’s often not what I receive in return.  I’m thankful for the inner work I’ve done, which provides strength for me to withstand those who so boldly mistreat me. I also understand that it is more about them and their inner climate than me. That doesn’t mean I am better than anyone, but that I operate from the bigger picture.

Despite having every reason a person could think of to give up, I have not. What I offer the pain community is a new way of thinking: hope in the possibility of brighter days ahead. 

I’ll never understand why some choose to remain miserable when they don’t have to. It doesn’t make sense to me how people can sit and complain about not being well enough to call a legislator or advocate for themselves, but devote so much energy and time into diminishing those of us who try to turn our misfortune into something that all are able to benefit from.

What hurts more than the attempted character assassination is the fact that we continue losing so many to suicide, not just in the pain community but the world around us. I reflect on how the cruelty I’ve endured could be the last thing someone encounters before they choose to just finally throw in the towel. It’s infuriating because it means we’re essentially playing a role in murder.

I am sorry if your life experiences have led you to feel as though the only thing you’re able to do is to attempt to hurt other people. I know that those frustrations are not to be taken personally, but stem from the doctors, trial and error treatments, and the broken society that has failed us. 

You should know that I’m strong enough to lovingly receive the hate, but not everybody else is. Please think twice next time you are compelled to try ripping someone else into shreds. Ask yourself, does it really make you feel any better?  

When I say “get well soon” -- as I did in my last column -- I wholeheartedly meant it.  I’m living proof that it’s possible, and no one gets to belittle or reduce that in any way. If and when you’re ready to come out of the darkness, I’ll still be here.

Mia Maysack lives with chronic migraine, cluster headache and fibromyalgia. She 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. 

How TMS Helped Me Feel Better Physically and Mentally

By Madora Pennington, PNN Columnist

Chronic pain is often accompanied by depression. Many clinicians used to think that pain was caused by psychological distress, so they offered patients antidepressants with the attitude that their suffering was “all in their head.”

But now it is better understood that chronic pain can cause depression. Both conditions have a similar pathology and change the brain in similar ways. That is why treatments that work on depression (like antidepressants) may reduce the brain’s sensitivity to pain.

“Regardless of the cause of the pain, anxiety and depression increase the sensation of pain. Pain increases depression and anxiety, creating a vicious cycle. Breaking that cycle can help decrease pain,” says integrative physician and pain doctor Dr. Linda Bluestein.

I have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS). Debilitating pain has been my companion since I was 14 years old. My body makes collagen that is not structurally sound. Because I am “loosely glued together,” I get injured easily because my joints are unstable and my body has a poor sense of where it actually is in relation to itself and the outside world. My thin and stretchy connective tissue sends pain signals to my brain, even when I am not injured.

It is probably not realistic for someone with Ehlers-Danlos to expect to have a life without pain, so I welcome medical treatments that might lessen my pain, even if they don’t eliminate it. My goal is to have pain that does not incapacitate me or ruin my life by taking all my attention. Thankfully, there are modalities that do this.

MADORA GETTING TREATMENT AT UCLA’S tms CLINIC

The last one I tried was transcranial magnetic stimulation (TMS), which stimulates the brain through a magnetic pulse which activates nerve cells and brain regions to improve mood.

TMS treatments are painless and entirely passive. The patient just sits there and lets the machine do the work. A magnetic stimulator rests against the head and pulses, which feels like tapping or gentle scratching.

TMS has been around for almost 40 years. The first TMS device was created in 1985 and the FDA approved it for major depression in 2008. Since then, its use has been expanded to include migraine, obsessive compulsive disorder, and smoking cessation.

While other medical procedures work on an injured body part, TMS targets the brain, where pain is processed. This helps the brain shift away from perceiving pain signals that are excessive and have become chronic.

“Many people are surprised to learn that stimulating the brain can help alleviate pain that is felt in an arm, leg or some other part of the body. We explain to patients that because pain is perceived in the brain, it is possible to reduce or sometimes even eliminate it by stimulating specific brain regions,” says Andrew Leucther, MD, a psychiatrist who heads UCLA’s TMS clinic, where I was treated. In addition to depression, the clinic also treats fibromyalgia, neuropathy, nerve injury, and many other causes of pain.

“Most patients are much less bothered by pain after treatment and report that they are functioning better in their work and personal lives,” Leucther told me.

Many insurers cover TMS for depression, but it is not generally covered for pain alone — although many doctors will add protocols for pain when treating depression. This is how I got my 36 sessions of TMS treatment, the usual number that insurance will cover and is thought to be effective.

Repetitive TMS stimulation to the primary motor cortex of the brain has robust support in published studies for the treatment of pain. It seems to work particularly well for migraines, peripheral neuropathic pain and fibromyalgia. Like all treatments, it may not work for everyone.

