Chronic Pain and Suicide Risk (Or why aren't we addressing such the need for help in such a high risk group?)

I recently had a doc say to me "Fibromyalgia won't kill you."

I know this. I've dealt with this condition most of my life.

I shot back, "Yeah, I know. The other half of that statement is 'But it will make you wish you were dead.'."

Let's just say that particular doctor's visit didn't go well.

The reality is that there are many chronic pain conditions and illnesses that in themselves, are not deadly. That part is true. But the damage that these conditions cause to our lives, livelihoods, bodies, relationships, and even our daily interactions can and do place individuals with chronic pain and chronic illness at a higher risk for suicidality.

A recent article published by the American Chronic Pain Association (2016) reports that a recent survey they conducted showed that 47% of the respondents (chronic pain patients) have contemplated suicide. Given that 100 million Americans are living with chronic pain (according to the National Institute of Health), one would think that there would be more attention given to what is such a high risk group and such a large part of the population.

And frankly--even more concerning--is that the recent push from the CDC and other federal entities to limit the access of opiate pain medication has had an increasing negative impact on suicide rates. In short, since chronic pain warriors are having more difficult accessing the medication they need to control their pain, the suicide rate among this population is rising (Pain News Network, 2016).

Why are Chronic Pain Warriors at higher risk for Depression/Anxiety?

There are a number of factors that can contribute to depression and anxiety, including not enough sleep (or enough restful sleep), isolation, not getting enough Vitamin D, some health conditions, a chemical predisposition to mental health challenges, and many others.  For instance, if someone with Fibromyalgia has sleep disturbances, this is not only going to cause an increase in the level of pain, but it's likely to impact the person's ability to interact with the outside world (leading to increased isolation), and may start a cycle of poor sleep due to pain leading to more poor sleep and so on.

And then, there is the stigma. This comes from everywhere. It's in the judgement of every person who watches me get out of the car when I have to use an accessible space to the coworkers who wonder why I called in sick to the doctors who tell me I shouldn't feel this bad (when they themselves can't begin to fathom what I feel). It's from well meaning but misdirected individuals who offer the "cure" their brother's second wife's cousin is selling this week for all conditions. Maybe we have family and friends that we feel we're asking too much of or have become a burden to.The stigma is isolating as well.

And, of course, there is stigma in reaching out for help with mental health. There are the lack of resources for individuals reaching out for mental health. In addition, while there is an increasing understanding of the impact of chronic pain and illness on mental health, this is still a growing movement, so the professionals who are competent in chronic pain tend to be scarce.

How do we address this?

The good news is that there is a growing trend (Thanks Medicare!) to have patients of all backgrounds complete a Patient Health Questionnaire (PHQ) when they see their PCP. The PHQ is a screening tool for depression, and it also screens for suicidality. This can be a very useful tool, and since Medicare implemented requirements for screening tools to be utilized as a part of patient care, other insurance companies are noticing and following suit.

Social media has also been a great place for chronic pain warriors to find support from fellow chronic pain warriors, and some areas have in-person support groups. These can be great resources.

Ultimately, though, care for people like me has to be holistic and address my mental health needs as well as my physical health needs. This means all of the systems of the healthcare system need to come together to treat Chronic Pain Warriors as the whole person that they are (chronic pain and all). It requires an approach that is common sense in many ways, but is rarely put into practice: treat the whole person, not just the problem area.

And finally, medicine and the CDC need to realize that there is an appropriate place for opiate pain medications in chronic pain management. It's not necessarily the whole treatment plan, but it can be part of a comprehensive treatment plan, and for many people, it's a necessary part of treatment. It may be the only thing keeping someone going on with the fight against their pain.

If you or someone you know are experiencing suicidal thoughts, get help. The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline can be reached by calling 1-800-273-8255 or visit their site for live chat.

Chronic Pain and the Pain Scale Fallacy (or Do Chronic Pain Warriors even use the first few digits on the scale?)

A common question that people face when interacting with medical professionals regarding medical issues is "what do you rate your pain?"  It's a scale from 0-10 where 0 equals no pain and 10 is extremely severe pain.  It resembles something like this:

Doctors, Nurses, Physicians Assistants, and Nurse Practitioners use this as a guide to gauge someone's pain, and it's based on patient self-report.  It's very obviously subjective--the patient has to quantify what they're experiencing into a number--but I get how it's a beneficial tool for medical professionals.  How else can they figure out how bad the pain is without a report from the person experiencing it?

