Reading about someone else's medical problems might not be to everybody's taste. However, having suffered from chronic neck pain for almost a quarter of a century, I hope that others might learn from my experience.
Although (with varying - usually temporary - degrees of success) I have tried a variety of treatments to combat the problem, more often than not, I would end up taking a pain-killer to ease the pain and this sometimes affected my ability to work. What's more, as time went by, the side-effects became almost as much of a problem as the pain itself; so, I was referred to a pain management clinic about six months ago.
In the meantime, quite a lot has happened.
Firstly, being issued with a TENS device almost halved the number of painkillers I take; which was very encouraging. Secondly, an MRI scan revealed the extent of the damage to my neck and my consultant recommended a pain-killing injection and, if that failed (it offered a 50% chance of success), surgery would be the next option. I had received a successful cortisone injection for a shoulder problem about twelve years previously; so, when I presented myself at the hospital, towards the end of last week, I was quite enthusiastic with the prospect of a similar outcome.
Unfortunately, however, the procedure wasn't quite what I had anticipated.
On the previous occasion (which was 'done' privately), I arrived at the clinic, went into the consultant's office, took off my shirt, received the injection, got dressed again, paid my money, and drove home.
On this occasion, having presented myself at 0745 am (as instructed) - along with maybe half-a-dozen other men - I was escorted into a room very similar to an A & E reception area; where each patient had a, curtained-off, mini-ward to themselves. Not long afterwards, a nurse (dressed in scrubs - and, at that point alarm bells should have rung) came and asked me a series of questions and told me to put on the back-to-front dressing gown which was lying on the bed. Soon afterwards, the consultant who had been dealing with me arrived to check that I was OK and she asked me to sign a consent document.
Later, some of the other chaps were being interviewed and I heard words like 'tumour' and 'postate' being mentioned. Clearly, my little jab would be a piece of cake compared to what they had in store; and it may have been the fact that my own needs were so trivial (or, so I imagined) that I seemed to be the last to be dealt with and I settled down in 'my' armchair to read my newspaper and do the crossword.
I had dozed off when 'my' nurse returned and I may have been a little confused when she instructed me to lie on the bed. "I'm fine." I assured her, "Walking's no problem." "No." she replied, "It's quite a long way to the operating theatre. So. it will be better if you lie on the bed."
"Operating theatre." I thought to myself, "When did that come into the equation?" - and, from then on, much of what happened was a bit of a blur.
Suffice to say, it was nothing like I had been expecting.
Lying face down and being covered by some sort of plastic sheeting (something to do with the x-ray procedure) was the first of many surprises. Thereafter, rather than a single injection, I received at least eight - some to my neck and some to another point lower down my spine; two of which went directly into the root of my pain and, as the first one didn't go deep enough, another longer needle was used prior to me receiving two epidurals - which came as something of a surprise; not least because I had understood pregnancy was a requirement for such a procedure.
Later, whilst being wheeled back to the 'reception' ward, although I seemed to have taken everything in my stride - notwithstanding my surprise - I suffered from what was described as a panic attack. For some reason or another, I couldn't stop trembling; so, the nurses wouldn't discharge me until the consultant had come to see me.
By then, they had worked out that I hadn't been expecting such a complicated procedure and, when she arrived, the consultant gave me a big hug; saying, "You poor dear. You weren't ready for that. Were you?"
Clearly, there had been a misunderstanding; from the doctor's point of view because I did say that I had a pain-killing injection in the past; and from my point of view, in thinking it would be the same as the earlier injection.
In the meantime, although there has been some tenderness where the injections had taken place, I haven't suffered anything like the level of pain to which I had become accustomed. In fact, it seems that the greatest problem has been tension in my neck; almost as though I'm subconsciously waiting for the pain to return.
Hopefully, it never will.
Although (with varying - usually temporary - degrees of success) I have tried a variety of treatments to combat the problem, more often than not, I would end up taking a pain-killer to ease the pain and this sometimes affected my ability to work. What's more, as time went by, the side-effects became almost as much of a problem as the pain itself; so, I was referred to a pain management clinic about six months ago.
In the meantime, quite a lot has happened.
Firstly, being issued with a TENS device almost halved the number of painkillers I take; which was very encouraging. Secondly, an MRI scan revealed the extent of the damage to my neck and my consultant recommended a pain-killing injection and, if that failed (it offered a 50% chance of success), surgery would be the next option. I had received a successful cortisone injection for a shoulder problem about twelve years previously; so, when I presented myself at the hospital, towards the end of last week, I was quite enthusiastic with the prospect of a similar outcome.
Unfortunately, however, the procedure wasn't quite what I had anticipated.
On the previous occasion (which was 'done' privately), I arrived at the clinic, went into the consultant's office, took off my shirt, received the injection, got dressed again, paid my money, and drove home.
On this occasion, having presented myself at 0745 am (as instructed) - along with maybe half-a-dozen other men - I was escorted into a room very similar to an A & E reception area; where each patient had a, curtained-off, mini-ward to themselves. Not long afterwards, a nurse (dressed in scrubs - and, at that point alarm bells should have rung) came and asked me a series of questions and told me to put on the back-to-front dressing gown which was lying on the bed. Soon afterwards, the consultant who had been dealing with me arrived to check that I was OK and she asked me to sign a consent document.
Later, some of the other chaps were being interviewed and I heard words like 'tumour' and 'postate' being mentioned. Clearly, my little jab would be a piece of cake compared to what they had in store; and it may have been the fact that my own needs were so trivial (or, so I imagined) that I seemed to be the last to be dealt with and I settled down in 'my' armchair to read my newspaper and do the crossword.
I had dozed off when 'my' nurse returned and I may have been a little confused when she instructed me to lie on the bed. "I'm fine." I assured her, "Walking's no problem." "No." she replied, "It's quite a long way to the operating theatre. So. it will be better if you lie on the bed."
"Operating theatre." I thought to myself, "When did that come into the equation?" - and, from then on, much of what happened was a bit of a blur.
Suffice to say, it was nothing like I had been expecting.
Lying face down and being covered by some sort of plastic sheeting (something to do with the x-ray procedure) was the first of many surprises. Thereafter, rather than a single injection, I received at least eight - some to my neck and some to another point lower down my spine; two of which went directly into the root of my pain and, as the first one didn't go deep enough, another longer needle was used prior to me receiving two epidurals - which came as something of a surprise; not least because I had understood pregnancy was a requirement for such a procedure.
Later, whilst being wheeled back to the 'reception' ward, although I seemed to have taken everything in my stride - notwithstanding my surprise - I suffered from what was described as a panic attack. For some reason or another, I couldn't stop trembling; so, the nurses wouldn't discharge me until the consultant had come to see me.
By then, they had worked out that I hadn't been expecting such a complicated procedure and, when she arrived, the consultant gave me a big hug; saying, "You poor dear. You weren't ready for that. Were you?"
Clearly, there had been a misunderstanding; from the doctor's point of view because I did say that I had a pain-killing injection in the past; and from my point of view, in thinking it would be the same as the earlier injection.
In the meantime, although there has been some tenderness where the injections had taken place, I haven't suffered anything like the level of pain to which I had become accustomed. In fact, it seems that the greatest problem has been tension in my neck; almost as though I'm subconsciously waiting for the pain to return.
Hopefully, it never will.