TMS practitioners recommend four or five sessions per week, gradually tapering off toward the end. My body is so sensitive, about three per week was all I could tolerate comfortably. The appointments lasted a brief 10 -15 minutes. A downside of the TMS machine is that it puts pressure against the head, which could be too much for Ehlers-Danlos patients who have uncontrolled head and neck instability.

TMS gave me relief in different ways than other methods have.  One of the first things I noticed was less negativity and rumination. It was like getting a nagging, negative person out of the room -- or rather, my head. I felt less heartbroken over the major losses of my life, such as having spent so much of it totally disabled.

I also noticed a big difference in my PTSD triggers. I found myself shrugging off situations that normally would put me in a very uncomfortable, perturbed state. Keep in mind, I was getting TMS applied to various points on my scalp for pain, depression and anxiety.

Since having TMS, I notice that my body is less sensitive to touch. From spa treatments to medical procedures, it does not hurt as much to be poked at or pressed on. The extra comfort TMS had given me, both mentally and physically, is a lot for someone with medical problems like mine that are so difficult to treat.

Madora Pennington is the author of the blog LessFlexible.com about her life with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. She graduated from UC Berkeley with minors in Journalism and Disability Studies. 

A Pained Life: Me and My Shadow

By Carol Levy, PNN Columnist

Pain shadows a lot of life's experiences. If I'm pregnant, at some point I'll think about childbirth – and the horrendous pain of labor. But to torture a musical metaphor, at the end of the shadow, the sun will come out tomorrow. At the end of labor, the pain stops, and the happiness of a newborn baby is the result.

If I'm going to have surgery, I may think about the pain that comes after surgery and during recuperation. But I can also be buoyed by the knowledge that at the end of my recovery, the pain of what brought me to a surgeon in the first place and the pain of getting over the operation will be gone.

When I have an appointment with a dentist, just thinking about the appointment is painful for me. The visit means triggering my trigeminal neuralgia facial pain as soon as they ask me to “open wide.”

There will be no sun, just shadows. The appointment will end, but the pain that was triggered will last for hours. I can’t run away from it.

Another dental appointment will have to be made, hopefully later rather than sooner, and I will be forced to invite the pain back again.

Is the pain awful when it is triggered or is it the fear of it being triggered that sets it off? Some doctors will say it is psychological and that fear is causing the pain, not the actual actions that trigger it.

Is this true? Sometimes I like to think it is. After all, if it is fear, then I can try and work on it in my mind, to release myself from its prison. If it is the pain, and when or how they will set it off, I cannot talk myself out of it.

There is no way to negate the reality of the pain or its triggers. The sun does not come out for us and the shadow of fear is not a metaphor. Pain is our reality. The fear of setting it off can be as dark as the pain itself.

That’s something that we and our doctors, colleagues, family and friends need to understand and accept as the truth of our life experience. And the reason we are often unable to participate in life.

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.

Are You Suffering from Toxic Stress?

By Ann Marie Gaudon, PNN Columnist

There is no such thing as life without stress. It’s both a physiological and psychological response to a real threat or a perceived one. Stress tends to resolve itself naturally and in a timely way as the situation resolves, but “toxic stress” is different.

Frequent chronic stress, in the absence of adequate support, has harmful and potentially lasting effects on a person’s physical and mental health. It can affect anyone at any age, and no one is immune.

You are at risk for toxic stress when the stress is persistent and severe. You may have multiple stress factors and the body will react to them. One reaction will be that the body’s fight-or-flight, faint-or-freeze response is activated too often or for too long. This results in the release of stress hormones, one of which is cortisol. Long-term heightened levels of cortisol can become dysfunctional, inducing widespread inflammation and pain.

There is a very real biological link between stress, anxiety and pain. Toxic stress makes you more at risk for many types of chronic illness and pain, a dampened immune system, infections, mental health issues, poor emotional regulation skills, and even substance abuse. You can become sick and stay sick.

Toxic stress will also make you more vulnerable to chronic anxiety, which can include panic attacks. You may become hypersensitive to threat and to pain severity. Your behaviour will also likely change, which can mean trouble for relationships. In short, toxic stress will invade every thread of the fabric of your life.

Types of Stress

Center on the developing child, harvard university

Stress Buffers

Toxic stress can’t always be avoided – the loss of a beloved one, a nasty divorce, conflict in the home, chronic depression, feelings of betrayal and other life changes are sometimes inevitable.

However, a relationship with an adult who is loving, responsive and stable can help to buffer against the effects of stress and stop it from turning toxic. Other buffers include high levels of social support, consistent nurturing, and confidence in your problem-solving skills are just a few in an umbrella of many.