The problem?  For many chronic pain warriors, we may not have experienced anything less than a "3" for years, and this starts to skew our scale.  And for many of us, we regularly exist in the "severe" range.

There is not a day that I do not experience some level of pain.  Some days, the quality of pain is more achy, as if I am experiencing the flu.  On others, it may hinder my ability to walk or breathe.  The unfortunate reality of the conditions is the unpredictable nature of it. While there are definitely things that can exacerbate the pain (i.e.-overexertion, certain foods, certain weather conditions, emotional stress, etc), sometimes there is no rhyme or reason to an increase in pain.  Lately, my "default" pain level has been a "6"--and that's on good days.

But I--like many chronic pain warriors--continue to smile and work through it, and this throws a lot of medical professionals off.  Recently, I had a visit with my primary care and I'd been dealing with a pretty rough case of sciatica pain.  When asked where I'd rate it on the pain scale, I calmly said "7".  I wasn't crying; I'd even cracked a few jokes (because I use humor to deal with a lot of things).  My doc knows me, though.  She knows I'm extremely skilled at hiding pain and fatigue (20+ years of practice), so her only response is "A 7?  That's pretty severe.  We need to get that under control.  I'm going to make a referral to the pain management program."  My doc's pretty awesome that way.

That's not the experience with all health care providers.  A lot of providers will actually assess a person's pain based on how they appear.  So, if you walk into an ED and you're smiling, playing games on your phone, and generally seem alright, providers may assess you as having low pain.  (And quite honestly, if you walk into an ER smiling and playing games on your phone, even I would have to ask why it couldn't wait until you could see your primary care the next morning.)  Conversely, if you enter the ED grimacing or doubled over, they're likely to assess you as being in some form of discomfort.

Admittedly, these are two pretty extreme examples, but in the Emergency Room, the staff are accustomed to making quick assessments to determine what the problems are.  It's a strong skill to be able to quickly eye a person and assess them, and move to start treatment. The challenge comes in when people are accustomed to wearing a mask over their pain. It hasn't be completely uncommon for me to enter the ER in extreme pain, but to show little outward reaction to it.  Or, for that matter, to be making some jokes.  

So, here's the difference between a "normal" (non-Chronic Pain Warrior) and Chronic Pain Warrior:

Or, at the very least, perhaps Chronic Pain Warriors need our own (expanded) scale:

One of the other issues with the pain scale is it doesn't address the differences in severity, quality, or location of pain.  For instance, I may have widespread pain that's achy, but using to the sciatica pain as an example, that was very sharp and acute nerve pain across my hips and down my back in addition to the overall achiness.  I was also dealing with a migraine, and my knee was acting up. There isn't enough space on the form I had to fill out prior to the appointment to write out all of that.  

The pain scale isn't a bad tool, but it doesn't provide an accurate representation for the pain that Chronic Pain Warriors experience, and this leads to even more frustrations in treatment for both the doctor and the patient.  

Definitions of the conditions listed in my medical chart

"Med Seeking Behavior" and chronic pain (Or how can I prove to you that my pain is real when I have an Invisible Illness?)

We were watching the show "Night Shift" the other evening, and there was a scene where a patient comes in with obvious pain.  It appears she had kidney stones (to which I can attest is extremely painful), and the inexperienced medical professional on her case diagnosed kidney stones based on the tests, including blood in her urine.  Turns out the patient was a frequent flier to the ER and nicked her finger so she could put blood in her urine, and her chart documented a long history of med seeking behavior, specifically trying to get narcotic pain medications.

Now, med seeking behavior is a major problem for the heath care system today.  I won't deny that. And while the "typical" drug seekers shown on the media and in television shows usually show addicts in a fairly dramatic fashion, the truth is that health care sees med seeking behavior in a variety of ways, including individuals complaining of pain caused by invisible illnesses. And those individuals may truly experience the levels of pain that they're reporting--or they may not.  But it does make it harder for those of us who are truly in pain and need certain medications for treatment to receive the treatment we need.

