When I was a child, my siblings and I attended an elementary school not far from our home. It was an entirely different world back then and we were able to go home for lunch. I can’t even imagine that happening today. Anyway, we’d meet up outside. Some days, we’d run home – racing along, pausing long enough to meet at each corner, crossing the streets together. Then the race would begin anew.

I loved it. I can’t even imagine running that way now. Now that I think about it, I can’t even believe I did it back then! I’m not an athlete, by any stretch of the imagination. Gym class was not my favorite. E V E R. The truth is that loathed it.

Between dodge ball (hated it and was awful at it. It should be banned 😂), volleyball (hated it and was abysmal at it), and any sport involving a ball being thrown in my direction, I wanted to run and hide. Fake illness to get out of it? Absolutely. Stomach ache? Sure. Cramps? It goes without saying. 😂 Of course it was rare that my complaints actually got me out of the gym, LOL.

My memories were sparked by seeing so many kids playing in our local park. Especially the little league teams. Sometimes, in the evening, we sit in the park and enjoy the beautiful weather. Seeing these kids – and their exuberant family members/spectators – always reminds me that I have zero energy and am soooo out of shape. Kids seemingly have unlimited surpluses of excitement and the ability to run/scooter/throw balls/play ‘til they drop. It’s fun to see how excited they are. After the year & a half we’ve all had, it’s good to see kids just being kids.

Before the pandemic, I was walking at least a couple of miles every day. And standing for hours. And sewing/fitting/pulling costumes for nearly 100 kids, between the drama and dance programs. I loved it.

My energy and stamina are…. well, just about non-existent now. When we walk to and from the park or the store, I feel it in my knees. And my back. Plus, we have stairs in our building, so that’s been fun. But I have to build myself back up. I don’t want to feel sluggish and sore. I’m not getting any younger, obviously.

Forty-eight is about five minutes away. I don’t want to be more tired and more sore on top of the tiredness and soreness that comes with my health stuff. Now that the weather is so nice – and before it gets too hot for comfort – I want to be outside more. Taking longer walks is one of my favorite things to do.

We used to walk for miles on the days when we were in Manhattan. After leaving the museum, we’d walk down 5th Avenue, along Central Park. Then we’d keep going, block after block. It was part of the adventure. Often, after a doctor’s appointment, I’d meander from midtown to downtown – taking in the storefronts and the people. It was calming. I tried it once since the pandemic hit. As good as it felt, I also felt the physical impact of it. And not in a good way.

Hopefully, someday soon, I’ll be walking around the neighborhood again. Like in the old days. The “old days” before 3/11/20. I know I’m not alone in this. We’re collectively feeling the impact of forced inactivity. Or markedly decreased activity than we were used to.

Something I mentioned in yesterday’s video was that I realized I’m noticing – and appreciating – more of the nature around our neighborhood. The flowers planted by neighbors. The trees, wildlife, and plants in the local park. I’ve lived here for my entire life and can admit that I’ve never appreciated all of it more than I do now. The forced shutdown gave us a chance to slow down and just…. see. To truly see what’s around us. I’ll be forever grateful for this time. I’m sitting in the park as I write this – listening to two baseball games being played – and I love it. The cheering. The games being played by younger siblings on the sidelines. Encouraging words by coaches and family members. Such beautiful music on a lovely evening.

Here’s to enjoying the moments, finding our strengths, increasing our endurance, and staying as close to no pain as possible.

Peace and painlessness,

Beck ❤️

#thisiswhatsicklookslike #rsd #crps #arachnoiditis #autoimmune #migraine #sacroiliacjoint #facetjoint #backpain #medicalmarijuana #carpaltunnelsyndrome #cubitaltunnelsyndrome #patientadvocacy #painintheBECK #phantosmia #dextroscoliosis #thoracickyphosis #lumbarlordosis

A letter arrived at our home the other day. It was from my high school, announcing that they’d be resuming in person reunions in the fall – that mine would be included with a couple of other classes. I read it, then re-read it twice, trying to decide why my class would be involved. Then I did the math. 🤦🏻‍♀️

It turns out, I graduated thirty years ago. Thirty years ago to the day on June 9th. Talk about a shock! LOL. That’s a lifetime. It reminded me about certain details from that day.

It was the day before graduation and I made the decision to get my hair cut. When I showed up for the ceremony, my friends were stunned. And seemingly disappointed. “Why would you cut your hair?” “What made you do it?” Change. The need for it and acknowledgement of what was to come. That’s what made me do it.