There are strategies you can do on your own to help buffer yourself against the consequences of toxic stress. Crucially, it is important to focus on what you can control, not what you have no control over. Toxic stress may include factors that are actually beyond your control, leaving you more distressed and overwhelmed, so it’s very important to become aware of the differences.

Write a list of what you can and cannot control. Take the reins on what you are able to, even if it’s as routine as what you’ll eat for dinner each day. Spend your time and energy on things that can improve your situation and can get a handle on. Remember, when we rail against that which we cannot control, that is when our suffering soars.

Healthy Living

Focus on a healthy lifestyle. Toxic stress can easily slide into unhealthy habits such as smoking, too much alcohol, overeating, overworking and the like. You may get temporary relief from them, but in the long-term these poor coping mechanisms will serve to worsen your stress. Eat well, exercise, get outside into nature, and try as best you can to get good sleep while practicing sleep hygiene.

Some people have a tendency to isolate themselves when stressed, yet one of the most protective buffers against toxic stress is support from people who care about you. Never underestimate the power of touch, including deliberate and welcome hugs. Reach out, engage with others, and make plans with others who are close to you. You want to be with adults who are soothing, safe and secure for you.

Find a relaxation technique that helps you lower your stress level. I’m a little different than some, because vigorous exercise is my happy place. Heart-pumping, blood-flowing, rushes of endorphins take my physical pain down and make me feel relaxed.

Alternatively, you might benefit from stillness with mindfulness practice, journalling, yoga or Tai Chi, body scans or progressive muscle relaxation techniques. Find your happy place and go there as often as you are able.

A very wise colleague of mine told me that we need three things to be happy: someone to love, a purpose, and something to look forward to. Go ahead and set goals, and plan for the future.

Toxic stress can have the sufferer believing that things will never improve, which leads to hopelessness and despair. Making plans for the future will give you some direction and purpose, as well as something to look forward to. When a good experience happens, optimism can drop by for a visit to remind you that life won’t always be so challenging.

As always, if you’re really struggling, reach out to a trained professional. We all need help at times in our lives, and one of those times might be when you’re dealing with toxic stress.  Your professional therapist will support you and help you with tools and strategies so that you can in turn support yourself.

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. 

Staying Active Is Vital for People with Pain

By Joanne Dickson, Edith Cowan University

Chronic pain affects around one in five people and is considered “chronic” when it persists beyond the expected healing time, typically three months or longer.

Along with physical problems, chronic pain can impact a person’s daily activities, employment, lifestyle and mental health.

Doing things you love and having goals are fundamental for wellbeing because they give meaning and purpose. But pain can make doing the activities you enjoy psychologically, physically and/or emotionally very challenging.

Our new research shows the way a person with chronic pain responds to not being able to participate in the activities or goals they value can impact their mental wellbeing – even more so than their pain levels.

We surveyed more than 300 people living chronic pain (that wasn’t related to cancer) about their mental wellbeing, “pain intensity” and how much pain interfered with the everyday pursuits and activities that mattered to them. We differentiated chronic pain from cancer pain due to the differing prognoses and treatments available, and the unique psychological and social factors associated with cancer pain, such as concern about death.

We found pain that disrupted daily life activities, rather than the intensity of the pain, posed the biggest threat to a person’s mental wellbeing.

When pain interferes with a person’s engagement in meaningful daily activities, it causes distress and decreases wellbeing.

The research suggests it’s possible for people to find ways to maintain their mental wellbeing, even when their pain intensity is high, so long as they’re able to maintain aspects of life that are important to them, such as relationships and work.

Find Other Ways to Do Things

We found personal motivational traits – specifically, goal flexibility (adjusting goals in response to changing circumstances and setbacks) and tenacity (persistently striving to achieve a desired goal under difficult circumstances) – were associated with increases in mental wellbeing for people living with chronic pain.

Although flexibility and persistence were both associated with increased mental wellbeing, the capacity to flexibly adjust to setbacks or obstacles had the most significant positive effect in maintaining one’s mental wellbeing.

Flexibility appears to act as a protective factor against the impacts of pain interference on mental wellbeing, to a greater extent than personal tenacity or persistence.

There is often more than one way to modify or adapt an activity when difficulties arise. A walk on the beach with friends, for instance, may be adjusted to meeting at the beach for coffee to fulfil the same goal or value: social connectedness.

Focus on What You Can Do, Not What You Can’t

Psychological processes that can help people to live well in the face of long-term pain have long been overlooked. Research has traditionally focused on unhelpful thought processes that perpetuate or exacerbate mental distress. For example, pain catastrophising and repeated negative self-criticism.

