Oh what a difference kindness makes
In constant pain and filled with gloom, VIRGINIA IRONSIDE is prepared to try anything
WHEN MY rheumatologist referred me to what he described as a ‘pain man’ I assumed that I was going to a man who would reduce my pain. I had an agonising trapped nerve in my neck and an agonising trapped nerve at the base of my spine and despite vast quantities of Valium, dihydrocodeine and paracetamol, nothing worked. I’d got a neck support, a lumbar support, I placed rolled-up towels under my neck and my body was covered with so many heat pads I felt as if I were being barbecued. I did daily exercises but the pain persisted.
On top of this I was severely depressed due to various personal problems and a propensity, as they say, to chronic gloom.
When I got to the pain man, I was desperate.
He called my name but by the time I got to his door – pain made me walk very slowly – it had been slammed shut. I knocked nervously.
‘I’m with a patient!’ came the angry response
‘But I’m your patient!’ I ventured, timidly.
He opened the door in a glowering rage. He looked from me to the woman who was sitting in the chair opposite his desk.
‘So who’s Virginia Ironside?’ he barked.
‘I am,’ I said, through my tears. And the other woman slunk from the room.
‘I would have found out soon enough,’ he said, with a grim attempt at a smile. ‘Now I can see we have a complex case here. But I don’t want to hear anything from you. We’ve only got half an hour to sort you out’ (Bupa was kindly paying him £250) ‘and I’ll ask the questions, if you don’t mind.
‘First. On a scale of one to ten could you describe how painful are a) your shoulders b) your back c) your knees and d) your feet.’ ‘Could I just explain…’ He drummed his fingers as he stared at the MRI scan of my spine.
‘I’m not sure I should show you this,’ he said, turning the screen towards me and revealing a hideously deformed set of vertebrae, ‘but it seems to me inconceivable you don’t have thoracic pain as well. Do you?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I said, starting to cry.
‘Between the shoulder blades. Well, if not now, certainly later,’ he said.
‘My GP suggested amitriptyline as an anti-depressant and muscle and nerve pain killer so I wondered what you...’
‘Good on the muscle and nerve pain. Rubbish as an anti-depressant,’ he barked.
Hadn’t he heard of the placebo effect? Apparently not.
‘I’m referring you to my team,’ he said. ‘Dr X for physio and Dr Y for psychological management – CBT, visualisation, etc. If that doesn’t work, cortisone injections and operations on your spine.’ He waved me out. I came out worse than I went in. Tears were pouring down my cheeks. I know all about CBT and often use it myself. As a writer, I’ve tried imagining myself on a beach when I feel low, and it just makes me feel miserable on a beach.
Pain men? Is it relieving pain they get off on, or is it pain itself? The last one I’d gone to had suggested I try a cream which contains chilli on the grounds that the pain of the chilli masks the pain of the original pain. Another £250 down the drain.
After going home and not going out for a week, unable even to get dressed I felt so despairing, I made an appointment to see a cranial osteopath.
I know. No scientific proof, might as well juggle ping pong balls, but many swore by her.
From the moment she bestowed on me a dazzling and sympathetic smile, I knew this would be a different experience. She asked me a few questions, made me lie down, put her hands under my back and declared: ‘But of course you’re in pain! You’re in shock! And you’re absolutely exhausted! Let’s sort you out and then you can worry about cortisone injections or operations if you still hurt. Oh, poor old you! You have been in the wars!’
I came out feeling as if I were dancing on air. All pain had lessened and I could smile at last. It may all be in my mind, but what a difference kindness makes!
What is it about doctors? Or is it just me?
Virginia will be appearing in ‘Growing Old Disgracefully’ at the Rope Walk Arts Centre at Barton-upon-humber on 20th February.