As it happens, this has been my modus operandi for a long time. Before graduation and starting college. Before a new job. At the start of nursing school. Right after I got married. Once I started another new job. When I was pregnant. And on and on. There’s incident upon incident that proves my point. Switching things up helped me cement the changes in my life. New chapters required new hair. I think part of me felt that the changes also cemented that there was no going back. It was also my way of exerting control over myself. Part of owning my independence and autonomy.

My hair has become ridiculously long since the pandemic started. Prior to the shutdown, it was styled in a neat bob with bangs. When I look at those pictures now, I hate it. What seemed like a pretty, easy to care for hairstyle just irks me now. (This is the weirdo that I am. Ignore me).

The texture of my hair has also changed. Since it hasn’t been colored since February 2020, obviously the color is mixed. It’s still mostly brown, but there’s quite a bit of gray there too. I’m not upset about that. I’m more intrigued by it than anything else, to see what it’ll eventually look like.

I think it was in 2018, three of my beloved (and youngest) clients asked me to repair their favorite stuffed animals. Thinking I could make the whole thing more magical, I bought this incredibly cool silver thread. In the end, no matter what I tried to do, the thread kept fraying. It wouldn’t stay on the needle and it also snapped quite a bit. After all of that, I ended up using plain thread. It was stronger and would keep the repairs safe. But I was disappointed that I couldn’t make it work.

Why bring this up? Because the hair that’s grown in, the sections of gray, look and feel exactly like that spool of silver thread! I don’t know if that’s an age thing or all of the CRPS stuff, making the texture so strange. The color, obviously I get. It’s been a year and a half since any color has been added. I just didn’t expect the texture change.

Yesterday, I accidentally found a filter on Instagram that cracked me up. It makes the person being photographed look like their hair is a different color. It made me wonder, (despite my statement that I wouldn’t color my hair again), how fun it could be to have my hair dyed in a wacky color. Wacky for me, that is. On other people, extreme colors look fabulous.

As fun as it was to see myself with purple hair, that won’t be happening any time soon. Or ever. 😂

I don’t know what I’ll do to my hair to mark the changes in my life. I definitely don’t want it to be short, that’s waaaay too much work. Years and years ago, I had it in my head that short hair would make my life easier. Nope. That’s not what happened at all. I had to work longer and harder on my short hair, to keep it in place and not look like I’d slept on it recently. Plus all of the products involved were ridiculous. I kept it that length because it was easier working with my patients. Not having to constantly fix my hair was a blessing.

Now, it’s heavy and needs a trim. In two weeks, once my post-2nd-vaccine time is up, I might get it trimmed a bit. Who knows? It’s not a priority at the moment. I did get something though, that reminded me of my high school days. In the local pharmacy, in the hair care aisle, I spotted hair scrunchies. Although even the word reminds me of the “Sex and the City” episode where Carrie and Berger argue over the scrunchy in his book, I purchased a pack. My hope is that they’ll be easier on my hair than a plain elastic. That remains to be seen. 😂

Here’s to making changes! Whether it’s hair length or color or something totally unrelated. Here’s to making adjustments in our lives that make us feel more like ourselves, more comfortable, happier, healthier. Whatever it may be. Here’s to changing the locks.😉

Peace and painlessness,

Beck ❤️

#thisiswhatsicklookslike #rsd #crps #arachnoiditis #autoimmune #migraine #sacroiliacjoint #facetjoint #backpain #medicalmarijuana #carpaltunnelsyndrome #cubitaltunnelsyndrome #patientadvocacy #painintheBECK #phantosmia #dextroscoliosis #thoracickyphosis #lumbarlordosis

I woke up Sunday morning, my first thought was, “OUCH”. It is the first time in years that I actually thought, “today, I would’ve bolused myself first thing this morning.” And I am – shockingly – talking about my old friend, the pump. One of the cool things about having the intrathecal pump was that, on bad days, I could put a remote over my pump site and give myself a breakthrough dose (bolus) of medication. I have not thought about it in YEARS. But I would have been grateful for it. 

I don’t know what it is lately. Maybe it’s because I’m getting older. Maybe my CRPS is more of an issue. My spine is clearly enjoying it marquee status lately. Maybe the arachnoiditis, in addition to all of the other crap happening up and down my back, is becoming more of an issue. All I know, is that I genuinely hurt. And suddenly the chorus of the song “Changes” by Ozzy Osbourne popped into my head. My daughter has taught me to pay attention to the songs that “tune in.” When they do, sometimes they mean something. (Most of the time, they mean something).

