Issue link: https://www.massageandbodyworkdigital.com/i/1402696
wrong because the tests were clear. Surprised, the rheumatologist said there was nothing wrong with me, maybe it was somatized grief, and I just needed to give myself time to recover. He'd be right there, but there's no cure for what I've been carrying. The next day, I woke up screaming in pain and called him right away. He told me the name of some painkillers, which I didn't bother to get. The rest of the week was hell. I woke up screaming in pain almost every morning. It got so bad I was afraid to go to bed. The lightbulb moment came when, as I writhed, sobbing, I shrieked at my partner, "FIRE! My hand is on FIRE!" He immediately insisted that I phone my physiotherapist—the one specialist I had forgotten, as I'd gone hunting after rare autoimmune conditions. I argued back, never having experienced the degree of pain that cervical radiculopathy can generate. Indeed, it seemed my old cervical disc bulge was having a temper tantrum, and my back had turned into a broken jigsaw after everything I'd done to it. One visit to my physio, a new chair, and a new pillow delivered me from the agony within a few days. The neck grumbles occasionally, but the acute pain has not returned since. My back is beyond redemption. Two things stayed with me about this experience. First, the key to the mystery was the word fire. I awoke screaming "fire," and that unlocked it. My physiotherapist also zeroed into that description, asking me several times to be precise in how I was describing the sensation. The second thing is how my therapist made me laugh. He was working on my neck, and, poor man, for the 10th time tried to suggest I might moderate my activities, and start getting some exercise. We're almost the same age and he teased me, reminding me that we're not getting any younger. "But," I said to him, "I do so much yard work, the house is huge, the grounds are huge. I chop and carry wood, and I do it all myself. That's plenty of exercise!" Laughing, he replied: "My dear, that's not exercise. You're an intellectual, but you're also a lumberjack!" We had a good laugh, and I'm grateful he puts up with me even though I'm such a bad patient. Narrative Approach Exercise Before reading further, please take the time to first highlight any points, words, or phrases that stand out. Then, work through the narrative using the six points for close reading (page 42). When you've done so, read on and compare your observations. It's important to note that there are no right or wrong answers at this stage—you're looking to get to know this patient through her narrative. • Which words do you notice? What seems unusual to you? • Notice the use of "temper tantrum" and "grumbles" to describe the chronic neck issue. • Hands become "monsters," her back becomes a "broken jigsaw." • Patient seems to want to distance herself from the parts of the body that are in pain, to separate herself from the sites of pain. In other places, she gives her painful body parts a personality—like a misbehaving toddler she just wants to hush ("mind of their own"; "take revenge"). Observation The narrative is very tactile. It focuses primarily on physical sensations, with little to nothing visual until "FIRE" is repeated and becomes central to the narrative. The only sound is of her "screaming in pain" (repeated) and "shrieking." Pain is also given a sound: "tantrum," "grumbling." She seems to have everything under tight control until it breaks the surface—and then it's explosive. The "pain" words are much more intense than anywhere else. The rest of the narrative is quite crisp and quiet in comparison. Control issues? Perspective The narrative is mainly told from the patient's perspective, with a little bit from the therapist's perspective too. The partner seems to have the most insight, but the patient seems very preoccupied and resistant to advice or help. The form is like a journal entry, fairly informal, but self-aware in that some details seem to have been added in expectation that strangers might read it. She explains details about her activities to fill in the gaps. Repeated imagery of body parts almost as enemies. The story is told in chronological order, but it seems as if there is a backstory she is not telling, something already absorbed, accepted, or that she doesn't want to share. Possibly related to the "somatized grief" mentioned, but not explored. The patient says "there's no cure." Is this the root of the problem? Despite the explosions of graphic, pain- related imagery, the narrative is controlled, and there is a sense of having given up on getting help ("no cure," "beyond redemption") or some deep resistance to it. The sub-story, with the rheumatologist and suspected lupus, is incredibly cold—as if she is content with such a potentially serious diagnosis. That is peculiar—in combination with the mention of grief, maybe needs exploring. The patient tells the sub-story of the conversation with the therapist hinting at the one line that got her to change a few things. She liked being compared to a lumberjack. L i s te n to T h e A B M P Po d c a s t a t a b m p.co m /p o d c a s t s o r w h e reve r yo u a cce s s yo u r favo r i te p o d c a s t s 43 SOMATIC RESE ARCH