Pain management and mental health are multi-faceted. Previous research has shown pain management should take into account physical factors (age, sleep, injury, disease) and social factors (employment, social support, economic factors).

Our findings add to this body of knowledge. For those living with pain, reappraising and adjusting meaningful life activities and goals, when needed, in response to setbacks or life challenges can help maintain mental wellbeing.

These findings can inform the development of psychological supports for people with chronic pain. In turn, these supports could identify internal strengths, resources, positive coping strategies, self-efficacy, hope and wellbeing – and promote psychological strengths rather than deficits.

Joanne Dickson, PhD, is a Professor of Psychology & Mental Health at Edith Cowan University in Australia. Joanne’s main research interests are in the areas of goal-motivation, prospective cognition and emotion-regulation processes in mental health and well-being. She collaborates with national and international researchers in Australia, the UK and USA.  

This article originally appeared in The Conversation and is republished with permission.

A Get Well Message to the Pain Community

By Mia Maysack, PNN Columnist

One of the things that has distanced me from hands-on participation in the pain community is the persistent negativity. I’m not the only advocate that has picked up on this, nor alone in feeling the need to step away as a result.

Don’t get me wrong. As a former healthcare provider, I understand and am sensitive to the fact that people aren’t chipper on their hardest days or when they’re experiencing a tremendous amount of discomfort. And being a patient myself, there have been and will continue to be moments where I drop the ball in regards to being “positive.” My vision is literally and figuratively blurred on those days -- to the point where it’s not easy to see any bright side or silver lining.

But each attempt I make to provide meaningful commentary on what has assisted, changed or even saved my life is met with objections. One of the most infamous lines goes something like: “Some of us have incurable conditions!”

It’s as if my post bacterial-meningitis intractable mega-migraines, irreparable cellular nerve damage, evolving arthritis, immobilizing fibromyalgia, and the fact I’ve lived this way for two decades and counting doesn’t have any merit or meaning.

It’s quite frustrating to devote so much of your experience, skills and compassion to people who condemn you for attempting to transform your suffering – while they contribute to that very suffering. The whole “misery loves company” thing is a bit played out with me. I believe a much more productive use of energy is to get to the root of our misery, as opposed to clinging to it and passing it on.

Any time I offer up alternative pain modalities that have proven helpful for me, along with millions of others for thousands of years, while always treading lightly on the eggshells of disclaimers about everything not being for everyone, nothing can completely fix our problems, it’s a process of trial and error, etc. –  I’m torn down by the very same people.

How is this supposed to elevate anyone or make anything better?

I’ve been mocked, ridiculed, silenced and even threatened when mentioning things such as mindfulness, meditation and neuroplasticity. But companies have invested in and now offer all of those therapies.

This is in part what led me to step away from patient support groups, because most don’t desire actual support, but seek more space to complain. I wholeheartedly understand and believe it is of utmost importance for our grievances to somehow exist outside of ourselves, but I’ve found that support can only get us so far.  It then becomes more about self-help, which is something that most people have a difficult time realizing or pursuing, especially when illness or pain are major obstacles blocking the way.

Sometimes, those of us who have risen from the depths of our own versions of hell are judged and labeled by remarks that we couldn’t possibly be sick. That somehow, we’re more privileged than the next patient or had opportunities that others don’t have and cannot get.

In actuality,  we are revolutionaries who saw that treatments were not working and made a conscious decision to devote our lives to assisting others through their hardships. Not because anything is gained or money made, but because it is the right thing to do. We were once consumed by the fire as well, but now venture out with buckets of water for the rest of you.

It is mostly thankless, often torn down, and difficult to take on the weight of what can feel like hatred, all the while attempting to balance and manage the ailments that already threaten us. Irony is found in the fact that so much of the condemning originates from people who do the absolute least for this community. 

The time has come to understand this conduct as a sickness in itself, and that it causes a negative ripple effect that limits us all from the ability to move forward.

I’m thrilled to see articles about things such as how healing is just as important as pain relief, or how childhood experiences that seem to have little to do with our current conditions can still directly impact how our bodies and minds feel.  And it’s always encouraging to come across a list of low-to-no side effect modalities to at least consider, if not try.

This doesn’t mean belittling anybody's experience. Release the illusion of stories you’ve always told to yourself or were told to you. Make room for a new chapter and fight for your lives, not against those who want you to thrive. And get well soon.

Mia Maysack lives with chronic migraine, cluster headache and fibromyalgia. She 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. 

How to Live Longer and Healthier with Chronic Illness

By Barby Ingle, PNN Columnist

Have you ever wondered what living with chronic illness or a rare disease does to your lifespan? I have.