🎵 “I’m going through changes.” 🎶

Is it changes? I don’t really think so. Have I compartmentalized myself to a corner? None of this stuff is new. Well, some of it is. But its mostly the same stuff I’ve been living with, ignoring, outright denying, and ultimately facing for a lot of years.

It’s difficult to refocus my attention on anything other than how much pain I’m in at any given moment. Especially with my back. The concerns I have about my MRI results have to wait until later in the month when I speak to my doc.

In the course of managing my normal and medical lives, I stopped to watch a documentary, “Pink: All I know so far.” Yes, that Pink – the incredible artist, singer, acrobat, rock star, mom, and wife who manages to make her concerts into an energetic, carnival magic show. I haven’t followed current music in a very long time. But I’ve followed her career based on the songs the kids around me were singing. But I watched movie, just for myself. The title song grabbed me by the heart and hasn’t let go yet.

I might be off base, but I get the impression that control is incredibly important to her. I can relate. In my medical life, so much is out of my hands. Anyone with a chronic illness will tell you that. I make some choices, but even those are based on whatever nonsense my body is causing. Medications, procedures, what pillows I have to use, if I want to increase doses. Ultimately, it’s my CRPS, my jammed up spine, and any of their other bodily associates that call the shots. If it were up to me? I’d be sleeping, sitting, lying down, etc any way I want. Not propped up on special bed pillows so my back and neck won’t be screaming for days. Not propped up on four pillows in my chair. Not taking medications throughout the day. Not… not… not. Control is paramount, but there’s so little of it. It’s mostly an illusion.

Anyway, the lyrics of this song have stayed with me because they speak to me. They’d speak to all of us, trust me. I’m including a link to it because I really need everyone to hear it.

https://youtu.be/ENXhsuYQT3k

🎶“I wish someone would have told me that this darkness comes and goes. People will pretend, but baby girl, nobody knows. And even I can’t teach you how to fly. But I can show you how to live, like your life is on the line. You throw your head back, and spit in the wind! Let the walls crack, ‘cause it lets the light in. Let ‘em drag you through hell they can’t tell you to change who you are. That’s all I know so far.And when the storm’s out, you run in the rain. Put your sword down, dive right into the pain. Stay unfiltered and loud, you’ll be proud of that skin full of scars. That’s all I know so far! That’s all I know so far.”🎵 Songwriters: Alecia Moore / Benj Pasek / Justin PaulAll I Know So Far lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Omg! Those lyrics screamed at me: “BECK! THIS IS WHAT YOU’VE BEEN TRYING TO DO FOR ALL THESE YEARS!” Trying to live my medical life with a purpose, although most days feel like I’m scraping by. But sometimes it takes talking to another person, or reading a book, or seeing a show/movie, or HEARING AN AMAZING SONG, to wake us up. To wake ME up.

In writing this blog, for all these years, my hope was to reach at least one person to say, “the situation may be complete crap, but you’re not alone. This is what I’ve been through. Tell me what you’re going through. Together, we’ll all survive it.” If I’ve done that, then I’m grateful. The people I’ve met along the way have shown me unconditional support, kindness, and knowledge. Especially since I started my CRPS journey knowing no one who understood it, let alone had it. No one knows what’s next, we aren’t oracles. They can give me options, but no one knows what the perfect course of action will be. I can respect that. In fact, I’d be more concerned if anyone guaranteed results. I’d never believe it!

I wished for the remote on my pump last Sunday. I absolutely did. I wished, for just a second, that I could have the relief that came with having an intrathecal pump. It’s already hooked into your system and there’s no delay in it hitting the nerves that hurt. Do I want it back? No way. Do I want the morphine back? Noooooo. But could I, just for a second, allow myself to admit that I missed it? Yes.

It’s something I’ve denied myself. I was so hell bent on telling everyone that I believed in my choice (which I did), that I wouldn’t ever look back (which I haven’t). I think I forgot to allow myself to say – when it was all said and done – that I mourned the relief it gave me. That I worried about life without it, in the long term. Would I be okay? (Yes). Would I be back to trying to find a new routine of pain relief? (The answer to that is “no.” I’ve been on the same meds since 2007). It scared me to imagine saying it out loud, because I thought it would make everyone think I’d made a mistake. Meanwhile, no one was thinking anything of the kind. But, as per usual, I judged myself harder than anyone else could ever do it.