So while society tells us "But you don't look sick" and many don't believe us, health care can share the same opinion.  And I can't blame health care for being cynical.  Prescription drug abuse is on the rise, and the FDA has changed their rules about prescribing Hydrocodone as a way to partially address this issue.  There are reports on the Office of Inspector General website of doctors being arrested for inappropriately prescribing Schedule II drugs and fraudulently billing for them.  Add in the news of increases of death due to accidental overdose of prescription pain medications, and it's understandable that medical professionals are cautious.

But there's very much a flip side to the story.  Those changes have led chronic pain warriors who rely on those medications to function to have great difficulty in getting the meds.  The cynicism of health care professionals to those with invisible illnesses who rely on those medications has led to people not getting what they need for treatment.  And this isn't the entire health care profession--there are many out there who acknowledge that there is a proper place for narcotic pain medication and work with patients on appropriate pain management.  

I've had experiences that run the gamut in the 20+ years of living with chronic pain.  The first time I was ever given a Narcotic pain med, I was about 20 years old at the time, and I was in the ER with pleurisy.  For those who aren't familiar with the condition, it felt like an elephant that was sitting on my chest and trying to crack my ribs with every breath, every attempt at talking, or every attempt at moving just a little.  It was extremely painful.  (Funny story: to say that I'm somewhat sensitive to pain medication is an understatement.  Shortly after the administration of the drug, I had the sudden urge to sing Disney tunes.  I must have said this aloud, because the nurse turned to my mom, who was with me, and said "Perhaps she only needs half of the pill.")

My primary care at the time was fairly wiling to work with the Fibromyalgia and Myofascial Pain Complex, but he also was quick to prescribe the pain pill I tolerated so well with pleurisy as a PRN ("to take as needed") for me to deal with pain.  This wasn't something I had requested, but it was something that worked quickly to deal with severe pain and would allow me to get back in track in maintaining my health.  

Over the years, it became a staple in my care.  For doctors looking at my history, they saw how frequently the PRN pain meds would expire before I even needed them (which shows how often I utilized them), and I've always been pretty vocal that I prefer other ways of dealing with my pain spikes if I can.  I can honestly say I've never had one of my (many) primary care physicians treat me as if I were med-seeking.

I can't say the same for some of the specialists I've seen.  And I really can't say the same for trips to the ER.  I once had a very nice and sympathetic ER nurse tell me to be careful sharing that I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia with ER staff, because many of them will view me as doing nothing but med seeking.  

I will admit; I did go to the ER med seeking once.  (Well, actually, it was a total of 5 times in a week.)  I had kidney stones.  At that point, I would have stood on my head and whistled "Dixie" if they could take away my pain.  (And, in normal circumstances, I can't do either.) Generally, though, if I'm at the ER for pain, it's because I'm concerned there is something really wrong going on in my body.

I have some recommendations regarding this:

• Develop a strong rapport with your primary care doctor, and be open to other forms of treatment besides Narcotics.  Some medical groups have acknowledged the vast problem of chronic pain, and have started pain management practices that focus on a variety of ways to help alleviate pain.
• Educate yourself.  Work on finding what works for you to control pain that may not include the pain meds.  There are reasons I don't like Narcotic pain meds. They don't completely take away the pain and leave me feeling fatigued and sluggish for a few days after (on top of my already present fatigue), but the digestive issues?  Don't get me started on those.  And frankly, overuse of them can lead to dependency on the medication and potentially damage to organs.  That's why I use it as a last resort.  Is there a place for them?  Absolutely.  Do I still have my PRN prescription in the medicine cabinet?  Absolutely.  Do I still opt for time in the pool and acupuncture before I reach for them, when I can?  Absolutely.  
• If you have to seek out emergency care for pain, be open and honest.  Despite the recommendation from that ER nurse, I don't hide my diagnoses.  And yes, I have been treated poorly in the ER at times.  (And then I've filed complaints and requested that the staff receive additional training on chronic pain and invisible illnesses.)  But if you hide something, it'll appear you're hiding something, and staff are going to jump to the worst conclusions.  
• And if you seek out emergency care for pain, and they determine that your pain would be better responsive to an injected anti-inflammatory rather than a narcotic, don't argue with them (unless you know you have a contraindication for the anti-inflammatory).  Arguing with them isn't going to help your case and WILL make you look like you're med seeking.  After all, the purpose here is to help manage your pain, not to get you higher than a kite while doing so.  

Definitions of conditions listed in my medical chart