My primary care doctor recently conducted a seminar about living longer and healthier. He gave the attendees a great resource: a “health span” guide that outlines five ways to enhance your day-to-day life and live longer. The guide got me thinking. As a person with rare diseases and chronic pain, can they help me achieve my goal of living to 100 years old? 

Step 1 of the guide is to eat a Mediterranean-style diet. Studies show that people who eat a diet rich in fruits, vegetables, fish, whole grains, nuts and legumes live longer and have fewer instances of type 2 diabetes, obesity, heart disease and cancer.

I believe in individualized care for my health. As I have talked about in the past, I did microbiome testing to assess my gut health, using an at-home test made by a company called Viome. The results I received revealed that many of the fruits, veggies and nuts that I loved were not suitable for me because of my genetics. My DNA would rather have me eat a rack of lamb than a tomato!

I think getting that kind of detailed, personalized health information is better than following a one-size-fits-all diet.

Step 2 of the health span guide is to exercise often. It states that people who exercise between 2.6 and 4.5 hours per week have a 40% lower risk of dying. 

I have found that exercise means different things to different people. When I was younger, I was an athlete. Today, I cannot imagine doing a simple jumping jack. Nevertheless, moving as best we can each day, without going into a pain flare, sounds reasonable. That is what I strive to achieve.

I try to do what I can physically and not get too down on myself for the fatigue, pain and times when my body is dystonic. I hope that will be enough “exercise” to reduce the risk of other chronic illnesses, such as diabetes or dementia. I know people who have diabetes who were able to exercise, change their eating habits, and live longer. But my father, ten years after being diagnosed, still passed away early. 

Step 3 of the guide is to manage your stress and mental health. Those of us with rare and chronic conditions often have increased anxiety. Who wouldn’t be depressed learning how to live with a new normal? Chronic stress reduces life span and ages us faster from the chemicals and bodily changes that occur.

Step 4 of the guide is to make good sleep a habit, which is not easy when you have chronic pain. But a night with 7 or 8 hours of restful sleep can help reduce pain levels and lead to a better, more productive tomorrow.

When our sleep is disturbed long-term, it can affect our mood, organ function and contribute to an early death. I remember back in 2009, before I began infusion therapy, I tried many recommendations for better sleep, such as a warm drink before bedtime, having a set time to go to bed and wake up, and cutting out caffeine. After the infusions, when my pain was better managed, I realized just how bad my sleeping was and how much I needed 8 hours of sleep. Here are some tips for better sleep from the CDC.  

Step 5 of the guide is to build strong social circles. Having at least six different social connections each month has been associated with better health. I have found that people who are not chronically ill have difficulty understanding why we don't get better. They make comments like, "Are you still sick?" and "You’re still not feeling better yet?”

It is sad that it is harder for us to make and keep friends who are healthy and happy. A network of friends is essential for many reasons. This New York Times article on “How to Be a Better Friend” has some tips on how to improve our connections with others. 

I want to live longer and healthier, and to work towards it with good connections, preventative care and palliative care. We live in a great time when medical care and genetic testing are advancing, helping us live healthier. Being in the best shape possible to live past our potential expiration dates will help us enjoy our limited time here on earth. It all goes back to being the best you, so that you can fulfill your earthly purpose while participating in society. 

Living longer comes from individualized care and making the most of each aspect of your life. Changing how you live, respond, and act today can make your life longer and more meaningful.

Barby Ingle is a reality TV personality living with multiple rare and chronic diseases. She is a chronic pain educator, patient advocate, motivational speaker, and best-selling author on pain topics. Barby has received over 25 awards for her advocacy efforts. You can follow her at www.barbyingle.com 

My Story: Make Your Doctors Accountable

By Crystal Moody, Guest Columnist

From a full-time medical education coordinator to full-time chronic pain patient, I am now trying to maneuver my way through the world from the other side of the operating table. And it is a completely different ballgame. Gaslighting, patient-blaming and condescension are daily players in this game.

I live with chronic back and neck problems, some caused by medical errors, and have undergone multiple spinal surgeries and procedures. I was legally labeled as “physically disabled” in 2018 by Social Security, but it took three years in California and I had to hire an attorney to make that happen. Every player in this game gets paid, except the patient.

It was the beginning of 2016 when I realized I was never going to be able to work in medicine in my former capacity again. However, even if my body was broken, my mind was not. I re-enrolled in college, wanting to keep my mind fresh in between surgeries.

In 2018, I completed my BA in Organizational Leadership at Azusa Pacific University (online and from bed). I then completed my Masters in Public Health from Los Angeles Pacific University in 2021. I am now pursuing a doctorate in Social Work.

I hope that my work and life experiences will allow me to help others, in the same ways that I have needed help. I want to help people with chronic, debilitating and life-threatening illnesses.