Maybe hearing “All I Know For Sure” was a mental bolus. Sometimes we need to get a wake up call. As the song says, 🎶“I wish someone would have told me that this life is ours to choose. No one’s handing you the keys or a book with all the rules. The little that I know I’ll tell to you. When they dress you up in lies and you’re left naked with the truth.”🎶

Back when I was still a patient with my original doctor, he tended to be impatient during my procedures. I’d arrive in the O.R. and he’d be all about getting things started. Meanwhile, since I was there frequently, the team he worked with and I became friendly. Everyone greeted me and chatted as we got set up. One of the radiology technicians always gave me a hug. He was a kind, older gentleman who knew I was terrified and did his best to calm me down. Before and after. It made everything easier for me. But the doc was always like, “let’s get this show on the road.” I had to be awake and alert for a few of them. If I started to panic and asked them to wait, (before injecting me a bunch of times), I know it irked him. But I needed that millimeter of control, however fleeting.

Now? It’s not the same at all, in a good way. When I had to get the facet injections, I made them wait until I knew exactly what would be happening, no surprises. And my current doctor, who I’ve worked with since 2016, is awesome. He’s patient and kind. He gets my hesitation and works with it. It makes a difference.

Listen to the song. It’s powerful and. empowering. I’m so grateful for it. The mental bolus of knowing your worth, your strength, your power…. it’s something we all need. Even in our medical lives. Even when so much is out of our hands. Even when days are bad and the pain is out of control. Even then. Especially then.

Here’s to the boluses. May we get them when they’re needed most.

Peace and painlessness,

Beck❤️

#thisiswhatsicklookslike #rsd #crps #arachnoiditis #autoimmune #migraine #sacroiliacjoint #facetjoint #backpain #medicalmarijuana #carpaltunnelsyndrome #cubitaltunnelsyndrome #patientadvocacy #painintheBECK #phantosmia #dextroscoliosis #thoracickyphosis #lumbarlordosis

On Wednesday, I had my cervical spine MRI. It was not the most comfortable experience. They never are. But this one was made worse by a migraine, subway troubles, and panic.

Waking up with a migraine is….. awful. I wasn’t sure if the pain was from my hair, (I’d loosely gathered it into an elastic to keep it off of my face and neck while I slept), or allergies, or the Eleceed. I’ve been taking that to help me sleep, with success. The only drawback is a slight headache when I wake up, although it’s a time-limited problem that usually dissipates once I’m moving and caffeinated.

I should have taken something for it before leaving for the appointment. But, in my haste to get out the door on time, I forgot.
The train came right away. Unfortunately, as every subway rider has experienced, it was not my lucky day. We’d only gone two stations from home when the super fun announcements of delayed service, “we’re being held in the station” started. Each time we arrived at the next stop, we were held for nearly ten minutes. I was watching my carefully planned window of arriving early whittle away.

I texted my family. After a few of those held stops, they called the office to let them know I was running late. They were really nice about it. Technically, they could have made me reschedule. My worries included struggling to get a time with the wide bore machine (the one for claustrophobic people) and the expiration of my referral. Insurance companies may approve the test, but they typically give a window of time to get it done.

All of this was on a loop in my exploding head as I raced down to the office. When I arrived, the staff was awesome. They’ve always been that way. It was the one good thing that morning. Turns out, they were able to move someone else up and switch my time with theirs. It worked out, thank goodness.

I was called in. The test was started. When you get an MRI, the technician counts you through each section. However long the scan is supposed to be, they let you know how long each section will take. “This segment will be two minutes,” and so on. Well, I wasn’t thirty seconds into the first segment and I PANICKED. I couldn’t breathe. I thought I might vomit. In trying to hold still, I tensed up and ended up causing my left arm to spasm. Finally, I decided to count back from 100. I tried to regulate my breathing. I forced myself to remember that if I needed to alert the staff and get out of the machine, I’d only be back in it a few minutes later. Better to work through it than to make the schedule even later than I already had. Somehow, I managed.

Three huge panics later, I came to several conclusions: I reiterated my loathing of MRI’s, I can’t count backwards under pressure (see my video from yesterday for more info, https://youtube.com/channel/UC0HP8_XhMlvGiYqWcjgm6Gw) , and I’m lucky to have been in such a nice office.

Then, yesterday morning, the weirdest thing happened. I was alerted to the fact that my results were already available. I wish I didn’t know. See, my doctor is away this week and next. I found that tidbit out when I realized my prescription was screwed up. I’ve been battling with the office to get that mess fixed for days. Ugh. But now I’m sitting here, knowing what I know about my MRI, and I cannot do a darn thing with it.

