Do You Hurry to Outrun the Pain?

By Carol Levy

I'm infused with impatience. I do everything fast.

I used to swim at the YMCA. I didn’t feel like I was moving quickly, but to others I was a speeding bullet knifing through the water. As soon as I stopped, to make my turn at the end of the lane, invariably someone watching would yell down at me, “What's your rush? Isn't it more fun if you enjoy it?”

Not for me. It's not just the physicality of moving swiftly through the water, which for me is a wonderful feeling. More important is getting to the end of the mile of swimming I try to complete, before something happens to trigger my pain.

I can't tolerate touch to the left side of my face, due to trigeminal neuralgia and phantom pain. Just the idea of a droplet of water touching my face terrorizes me, so I only do the backstroke.

One day a man asked me, “Is that the only stroke you know? I could teach you others.”

I didn't want to explain why I only did the backstroke, so I shrugged my shoulders and swam away. 

The backstroke works for me because my arms move in such a way that they don't fire off bullets of water that might hit my face. Regardless, I am always at the mercy of the thought, “Be careful! Finish this before you get hit in the face with a droplet.”

I'm impatient because I have to outrun the pain. I get to the Y early, impatient to get into the pool before others, so no one gets in the lanes next to me and splashes water on my face.

This is true of almost every aspect of my life. I shop fast because using my eyes too much triggers the pain. The faster I go through a store, the less opportunity I have to see things I want to see, but did not come to buy.

On rare occasions, I get sidetracked.  I forget.  I start to look at what else they have. My eyes start to travel up and down the shelves, and the pain grows to such heights that I fear my ability to get out of the store and drive home safely. So, I rush.

Before my trigeminal neuralgia, I loved to read. I could read a whole book in a few hours. And as soon as I finished, like the joke about eating Chinese food, I'd be hungry to start a new one.

Now I can read only a few pages at a time, skipping words, paragraphs, pages, looking for the dialogue that essentially explains the story. Who the main characters are and what their relationships are with each other, are lost to me.

I am impatient to get to the end. Not to see who the murderer is (I love mysteries the best), but to get to the end quickly, so the pain doesn't interfere.

I could go on and on with other examples, but they don't matter. At the end of the day, they all boil down to one thing: Hurry up! Hurry up! The pain is coming! The pain has started!

But I have to get to the end. The end of the swimming lane, the grocery list, and the end of the book.

There are changes we all go through, no matter our circumstances. But I think pain sufferers change more than most people -- and the changes are largely the result of trying to outrun the pain. It’s an impatience that’s very hard for those without pain to understand.

As for me? I used to be the tortoise. Now I'm the hare. Right now, I'm hurrying to finish writing this column before the pain takes over from using my eyes so much.

Pain makes me rabbit my way through life. The tortoise, ambling by, gets to look at the scenery. The hare in us makes it hard to stop and smell the roses.

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. 

Painful Choices About a Safe Space

By Cynthia Toussaint, PNN Columnist

It’s no secret. For me, there’s no better medicine than self-care.

To that point, I’m a proud member of my local YMCA. In fact, it’s been my ultimate safe-space for 15 years: around the block, accessible, a generous lap swimming pool, topped by a loving community of warm and caring people. A lot of perfect for someone who can’t walk a block due to Complex Regional Pain Syndrome, but can swim a mile.

To give back some, I’ve done quite a bit of fundraising to provide low-cost memberships for families in need, and landed one of the Y’s aquatic teachers a national ABC News print piece, the angle being the benefits of pool therapy for women in pain as I believe devotedly in the healing power of water.

All was going swimmingly, until COVID. When we returned in mid-2021, my heart sank when I spied a new member, Annie, who I sensed was going to be trouble with a capital T. What little lap swimming she did was overwhelmed by her excessive yelling and joke-telling mid-pool with the lifeguard.

Day after day, I became increasingly stressed while others rolled their eyes and donned ear plugs. To make matters worse, Annie soon blew past personal boundaries by jumping in on my conversations, often physically pulling friends away from me. My place of serenity was turning into a high-decibel scrum.      

CYNTHIA TOUSSAINT

It dawned on me that what was driving Annie’s aberrant behavior was a boatload of childhood trauma. She was deregulated and manic, showing earmarks of a deeply wounded woman. Annie flouted pool rules by wearing inappropriate, oversexualized swimwear (shorts and a braless t-shirt) with no cap for her long, black locks.