CRYSTAL MOODY

In the beginning of my illnesses, I did not understand why I could not just let things go. As time passed, I realized it was because I was witnessing doctors, specialists and clinicians who had no clue what they were doing. Even worse, I was beginning to realize that every doctor I consulted with seemed to count on the fact that I would not have any medical knowledge. They tried to placate or downplay my concerns, and send me on my way.

Initially, I thought it was because of my own ignorance as a patient. But in appointment after appointment, the truth became blatantly clear. If I had had no educational, personal, and/or professional experiences in medicine, they could have fooled me in every visit, every time.

My goal now is to train our doctors and specialists to be more patient, kind, empathic and ethical, by teaching patients how to be investigators of their own health information. Patients need to learn how to advocate for their own health during an era of “sloppy medicine.”

One such lesson is to teach patients where and how to hold their doctors and clinicians accountable. Never check hospital or medical practice reviews of your doctor. Those reviews are biased. As an ex-hospital employee, I can tell you who gets those reviews. Patients whose outcomes are successful and more likely to give positive reviews are noted by hospital employees. They send those patients the evaluation forms.

In the hospital where I worked, many evaluation forms were completed by other hospital employees. Some employees were even patients of the doctors they work with. How is that not a conflict of interest?

Always check for independent reviews through online sites such as HealthGrades. They are much better resources for patients with complex medical histories. You need to know who you are going to be working with, and it is immensely helpful to see other patients’ unbiased reviews of doctors. No one is a better professional in being and knowing you than YOU.

It should no longer be a one-way-street, with doctors doing all the talking during appointments. If patients know the right questions to ask, they will be better prepared to challenge the doctor for answers and direction. Patients deserve to get the most out of every visit. Additionally, I encourage you to observe if the doctor has a partner or assistant join them in your visits.

You should never go to an appointment alone, if you do not want to. If someone can’t physically be there, you can also make a FaceTime call to have a second set of “eyes and ears” at your appointments. The clinicians document your visits and sometimes bring reinforcements. You should, as well. Your input is valuable, and you should be documenting as much or more than your doctor.

The sad fact is that you are worth more to a doctor when you are sick than when you are well. They send you back and forth between their colleagues and specialists. It is time to cancel the hamster wheel of medicine and rebuild it through decency and transparency, with truly informed consent by both patients and doctors.

A poor doctor should not have the same status and pay as a good doctor, but they often are. What keeps a doctor honest if they earn the same despite their poor patient outcomes? Ultimately, for doctors to perform better, patients must be willing to hold them accountable when necessary.

Disabled patients should know there is no guilt or shame in disability, and that disability does not equal stupidity. There is opportunity for positivity in every negative situation.

Crystal Moody lives in California.

Do you have a “My Story” to share? Pain News Network invites other readers to share their experiences about living with pain and treating it.

Send your stories to editor@painnewsnetwork.org.

My Story: 30 Years of Pain

By Rochelle Odell

Sad to say, but I am entering my 30th year battling the monster called Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy (RSD), also known as Complex Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS). After three decades, I just call it by both names: RSD/CRPS

It was bad enough when the disease was triggered when I was 46. I had made a career change from aerospace to nursing, and moved out of California to take a new job not too far above minimum wage as a Critical Care Tech. After being a volunteer EMT, it was my dream to become an RN or trauma nurse.  So, I trekked to Georgia to start reaching for my dream.

My left heel was most unhappy with all the walking. I had a lifetime award for medical due to a work comp knee injury, which caused an abnormal gait and the heel pain.

After six months, plus physical therapy, I had a knee arthroscopy. The surgeon was also supposed to remove a painful heel spur, but didn’t. Instead, he accidentally severed a nerve in my left heel, immediately triggering what was then called RSD.

In less than five years, the monster spread to all four of my extremities. I had every therapy, blocks, multiple implants and other procedures, but all ultimately failed.

Back to California I trekked with unexplained, unimaginable pain. I had no job, no insurance except for work comp, and was alone -- questioning my sanity about the career change.

ROCHELLE ODELL

I was eventually placed on a medication only regimen, and for over 16 years was on high dose opioids, along with high dose Diazepam, high dose Lidocaine, and three other meds. Funny thing was, I did very well with them.

Was my pain gone? With RDS/CRPS? No, but it was controlled to the point where I could function. I drove, took good care of my small home, and remained active despite the severity of my disease.

Fast forward to 2016. Those of us suffering from unrelenting intractable pain remember all too well what began that year. Thank you, CDC. All my meds stopped suddenly, but I had no idea why until 2017. A new life of hell began. I didn’t leave the house and was mostly bedbound, only getting up to let my very worried little dog outside, or for a trip to the bathroom or kitchen. Showers? What was that? Just going to the bathroom completely drained me. Thank heaven for adult wash cloths.