The results were compared with my 2019 test. I think that’s the one from after I fell down a flight stairs and smashed my head into the wooden door at the bottom of the staircase. Just thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach. It was, for sure, my worst fall. Anyway, I think the 2019 report wasn’t as technically detailed as this new one. And so I’m stuck.

I’m stuck with knowledge that this is happening: 1) Bilateral perineural root sleeve cysts at C7-T1. 2) Retrolisthesis, (an uncommon joint dysfunction that occurs when a single vertebrae in the back slips backward along or underneath a disc), of C5 on C6. 3) Facet arthrosis at various points. (This is when cartilage breaks down/is damaged. Can be caused by osteoarthritis. It’s a common cause of back and neck pain). 4) “Unchanged suspected prominent perivascular space in the perimedian left cerebellum.” 5) “Mild, cervical degenerative spondylosis.”

And on and on. Oh! And I have an “incidental thyroid nodule.” It’s tiny, so there’s a victory. I’m entrenched in the stuckness of not knowing what the hell any of that really means. It could mean nothing at all. But, all of that combined in the tiny space that is my cervical spine…. that mixed bag of mess is now my problem. My worry. My pain in the neck. Literally.

He’ll probably tell me it’s nothing to worry about. He’ll recommend injections. He’ll reassure me that things haven’t changed dramatically. Incidental things are simply that, incidental.

Well, for the record, I am incidentally scared. I’m an incidental mess.

And I’m going to incidentally try to not think about it until my next appointment, which is at the end of June.

Here’s to trying to refocus. Here’s to occasionally getting unstuck (it hasn’t really happened yet, but one can dream). And here’s to getting answers to the scary questions. (And having the answers not be scarier than the questions, 😂).

Wishing each of you a calm, safe weekend.

Peace and painlessness,

Beck ❤️

#thisiswhatsicklookslike #rsd #crps #arachnoiditis #autoimmune #migraine #sacroiliacjoint #facetjoint #backpain #medicalmarijuana #carpaltunnelsyndrome #cubitaltunnelsyndrome #patientadvocacy #painintheBECK #phantosmia #dextroscoliosis #thoracickyphosis #lumbarlordosis

That’s me, after my first vaccine last Saturday. I took the pic to send to my family, to show that I was okay. I’m looking forward to getting the second, if only so it’s not hanging over me.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have reservations about getting it. The nurse in me, the amateur scientist and researcher in me wanted more time to gather data. To see longer term side effects. To understand immunity or lack of. In times like these though, I can understand the need for speed.

But still, I was worried about having an atypical reaction. Would it cause a flare? I was concerned because I chose to have the shot in my left arm. My left hand is my dominant hand, but it felt safer to do it this way. My right arm is my “stronger” arm. Plus, my shoulder is still acting up and carpal/cubital tunnel syndromes were active BIG time. So, it felt like a better bet. Turned out, it was.

Fear can be a powerful motivator, to act or not act. I remember family members teaching me how to roller skate when I was very little. My older sisters looked so cool and fast as the flew past me on their skates. I was desperate to learn. Soon enough, we were all speeding around the block. I’m sure I fell, but it didn’t deter me from doing it.

Riding a bike was a whole other story. And, at nearly 48 years old, I still cannot ride a bicycle. I know, I know. 🤦🏻‍♀️ But, although my family tried (and tried and tried) to teach me, falling and stumbling one too many times turned me off to it. So I stopped. Anyway, it was more fun to run around or skate.

Swimming became another obstacle. Getting tossed into the pool -which I hated- was enough incentive to learn. I could handle being left out of bike excitement, but not missing out on the rare opportunity to swim with my siblings. So I learned. I’m not an Olympic swimmer, but I can manage. At least when I was still able to safely be in a pool without making my crps flare. Cold water is not my friend.

