In the summer of 2000, I began experiencing pain in my hands while using the computer. Numbness, aching and a “cold” feeling ran down my wrist and through my fingers. As the months progressed, my condition worsened until January 2001, when I found it difficult to do things as simple as tying my shoes or turning a door knob.
From January to August I visited seven medical doctors, including two surgeons. I suffered through countless blood tests, steroid injections, bone scans and X-rays. I was prescribed everything from Codeine to Vioxx. For six months the pain was so unbearable I was unable to work — a devastating blow for someone who had just been offered a position as vice president of publications for an association management company.
Over those eight months I also saw several physical and occupational therapists that were able to treat some of my symptoms. The cold sensation mostly disappeared. Some of the pain was peeled away. But nothing eliminated it completely. After all of my treatments, my pain had moved from eight on the pain scale to a six or seven.
I had reached “maximum medical improvement” according to my doctors and my insurance company. What maximum medical improvement meant for me was constant pain dulled only by handfuls of pills. Pain that worsened considerably when I used the computer — not a happy diagnosis for a person who had chosen writing as her profession.
Living in constant pain was a nightmare. At times, I literally wanted to die. Several times a week — even years after I was first treated — I cried myself to sleep, terrified at what the future held. Nearly every Friday afternoon I would have to lock myself in a bathroom stall at work as I sobbed. All I could envision was 40 more years of working; 40 more years of pain. The only way I was able to cope was to avoid thinking beyond the day I was living. When the future loomed large on the horizon, I would break down in angry, frightened tears. I felt as though I were in a prison of pain. I felt as though medical science had failed me.
Then I began working at Northwestern Health Sciences University. One of the benefits is access to chiropractic care provided by student interns and faculty members. I explained my situation and my medical history. I was carefully examined and given a course of care that included adjustments to my spine, careful stretching, trigger-point therapy and muscle stripping. After my very first visit I felt immediate relief. I suddenly felt better than I had in months. After a month of twice-weekly visits I felt better than I had in years. Today, two months after my first visit, my quality of life is infinitely better.
Do I believe in chiropractic? Yes! Chiropractic has done for me what surgeons, prescriptions and therapy could not — and the solution is so natural. Using only his hands, my doctor of chiropractic has helped my body heal without cutting me open or filling my bloodstream with drugs. I am not perfectly healed yet — it would be foolish to imagine that the poor condition of my body could be reversed overnight. But I am better and I cannot thank my doctor and his interns enough. While my medical doctors said, “This is the best you’ll get,” that wasn’t good enough for the chiropractors I’ve seen. I shouldn’t be in pain at all, ever. And with their care, I am sure there will be a day soon when that is the case. Already strings of days run together without pain, something I haven’t experienced in the last four years.
I am so grateful for my care. I am no longer a person who is terrified of the future. I no longer live in a cage of pain. I finally see the light at the end of the tunnel; light I had begun to believe didn’t exist. Light that brings me hope.
