News & Research, Treatment

Treating Pain With Antioxidants

Antioxidants have made the news a gazillion times in the last few years. After listening to the same information over and over again, I tuned it out. Today I’m paying attention.

Synthetic antioxidants nearly eliminated pain-like behavior in almost three-quarters of mice with inflamed paws. Mice aren’t humans, of course, but it’s an interesting start. Antioxidants are an emerging research interest; with findings such as these, the interest can only grow.

Right now pain treatments options are at extreme ends. OTC painkillers are on one side and opioids are at the other end, with little in between. Finding an effective middle-ground has been tough, but the antioxidant research appears promising (to my untrained eye).

Antioxidants neutralize free radicals, substances that damage cells. While our bodies constantly produce free radicals, healthy tissues inactivate these damaging substances and keep their levels in check. It’s when free-radical production somehow exceeds the body’s natural defenses that problems occur. Researchers have linked this excessive production to diseases like cancer and Alzheimer’s.

A handful of studies published in the last 10 years suggest that free radicals may also contribute to chronic pain. Left unchecked, free radicals build up in the body and can further damage already-injured tissue.

An equally small number of studies, including those by Stephens, suggest that antioxidants may fight chronic pain by helping the body to break down free radicals.

Coping

Going Home

fireplace“I just want to go home” is something I think almost every time I have a bad headache. The phrase was creepy when it first crossed my mind. I am at my home, which I love, but that’s not enough to satisfy my longing. My childhood home, where my parents still live, isn’t what I’m looking for either. So wanting to go home defaults to dying, the ultimate home — certainly not what I want.

I’ve written about going home before, calling it “a safe haven where agony is forbidden.” Burrowing under the covers is what I likened it to that day. But that’s not it either.

Setting aside my deeply held Western philosophies and health beliefs took a long time, but now that I’m considering Eastern and non-mainstream ideas I’m wide open. My current exploration is feng shui. Really, why not — it can only help.

Reading Wind and Water: Your Personal Feng Shui Journey by Carole Hyder last night, I stumbled on a passage about longing to go home. Hyder describes the search for home as a never-ending process “about finding safety and security, unquestioning love and compassion.”

Although my physical home is great, it’s problems loom large — the windows are so leaky that we might as well leave them open all winter, the basement is piled high with junk, the yard always needs weeding. . . . All that aside, wherever you live, dishes or bills to pay or [insert any chore you hate to do] looms.

Creating a place in the house that feels like home is a solution. Hyder recommends choosing a corner, chair or room, setting your favorite things in it and declaring it off-limits to anyone else in the house. Thus creating a special spot that you simply enjoy.

As soon as I read this, I knew I found home months ago without even noticing it. On the couch in front of the fire with a quilt on my feet. Even though we had an ugly break up with the person who made the quilt, it’s covered in quotes from people we love or have loved. I literally wrap myself in love when I need it most.

I’ve just realized that I have a second home too. I always feel like an obsessed 13-year-old when I talk about this, but I am truly soothed every time I hear Dave Matthews sing. It’s like his voice has seeped into my bones and I relax whenever I listen to it.

I’m currently listening to a (legally downloaded) show that I saw in England. I was entranced through the entire show; it was the best I’ve been to. My head is bad today, but I don’t notice it much right now. Perhaps it’s the pain-reducing effects of music that a recent study found. Maybe all that matters is that I’ve been transported to an amazing night.

Where’s your place, fixed or transient, to go home to?

Chronic Migraine, Favorites, Treatment

You’re Probably Not Special

I say this with the utmost kindness — you’re probably not special. Being special in my case means I’m one of the fewer than 5% of people with intractable headaches. The odds are so in your favor that your headaches can be treated.

At the end of Nerve Stimulator Heartbreak, I wrote:

“Please don’t give up without exhausting your options. Once you think you’ve tried everything, ask about and research what other treatments or treatment combinations are available. You’ll be amazed by the possibilities.”

Headache specialist Dr. Christina Peterson highlighted that paragraph in her comments on the post and added:

“There really are so many options, and even if you think you have tried ‘everything,’ very few people really have. And we keep coming up with new stuff all the time.”

“Almost none of us are ‘curable,’ but very, very few of us are truly untreatable. Keep looking — you never know when something will work.”

I’m not defending my turf when I tell you that you aren’t special. I needed to get your attention to say this: Keep at it. Finding the right treatment for you can feel unbearably slow, but it’s nothing compared to spending your life in pain.

And think about this. Many doctors believe that the longer someone has headaches, the longer it will take to treat them. It has been likened to a car engine. At first the car starts just fine. Over time, the engine wears down and is no longer quick to turn over. Eventually the engine (or the pain control mechanism in your brain) stops turning on. When your brain’s mechanism gives out, your headaches become more frequent and less responsive to treatment.