While I’m confessing my weirdness, I think I’ve already mentioned that I don’t drive. I don’t have a license. Back in high school, when the opportunity to take driver’s ed came up, I passed on it. I walked or took public transportation everywhere, so it felt unnecessary. When I was older – like married older – I got my learners permit. My husband tried to teach me. I was driving on a nearly deserted, rural road, with his constant encouragement and guidance. It was all fine until an aggressive driver kept speeding up right behind me. Panicking, I pulled to the side of the road at the entrance of a long farm driveway. You can imagine my shock when he also pulled into it, since it was his property. Ugh. That did me in. A few more tries around near-empty parking lots, I still wasn’t comfortable. Later on, my doctor discouraged me from getting behind the wheel since my meds at the time had me falling asleep randomly. It wasn’t safe. And there went my dreams of being the Indy 500.😂

So, here I am: no license and no bicycle riding capabilities. Recently, the thought of learning to ride a bike appealed to me. But only for a minute. Especially since I have a lot more at stake now than I did thirty+ years ago. I can’t chance it. Maybe others think I could, but I fall badly enough without wheels. Let’s not invite trouble, okay??. 😂

Trying new things, at the age I am, is daunting. I’ve talked at length about how long I waited to go to the dispensary. And, once I had, I waited even longer to try the product! I drag my feet deciding about procedures and new medication options. More often than not, I end up refusing. In fact, I mostly decide to do things when I’ve maxed out other options (like ignoring the problem). It’s too much of a freak out to jump into things that have the power to backfire or hurt me. Maybe I’m too cautious. I won’t change though, I know myself too well.

In some ways, I’ve got courage. Writing the blog and filming my videos each week are harder than you might think. I have to put myself in a different mindset to do them. Especially the videos. Writing is easier, but only because I’ve been at it longer.

Do you find fear to be a good motivator? Has it helped or hindered you? I can honestly say that it’s worked both ways for me, depending on the situation. In the case of the vaccine, I think the idea of some sort of new normal being safer for everyone, not just friends and family, got me on board. It’s a good goal to work for.

(Meanwhile, my fear of that new normal has already taken up residence in my brain. My inner monologue is ACTIVE, people. But that’s a whole other blog 😉).

Wishing each of you a safe, peaceful week.

Peace and painlessness,

Beck ❤️

#thisiswhatsicklookslike #rsd #crps #arachnoiditis #autoimmune #migraine #sacroiliacjoint #facetjoint #backpain #medicalmarijuana #carpaltunnelsyndrome #cubitaltunnelsyndrome #patientadvocacy #painintheBECK #phantosmia #dextroscoliosis #thoracickyphosis #lumbarlordosis

At the moment, my history looks like a bit of a mess. What else is new? Mouth guards, pillows, back braces, back exercises. I’m trying to find anything that might make my current situation bearable. This? My nightly ritual of staying awake until my body literally shuts down, grinding my teeth in whatever fitful sleep I manage to grab, constant movement because there is no comfortable way to sleep? It’s not sustainable.

And so I search. Lumbar lordosis. Thoracic kyphosis. Dextroscoliosis. How can I sleep with all of those things? How can I keep from destroying my teeth while sleeping with all of those things?

I’ll be trying a new bite guard tonight. The worst is that when I finally do fall asleep, my teeth grinding wakes my husband up. And it happens more than once a night! Ugh.

Here’s the problem. Everyone’s spine have natural curves. These curves enable us to move comfortably. Like others with the same conditions, my spine decided to do it’s own thing. It’s own extreme thing. The curves are more pronounced and painful.

The exercises will hopefully work the muscles enough that the strain will ease up on the vertebrae. They’re not too dramatic and I can manage them well enough.

The back brace is probably more wishful thinking than good idea. I won’t buy anything until I research it fully. Maybe I’ll wait for my appointment, get my doc’s opinion. We’ll see if I can wait that long. It’s bad. I’m hoping to stop things from getting worse, maybe give my back a reprieve.

The pillows are also wishful thinking on my part. How many pillows can one person believe will help? I’ll let you know. But I found one that I can use while I sleep, a lumbar cushion. As I’m writing this, it seems ridiculous. But I’m desperate. Genuinely desperate.

Ugh! I’m also going to ask about the facet injections. I know! It’s surprising that I’d be signing up for anything like this. But meeting myself where I am required me to acknowledge some truths.

The fact is, my spine isn’t going to magically uncurve itself. My back muscles are sore and knotted. I can’t even imagine not having knots at this point. But I feel like I need to try the shots.

Hopefully, I’ll get some sleep soon. Real sleep, not snippets here and there brought on by exhaustion. Hopefully, my husband won’t have to put up with my teeth grinding. Please let the guard work!

Wishing each of you a safe, NO pain weekend. I wish for nothing less. ❤️

Peace and painlessness,

Beck ❤️

#thisiswhatsicklookslike #rsd #crps #arachnoiditis #autoimmune #migraine #sacroiliacjoint #facetjoint #backpain #medicalmarijuana #carpaltunnelsyndrome #cubitaltunnelsyndrome #patientadvocacy #painintheBECK #phantosmia