I discovered online shopping, thankfully, so we survived. I had no family where I now lived and felt frightened and frustrated. It was like my world had ended. I no longer trusted any doctor or nurse, because most were condescending and uncaring, which really saddened me. I gave up an excellent career in aerospace to go into a profession to care for others, nursing. What happened to those people?

In 2018, I returned to pain management and was placed initially on low dose Norco.  By then my pain was out of control and I knew this would be a new era when it came to pain management. I also knew I was very lucky to have found a provider who would prescribe any opioid. My dose was slowly titrated up, although it was still only a third of what it used to be. I also became a palliative care patient.

I have learned to make my medications work for me, using less on tolerable days and more on bad days, ever cautious about running out early.  I learned, or rather adapted, to finding new ways to do my yard and housework. The last five years I decorated for Christmas like I never used to and began inviting friends over for holiday meals. I became active in my homeowner’s association and was elected vice president. It’s a large senior community with over 1,000 homes.

Have I paid the price for my new endeavors? You bet, big time, for several days at a time. But I did not give in to the pain.

I had a wonderful holiday thanks to sweet friends, and had two pain friends over on New Year’s Day for black eyed peas. One brought her husband. The other recently lost her husband, so she brought her son.

What’s the point of my 30-year story? To share that life does not have to end due to unrelenting pain. Yes, we have to fight far too many battles and no one should be suffering like we do. I decided not to let my nightmare consume me and refused to let it destroy what life I have left.

I am now 76. At this moment my left foot and leg are throbbing, and my whole spine feels electrified. Pain management ordered a full spine MRI to rule out arachnoiditis and the myriad of other problems already diagnosed. My left hand and arm feel like they’re on fire, but I know that when I finish this column, it’ll be time for my meds and some relief.

I want all my pain friends to stand up to your pain even when you feel you are at your wits end. Resurrect the fighter in you. Call a friend or have one over for tea or hot chocolate with this cold winter. You can do it! Tell your pain where to go, please, for you!

Rochelle Odell lives in California.

Do you have a “My Story” to share? Pain News Network invites other readers to share their experiences about living with pain and treating it.

Send your stories to editor@painnewsnetwork.org.

Learning How to Cope With Childhood Trauma

By Cynthia Toussaint, PNN Columnist

My world became unreal and terrifying when I was 18. Literally, everything looked, sounded and felt distorted. While I’ve long known this experience is called “derealization,” I only recently discovered it’s a form of dissociative coping that sprung from childhood trauma – trauma that also seeded a lifetime of chronic pain, including my Complex Regional Pain Syndrome.

During my trauma-release work last year, I learned that dissociation protects us from experiencing what is too overwhelming: perceived annihilation, if you will. My childhood years were so traumatizing, I now see that my mind made everything unreal to escape the horror of my world, which included domestic violence, mental illness, addiction and suicide.

There are five different forms of dissociation (depersonalization, derealization, amnesia, identity confusion and identity alteration), and my trauma therapist explained that, unfortunately, derealization is the least common variety, with scant research behind it. Also, it’s near-impossible to manage.

When my reality imploded a lifetime ago, my derealization felt anything but protective. It invaded me so dark and destructively, I feared I’d gone insane and that my next stop was an asylum.

It all started by eating too many pot-filled brownies while I was on an anxiety-ridden outing with my abusive brother and his posse. To get home, I was named designated driver because I’d partaken less than the others. I was terrified because I felt like I was on a bad trip. Also, I’m awful with directions and knew my brother would mercilessly belittle me for my wrong turns.               

Still, I took the wheel. Soon, out of nowhere, or so it seemed, I blew through a stoplight and missed a speeding Mack truck by a hair, my spatial abilities incapacitated. There must have been an angel on my shoulder that day as we all should have died. In a way, I did.

After being relieved of my driving duties, the people around me, the cars outside, even my own body became terrifyingly unreal and distorted, like being in a funhouse hall of mirrors. I also had such severe paranoia that when my brother’s girlfriend took a turnoff I wasn’t familiar with, I was certain she was driving me to hell. And when I say hell, I mean fire, brimstone and the guy with the pitchfork and tail.  

The horror didn’t let up for the next couple of weeks as I felt I was looking through a veil of fog. Perhaps the freakiest part was that everyone acted as though they weren’t on the same drug trip. I felt alone, always holding the tears and screams inside. I tried to play along with everyone else’s normal, reminding myself that if I let out my terror, they’d likely have me committed.

