On Pain

I began identifying as physically disabled in 2018, though I’ve never experienced a time when I was completely pain free. I began identifying this way after I was rear-ended at a red light in Mesilla, NM, less than two hours before first day of the only class I was looking forward to taking that semester. The crash herniated disks in my cervical and lumbar spine.

Few of my closest friends know what my pain looks like. I can describe it, as I usually do, with a 10-point scale. An 8 on my scale is the point at which the pain is so severe I can no longer work. A 10 means I’m on the verge of passing out or am passing out. Unfortunately, that’s an experience I’ve had multiple times.

In NM, the first pain management doctor I saw was cruel. I don’t know how many people reading this will have experienced the kind of pain that precedes passing out, but when I’m in level 9+ pain I will often tear up. During my first (and only) visit to that pain doctor, I was left alone in a room for 45 minutes with a couple hard-seated chairs and an exam table that hadn’t been bolted to the floor. My only choices were to stand or lie on the grimy tile. Because I was tearing up, the doctor refused to examine me and told me to come back when I could “get my emotions under control.” His poor office manager apologized to me and said there was nothing she could do because he owned the practice and answered to nobody.

I spent years fighting a charge from his office for an exam he refused to give me.

The second pain management doctor I saw in NM was my only other option. Literally. No others would be covered by insurance. His PA was compassionate. He was “old school.” They tried putting me on Gabapentin, which caused me to break out in a boil-like rash all over my body. They tried switching me to Lyrica, which had the same effect. They tried putting me on Tramodol, which gave me serotonin syndrome (which my regular doctor diagnosed when I came in with complaints of my heart racing and pounding simultaneously within 30–45 minutes of my dose). The pain management doctor put me on 800s of ibuprofen and did medial branch nerve blocks. If that wasn’t enough, I was told to go to the emergency room or urgent care, where I was treated like a drug-seeker as soon as they found out I had a pain management doctor.

In December of 2019, I ended up in the ER for another reason. My period had always been a problem, but this one was extra bad. After several hours at the library, lying across a table to finish writing a final essay, I realized that my cramps were so bad (even after 3200 mg Ibuprofen and multiple Midol) that I couldn’t drive home without getting in a wreck. So I went across the street to the hospital, where an ER doctor told me he was pretty sure I had endometriosis.

In 2020, I had surgery to remove my fallopian tubes, which served as justification to get insurance to cover exploratory surgery. The OB/GYN cauterized two spots of endo, but said she couldn’t safely get to the rest, and was disappointed to learn my pain was no better post-surgery.

This was the first of five surgeries I would have in fifteen months during COVID lockdown. Two would be performed in New Mexico, with three more in California. An endometriosis specialist in CA would perform excision surgery and a full hysterectomy, finally fulfilling the request I’d made of every OB/GYN I’d seen since I was 20.

My new pain management doctor ordered new MRIs when I began falling more frequently. I stubbornly refused a walker. I was 37. I didn’t want a walker. He finally got me to use a cane, though, and when the results of the MRI showed a 13mm bulge pressing on my spinal cord he warned me that surgery was urgently needed.

Now, I’m 39, and nerve blocks stopped working years ago. Epidurals last about a month before the pain comes roaring back. Radio frequency ablation isn’t available for the back (because, you know, walking), so I jumped through some hoops to make sure my spinal surgeon didn’t want to perform any further surgery. An MRI, a CT scan, and three visits later, and I was cleared to move ahead with a spinal cord stimulator (even though my surgeon turned his nose up at it and claimed pain management doctors just want to implant them because they’re expensive).

Two days ago, I got the temporary implant, and it’s been life-altering. I woke up this morning feeling refreshed for the first time in forever. My sciatic pain is gone. I didn’t toss and turn. I just rested.

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