Have sympathy for invisible strains – it’s no joking matter

PAIN, even when grinds you down.

It weighs on you, constantly sapping your mood and energy like an albatross around your neck.

If you are anything like me, when you are in pain you want something physical to point to.

When I rolled my ankle it was fantastic.

Yes it was really sore but when someone says “what have you done?” you can roll up your slightly too tight chinos (yeah I am that guy) and show them the massive swollen black ankle you are sporting.

“Oooo, that must be painful,” they would say as I nodded like the wounded hero I am (in my head).

However, about four months ago I developed a repetitive strain injury (RSI) across the back of my hands.

This is a nightmare for a multitude of reasons.

Firstly it really hurts! Instead of an albatross around my neck it is a gang of angry sea urchins going to town on the back of my hands.

I can use my hands absolutely fine for lifting things but the second I have to do anything intricate, like typing, I get a dull throb which builds to an acute stabbing within about an hour.

Secondly, I can’t just fix it. When I pulled my hamstring it was easy, three weeks of rest and then ease it back in with some light jogging.

When I broke my arm, as horrible as it was I just spent a month or so in plaster, then did some physio.

There was a path to recovery and it was clear.

No such luck with RSI (more on that later).

Thirdly, it is an open door for jokes. Maybe it is more a reflection on my friends and the company I keep but there has been a steady stream of “banter” since my symptoms came on.

“Hurt your hand, have you?” they would say with a knowing smile, “I wonder how you did that.”

They would then be making a gesture I normally reserve for when people hog the middle lane on the motorway.

As much as I want to punch them in their smug faces I can’t – I have a bad hand.

Finally, no one can see it. You can’t it is mild, slowly point to swelling, stitches or bruising to elicit the sympathy you feel you deserve.

The awed looks I got for my rolled ankle have been replaced by faces you pull when a kid has a “boo boo”.

My (many) trips to the doctors have not helped.

The experience with them has been a mix between a Monty Python sketch and Kafka’s The Trial.

I won’t name the doctor’s surgery in question as I have since had an apology from the surgery manager who was lovely.

Long story short, I was referred for a steroid injection in the affected tendons.

This helps to reduce the swelling and speed recovery.

However, you cannot have too many as it weakens tendon.

This is the reason you can have the injections in your hands but they cannot be used to treat bigger tendons where there is a chance of rupturing.

The first time I went, the doctor told me he didn’t manage to successfully inject into the particular tendons he needed to, so I had to go back.

The second time the doctor didn’t inspire too much confidence as he was looking at images of hand tendons just before the procedure.

Ultimately the injection didn’t work the and the hand exactly the same. Not that the doctor is to blame for that. These things are not guaranteed to work and it is the gamble you take. I am now left with Plan B. This consists of mild stretching exercises, icing my hand while I watch Suits in the evening, more ibuprofen gel than you have ever seen in your life and, sadly, two wrist supports. It is hard to put into words how much I hate these wrist supports. Wearing them in the office makes me look like I have just come back from a spot of boxing. is

They itch, you look a prat and unless you wash them daily they smell like a year eight classroom.

Unfortunately for my general tough guy image they make a real difference and really help managing the condition. In many ways I can’t complain. The injury is nowhere near as debilitating as something like a bad back.

I can still go for runs, sleep and high five.

However, it does hurt when ironing (admittedly that is rare anyway), typing and using my phone. The last two are pretty essential in my job.

So the next time someone tells you they have an RSI give them a hug and tell them they are an inspiration – they deserve it.