In one of the few encounters with Annie before things went south, she boasted about freezing her brother out, emphasizing all the legal folk he had to circumvent to get to her. Annie’s cackle as an exclamation point, her pure joy of hurting another person, was darkly disturbing.                     

One day, out of the blue, a deep freeze set in as Annie began avoiding me. This was terribly awkward, compounded by the Y pool and dressing room being an intimate place where everyone knows everyone’s business. I continued basic pleasantries until Annie yelled me down for doing so.

Next day, in an attempt to fix things, I asked Annie if I’d done something to offend her. Without looking my way, she briskly responded, “No, nothing’s wrong. We’re fine.” But I knew better.

Bad turned to worse when, at that point, Annie completely shut me out. It was as though I didn’t exist as she avoided eye contact altogether. This tactic was deeply uncomfortable and hurtful as she appeared to be in good standing, even sweet, with others. 

Due to Annie’s puzzling cruelty, I started dreading going to my “safe space.” My lower-body pain amp’d and my nervous system was in fight or flight mode before I’d head out to the Y. Even my anticipation the day prior was becoming unhealthy, and I often woke in the night with worry.

Because I couldn’t bear to lose my beloved pool and community, I went to a therapist whose assessment provided strong insight. She suspected Annie was “negatively transferring,” meaning that because I remind her of an abusive person in her childhood, she’s delusional about my power over her. My psychologist advised that this is a targeted psychotic process and, for safety sake, I swim elsewhere.  My close friends seconded that emotion. 

With heavy heart, I tried other Ys and fitness centers. In the end though, none of them worked because of my pain and limitations, e.g., I had to use my wheelchair to get to the pool, there were no exit stairs, and/or my partner and caregiver John couldn’t run necessary errands because we were far from home.

When I fearfully returned to my now toxic Y, John accompanied me in the pool to rehab an injury and offer support in the event of an encounter. Annie’s behavior immediately escalated when she spread a nasty rumor about me to a fellow swimmer who I adore. Zoe shared the gossip out of concern for my well-being, along with being disturbed by the grim energy now shrouding our community.

Before entering the pool the next day, Annie yelled at me twice and, for the first time, physically threatened me by raising her hand to my face. That was it. I went to member relations and made a thorough complaint. Luckily, Zoe, who’d witnessed the happenings, made one as well.

Fortunately, since the Y spoke to Annie, her behavior has simmered. While still avoiding conversation and eye contact, she’s not threatening me, though I’m aware her anger’s just below the surface. Better, but far from okay. What was once heavenly, now casts a pall.

If I was a fully functional person without high-impact pain, I’d have left this Y many moons ago and created a healthy community elsewhere. But because of limitations and specific needs, my only choice is to tolerate an unsafe, dysfunctional situation, to make the best of a bad.

Let’s face it. My choice was really no choice. And that’s the way it is with folk hammered by pain and disability. Pickings are slim and the best solutions are generally the ones that are physically do-able. This not only applies to our places of exercise and community, but also where we live, shop and work. Really, everything we do.   

But let’s not let a bully bury the lead. Come hell or high water, I’m continuing to swim, which is one of the best self-care cards I hold. And when it comes to wrangling with the pitfalls of pain and chronic illness, holding onto what health we can maintain and preserve, is always our best choice.               

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 multiple 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.”

Popular Exercises for Persons with Arachnoiditis

By Dr. Forest Tennant, PNN Columnist 

Adhesive Arachnoiditis (AA) is an inflammatory, nerve root entrapment disease in which cauda equina nerve roots are glued by adhesions to the arachnoid-dural covering of the spinal canal. An inflamed tumor-like mass is formed inside the spinal canal that blocks spinal fluid flow, allows seepage of fluid into tissue outside the spinal canal, and shuts off electrical impulses that activate the legs, feet, bladder, intestine and sex organs.  

Some specific exercises help neutralize the deleterious effects of AA and promote regeneration of damaged tissue.  We surveyed 40 persons with MRI-documented AA to determine which exercises they found most beneficial.

The top five are listed here in descending order of popularity. 