All is not lost. Not even for me. Intractable does not mean untreatable; it means unruly or difficult (but not impossible) to treat.

Coping, Society

Second Thoughts on Second Thoughts

Hart had a migraine this morning. So did I. We both slept until 1:30 p.m. and are still in the headache hangover phase. I am so thankful that we don’t have a child to get out of bed, make breakfast for and get to school. I’m even glad we don’t have a dog to feed and take out to potty.

Of course we’d make it work if we had to, but it’s a blessing that we don’t when we have days like this.

Sure, we have second thoughts. We’re 30 and 31 and are watching the joy our friends’ babies bring them. The overwhelming love they feel for their children is beautiful. Even from the outside I know that it’s an astounding experience that is impossible to match by any other.

I am reading Why Do I Love These People? by Po Bronson. I picked it up as a tool to help my own writing, an example of telling other people’s stories without losing their essence. A passage on page 47 almost made me give up on it. It’s about young men and women who choose to not have children.

“They go around saying things like ‘I’m too selfish to be a mother,’ or ‘I’m not a baby person,’ or my favorite, ‘I love my life too much to do that.’ A friend of mine calls them the Petrified Forest — people who would freeze their life in time if they could. . . . When the Petrified Forest imagines parenthood, their hearts are flooded with the feeling of doors closing, not opening. . . . Every account is weighed — every account of sleep deprivation, diminished sex life, a promotion passed over, and social events missed. The Petrified Forest sits like a jury, considering the facts, making their calculations, collecting more evidence. . . .”

“But can those calculations ever truly account for the experience between a parent and a child?”

Who was he to discount the importance of such a decision? Just because he changed his mind didn’t mean I was going to. Besides, he can’t speak for me — my circumstances are special. Hmm, could this be an issue that’s too close to my heart?

Then there’s what happened this morning. In the comments of On Having Kids, my previous post on the topic, someone described having a child with such a severe form of illness as tantamount to “planned neglect.” I identified with that. It’s certainly not the case for everyone, but that’s how it feels in my life.

As I’ve said before, we’ll see what time tells. It’s a choice we have years to make, especially when adoption is an option. You can be sure that I’ll spend those next 15 years second guessing my decision and then second guessing my second thoughts. Maybe our decision will remain the same, maybe I’ll be posting pictures of my baby for you all to see.

By the way, the book is turning out to be terrific, both as an example of storytelling and as a member of a family. It’s a reminder of the capacity of the human heart to forgive transgressions or make excruciatingly painful decisions.

Coping, Favorites, Treatment

Nerve Stimulator Heartbreak

Being helpless in the face of illness is like window shopping. You’re looking through the glass at all the possibilities for an effective treatment. Every time you start to walk through the door, thinking you’ve found what will provide relief, the metal grate slams down at your feet.

You can stick your fingers through the holes, but never far enough to touch what you need. Eventually there’s nothing left to reach for.

My choice to have a nerve stimulator implanted was made in desperation. I still believe that logic and reason were present, but having truly run out of options was a tremendous influence.

Desperation also allowed me to delude myself that the trial implant was effective — even though my husband and doctors didn’t think it was. It allowed me pay the outrageous cost of the surgery. And despair let me believe that the stimulator worked.

Now I know that even right after the implant, I didn’t really believe it worked. My sanity required me to think it did. For the eight weeks following the surgery, I was in hell. My last shot at relief didn’t appear to help. The rest of my life would be marred by excruciating pain. I had reached rock bottom and stayed there for nearly a year.

What got me out of bed was crediting the stimulator with making me more functional than before the surgery. Even with the doubt that crept in, earlier this year I trusted in the stimulator enough to tell you it relieved my pain. Now I know that it never helped at all.

As with many sorts of recovery, it took utter despair to accept my illness. I would do anything to spare you the agony of that year. But no matter what I say, your pain will drive you. Whether the treatment is meds, acupuncture or nerve stimulation is irrelevant.

I cringe when I’m asked my secret for being happy even with this misery. The answer is not wisdom that I can impart over coffee. You have to live it and will only know that you have when you’ve gotten to the other side.

What a discouraging post! Know that I’m one of the “special” few whose headaches are untreatable. Please don’t give up without exhausting your options. Once you think you’ve tried everything, ask about and research what other treatments or treatment combinations are available. You’ll be amazed by the possibilities.

If you’re thinking about getting a nerve stimulator, remember that I represent only one side of the story. While most of the people I know have similar experiences, people with good stories aren’t likely to seek out someone with a bad story. Do your research though. Whether the stimulator works for you or not, you’ll be grateful knowing it was a well-thought out choice.