Panic Attack

Soon after, when my family took a long-anticipated trip to New York City, I lost my marbles. It was too much of a load of sensory input that I was unable to process in my vulnerable state. One night in our hotel room, I released my panic with a gut-wrenching scream that didn’t let up for hours. Horrified, my family got me to an ER, and I was diagnosed with an anxiety attack. I only wish.

After that, my derealization became my new normal. Good god, it didn’t let up for an entire year. During college and my first professional dancing job, I learned to cope by using distraction and reminding myself that the bad times were temporary, that some days were better than others.

After developing CRPS and seeing my life and dreams crumble a few years later, I had to give in to the spreading, fiery pain by moving back into my mother’s home. Anxiety, fear and despondency took over and my derealization roared back worse than ever. I was debilitated to the point that I could only lie on a bed and stare at cracks in the wall. It was a single crack that looked real to me.

Out of desperation, I saw a compassionate psychiatrist who mercifully blew open my world. I was stunned as he asked questions that lead me to understand that, not only did he believe me to be sane, he actually knew what plagued me. Stunned, I asked him if my symptoms were familiar.

“Let’s just say that if I had a nickel for every patient that came to me with what you’ve got, I could buy something expensive,” he told me. With that, a ton of weight lifted from my shoulders.

This healer put me on a benzodiazepine, Klonopin, and gave me a book that detailed my dissociative disorder. I was no longer alone and, at last, knew I was sane. Regarding the Klonopin, the good doctor added, “I wouldn’t be surprised if your pain lets up as well.” 

Within a few days, my derealization miraculously eased by about 80% and, as a bonus, I went into my first CRPS remission. The word “hope” re-entered my vocabulary, and I was again among the living.           

44 years after eating that brownie, I still wrangle with derealization. If stressed or triggered, the fog closes in, but it no longer runs me. I’m fortunate the clonazepam (generic for Klonopin) is still effective, as I have a brother who isn’t as lucky. He’s suffered most of his life with derealization, and nothing has ever provided respite.

Trauma brings on so much bad in so many ways, and our minds and bodies go to astounding extremes to persevere. Since my trauma-release work, I’ve arrived at surprising new understandings and feelings. I’ve come to a place of acceptance, even a bit of gratitude, for my derealization. It’s gifted a lifetime of protection by shielding me from what I likely wouldn’t have survived. It was simply trying to do right by me. Still is.              

For real.           

Cynthia Toussaint is the founder and spokesperson at For Grace, a non-profit dedicated to bettering the lives of women in pain. She has lived with Complex Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS) and 19 co-morbidities for four decades, and has been battling cancer since 2020. Cynthia is the author of “Battle for Grace: A Memoir of Pain, Redemption and Impossible Love.”

A Pained Life: The Doctor Complex

By Carol Levy, PNN Columnist

The doctor walked into the exam room. He put out his hand and said, “I'm John Smith.”

For some reason, I did something I had never done before and asked, “Do you prefer John or Dr. Smith?”

“Uh, either is okay,” he said, looking a bit befuddled.  

So, I went with “John.” He didn't look happy with my choice, but he accepted it.

Flash forward to another exam room. Another doctor walks in and extends his hand to introduce himself. “I'm George Midas,” he says.

“Do you prefer George or Dr. Midas?” I ask.

He blew out his chest, like a gorilla in the mist. “I went to medical school and I deserve the title of doctor. You may call me Dr. Midas,” he said.

I returned to the first doctor. I never went back to the second one.

I read in medical blogs about how concerned many doctors are because they feel their elite status in the public eye is diminishing. “Doctor” or “physician” is what they are, so that is what they want to be called. Even the sobriquet “provider” is an affront to them. “Provider” makes them sound like nothing more than a businessperson, and that is an insult.

I remember being in the hospital years ago and my neurologist came into my room. He was wearing a sporty pinstriped summer suit. No white coat.

“I like your suit. You look really nice in that,” I said.

“You mean I don't look professional,” was his reply.

No, I didn't mean that. But apparently the white coat makes the man, and the man is more when he is seen as doctor and wears the uniform. Out of it, he becomes just another person doing business with a patient.

It is an odd thing. We don't call lawyers “Attorney Smith” or architects “Architect Michaels.”

You may recall when the Bidens first came into the White House. There was a hue and cry about First Lady Jill Biden calling herself “Dr. Biden” because, after all, she wasn't a medical doctor. She was “merely” a doctor of education.

Yes, it wasn't medical school, but does that mean that her graduate education was “less than” because it was not a medical school?

I hate to tell those who went through the rigors of medical school that doing so was a choice. No one forced them to become a doctor. And going through what may be the hardest of all graduate studies does not make them better than anyone else.

I will gladly call you “doctor” if that is the only option you give me. But don't confuse the use of your title with me being less elite than you are. Because that is one thing I am not.

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.