1. Water Soaking: It is no surprise this is No.1. Water soaking pulls out toxins and excess electricity and relaxes muscles. All types of water soaking are good: pool, jacuzzi, shower, tub, hot/wet towel. Epsom Salts in water mimic the mineral baths used therapeutically by ancient peoples. 

2. Massage: Kneading of back muscles causes any seepage of spinal fluid to mobilize and causes spinal fluid to keep moving around the AA blockage in the spinal canal. 

3. Walking: Nerve roots that activate the legs and feet can become so inflamed and entrapped that one can’t walk. Short daily walks are essential to prevent the development of paralysis and weakness. 

4. Arm & Leg Stretching: Entrapped nerve roots in the AA mass decrease the normal leg, arm, and foot fidgets and movements that occur every few minutes even while sleeping. Arm and leg stretching will keep the lower back muscles from contracting or shrinking which, over time, will increase back pain. 

5. Deep Breathing: Deep breathing and short breath-holds bring oxygen to the spinal canal to promote healing. It will also help keep spinal fluid moving. Deep breathing is best done while standing but it can be done while sitting and watching TV, driving, or eating. 

Other exercises compliment the AA medical treatment protocol. Besides those listed here, we also advocate light weightlifting, rocking, bicycling, and trampoline walking. 

Credit: Lynn Ashcraft did the data analysis of this survey. 

Forest Tennant, MD, DrPH, is retired from clinical practice but continues his research on the treatment of intractable pain and arachnoiditis. This column is adapted from a bulletin recently issued by the Arachnoiditis Research and Education Project. Readers interested in subscribing to the bulletins should click here.

Dr. Tennant’s new book, "Clinical Diagnosis and Treatment of Adhesive Arachnoiditis” is available on Amazon. 

The Tennant Foundation gives financial support to Pain News Network and sponsors PNN’s Patient Resources section.   

A Pained Life: Swim at Your Own Risk

By Carol Levy, Columnist

I swim at my local YMCA. A new pool just opened and there are no flags or indicators showing when a swimmer is close to the end of the pool.

I can only do a backstroke. Not knowing where the wall is can be dangerous. I had already hit my head once miscalculating where I thought the wall was.

“I wish they had something as a warning that we are close to the wall,” I said to Jennifer, one of the lifeguards.

“Well, don't swim on your back. Then you can see it yourself,” she replied.

“I would love to, but because of my neck situation I can't swim on my stomach,” I explained.

Jennifer responded strangely: “Wah, wah, wah.”

I looked at her in surprise. Usually she is sweet and kind.

“My neck is held together with 12 pins and 2 clamps,” I told her. “I can't swim on my stomach. The posture and head movements for breathing are impossible for me.”

“Wah, wah, wah.”

“Jennifer, my entire neck is held together with metal. That's all that holds it up,” I said, starting to feel angry and frustrated.

“Wah wah wah. Wait! What if you used a snorkel?”

Her suggestion ignored what I had said about why I couldn't swim on my stomach.

There is another reason I can’t use a snorkel: I have a phantom touch-induced discomfort in my face. But that was more then I wanted to explain. And the explanation would require more explanation to explain what I was trying to explain.

On the other hand, my facial paralysis is very visible. The left eyelid is almost always swollen. As soon as someone sees me they know something is wrong.

“I can't keep my head in the water,” I said. “My eye doctor told me I shouldn't even be in the pool.”

Jennifer's response was quick and easy: “Oh I'm sorry. I didn't realize. That definitely would be a bad idea.”

I was flabbergasted. She dismissed my neck issues even after I explained the situation. But I was astounded by how quickly she capitulated when I said my eye is the problem.

Oh, I get it. The eye she can see. It is not something she needs to understand. All that matters is that it is visible and obvious. My neck, on the other hand, is not.

The conversation with Jennifer was the perfect embodiment of the visibility/invisibility issue we all face. At what point do we decide it is not worth the explanation, the struggle to let ourselves and our truth be heard?

Too often I feel like my integrity is being questioned by two people.

The first person is the one who refuses to listen and accept.

The second person is me, because I am too often forced to lie.

I don't want to lie. I don't like to lie. I like to think my word is my bond. But, sometimes it is just easier to break that bond with yourself then struggle to explain and be heard.

Add one more pain to the list.

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.