That Friday in June 1990 began as any regular Friday - two adults, three teenagers, family pets, all heading out.
Soon I was at work in the city at a market research company, a job I thoroughly enjoyed. The work was interesting and varied and though we were extremely busy, we were a good team and had a lot of laughs.
After work I stopped off to do the weekly grocery shopping and arrived home tired but content – and just as a shower of rain was starting. The rain distracted me as I rushed to get the groceries inside without getting too wet, and in my rush, I lifted a heavy carton and twisted awkwardly at the same time. I didn’t feel that I had done much damage – pulled a muscle or something.
I was totally unaware that this was the day “Super Mum” died and life as I knew it was over.
During the night my back went into spasm and when I woke I was unable to stand upright. I crawled to the bathroom and, sending the family off to their sporting activities, slithered back to bed with a welcome cup of tea from my husband. (I come from a line of stoic Scottish women and believed I just needed a bit of a sleep in to come good).
Eventually I realised I needed help and phoned my wonderful family GP. I had just recruited the first member of my rehab team. The relationship on this project was to last 17 long, hard years.
After numerous tests over the next few months we were to discover that in that awkward moment, three of my lumbar discs had herniated, impinging on my spinal nerves and sending radiating pain into my legs and feet. Eventually, as sensitisation occurred, it caused all manner of strange sensations in many different parts of my body. Who would have thought a lumbar problem could make your teeth ache!
I had been always been an optimist, mostly healthy (apart from endometriosis which I coped with well) and not a pill taker (Headache? Just have a cuppa and a bit of a lie down and all will be well.) I was about to embark on a steep learning curve with my trusty GP - an open, receptive man who knew me and my family well, who believed me and who was willing to listen, hear, and learn.
My “team” now began to expand to include the local pharmacist, who had seen the family through vaccinations, childhood ’flu, etc. John became my “gatekeeper” as my medication list expanded. I could rely on him to check interactions between drugs, advise me of side-effects, and always be available for advice if I had bad reactions to any new medication.
As my list of medical specialists grew, he could check if any prescriptions doubled up and was happy to organise delivery of items to my home if I was not up to collecting them. Once I was able to be totally honest (not brave) with my GP and pharmacist, they became the pillars on which my recovery was built.
I got to know physiotherapists, the X-ray team, orthopaedic surgeons, neurologists, occupational therapists, Feldenkrais practitioners, hydrotherapy physiotherapists, massage therapists, acupuncture and relaxation therapists, neurosurgeons, nurses, pink ladies, anaesthetists, psychologists, rehabilitation specialists, pain specialists and a psychiatrist.
I had two shopping bags full of various medications and a library full of books on managing chronic pain, for that is what my spinal condition had developed into after three surgeries and an implanted dorsal column stimulator.
I tried valiantly to return to work, but it was not to be.
Mentally, I went from being an optimistic, confident “Super Mum” with a plan for a rosy future, to a helpless, depressed (suicidal), patient, with no self confidence, believing that I was useless to the family and my husband, who I mistakenly thought would want to leave me.
Isolated, lonely, unable to cope with the constant, severe, intense, draining, exhausting pain that was omnipresent night and day, I was totally exhausted, but always believed that the next treatment would fix me. I would be thoroughly devastated when it didn’t.
My only comforts were my pets, a couple of wonderful, understanding friends who never left me, and, of course, my husband who was a great strength who took over much of my role and was always there when I needed him, which, in my confused state of mind, upset me!
My recovery began when I attended a pilot program of the ADAPT course which was then run by Sydney Pain Management Centre. It was explained that I had nothing further to fix but had the condition chronic pain, which could be managed.
I also had an epiphany when the grief process was explained and I recognised that I was passing through the grief steps. “Super Mum” had indeed perished, but it was possible to reconstruct a new “me” who could still lead an enjoyable, useful life by learning how to manage pain.
I am also indebted to the American Chronic Pain Association and its founder, Penney Cowan, who was instrumental in training me to become a support group leader. Their leaders’ manual reinforced all the information I had been taught in my pain management course and so I reached out and regained my self-respect and confidence and through interaction and support and knowledge, became a member of the community again.
It was not easy, but if I was having a bad day and someone was relying on me, I would get people having better days to give me a hand. I eventually led many support groups all over Sydney until I had to have a break to deal with my mother’s Alzheimer’s dementia.
The other essential element in my recovery was a wonderful pain specialist who worked with me to titrate the dose I needed of slow-release morphine. Once this dose was reached and strict conditions on its use understood, this medication allowed me to behave normally and also gave my body respite from its continual fight against pain. My dose never needed to be increased and I gradually decreased it until, with my nerve pathways regenerated (neuroplasticity), I needed it no longer.
Today I take no medication, have no pain but always exercise, stretch and scan my body for stress.
My life has been fulfilled in a direction I never imagined. I have built the new “me”.