1/30/14. The post where I explain the blog name.

January 30, 2014:  another fairly good day.  My foot started swelling again last night and was swollen all day today.  I hoped that would end when I quit taking the Lyrica, but apparently it is RSD-related.  I had a pedicure today, which felt great while I was having it, but caused some issues later.  Rats.  On the plus side, my toes look great.

Between my reduced clothing and shoe options and the need to dress warmly, I look a little less put together each day.  If I were a celebrity, I could pass it off as "eccentric", but on me it looks a little more like "vagrant".  Looking forward to the warmer weather this weekend.

A couple of housekeeping items - I added dates to the titles of all my posts to date on the request of a friend who reads diligently every day and wants to make sure she doesn't miss any posts.  Advance apologies if my editing results in all the posts being sent again to the people following via email.

Also, some of you have asked about the name of the blog.  It is named after my response to a well-meaning but socially awkward co-worker, whose question to me the first ten times she saw me after I returned to work was, "Does it still hurt?"  Yes, it hurts.

One of the reasons I bring up the well-meaning but socially awkward co-worker is that I had an interaction with said co-worker today that was frustrating, but also made for interesting research into my disorder.   The co-worker (let's use the term "she" for purposes of the story) cornered me today.  After asking me again if it hurts (yes, it hurts), she asked if it would make me feel better to hear a story about someone else going through a rough time.  I said "no, it wouldn't", and she said, "well, I'll tell you anyway because it's an interesting story."  She then proceeded to tell me about a relative who is dealing with the effects of a very serious injury.  While I tried to chew my leg off and escape, she continued with a story about a relative who also has RSD and why I was lucky my situation was not like her relative's.  She finished by giving me advice on how I should deal with RSD, based on a text message exchange she had with her relative.  Did I mention that she has a particularly distinctive accent and loud voice?  And that the entire time she was talking, I was standing awkwardly in the door to my office holding the lunch I had just heated in the microwave?

One of the things I've learned in my research is that because the sympathetic nerve system is responsible for the "fight or flight" instinct, stress and loud noises can trigger the symptoms of RSD. Guess what?  They can.  Next time, I guess I'll have to pick either fight or flight.  Option C (aka standing there imagining chewing my leg off and escaping) was not effective.  Fortunately, I did not choose Option D (aka throw my lunch at her and slam my door, which I guess includes fight and flight).  I still have some self-control.

Another PT appointment tomorrow.  I'll try to talk them into taking a photo so you can see what the harness looks like.  It's the least I can do to entertain you on a Friday.
 

1/29/14. The post where I read a scarier blog than mine.

January 29, 2014: much better day today.  Slept remarkably well (once I got to sleep) and woke up feeling a lot better.  The weather is still unseasonably cold, so I made sure I dressed warmly today and wore thick socks.  It definitely seems to make a difference.  My patient, long-suffering (and incredibly sweet) husband assures me I am still cute wrapped in multiple layers of clothes.  I'm not so sure.

Made it through most of the day at no more than a 6, even after a full day at work and two hours of choir practice.  Woo-hoo!

As you all know, I've been doing a lot of Internet research to try to educate myself about RSD/CRPS.  I also "follow" an RSD association on Facebook, and they periodically post interesting articles, research, questions, etc.  They posted a link to a blog published today by the father of a teenager with this disorder.  (You may remember from an earlier post that right now, the mean onset age of RSD is 42, but it is beginning to be diagnosed more often in children and teenagers.)  

I really struggled over whether to share this link with you.  Today was such a good day, and I wanted to write a light, funny post.  Ultimately, though, I decided it was important to share it.  Sorry.    

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jim-moret/personal-health-_b_4682631.html

I can't imagine struggling with this as a teenager.  Being a teenager is hard enough as it is.  While yesterday was a new low for me, after reading this, I feel very fortunate.  I have 45 years of experience as a happy, optimistic person and a strong support group of friends and family to get me through bad days.  My story might be very different if this had happened 30 years ago.  While I will probably never write a blog that is published in the Huffington Post, I also will probably never write a blog as dark as this one.  That's not how I roll, and I hope it never will be.  

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to enjoy a glass of wine and savor the last few minutes of a good day. Here's hoping tomorrow is as good.  Cheers.

1/28/14. The post where I tell you about the lamest snow day ever.

*Spoiler alert - this is going to be a long post.  You may want to grab a snack or something to drink before settling in to read it.*

January 28, 2014: late last night, I got an email from my employer saying the office will open at 10am due to expected icy roads.  Sounds like I get to sleep in.  Excellent!  Then I check my calendar - PT appointment at 8am.  Bummer.  At least I won't have to take sick leave.  I settle in for a fitful night's sleep, as the cold weather appears finally to have lived up to my expectations and ramped up the pain.

At 5am, my phone alerts me with some frantic vibrating that the battery is about to die.  Looks like the charger either came partially unplugged or died.  If my phone dies, a) my alarm won't go off, potentially causing me to miss PT or, b) I miss the call from my PT cancelling my appointment and brave the cold and ice unnecessarily.  I don't like either option, so I find a new charger, plug in my phone and ensure it is charging, and climb back in bed.  The pain in my foot was not bad enough to wake me up, but now that I am awake, it is bad enough to keep me that way.  I huddle under the covers, cursing Apple and climate change, until it is time to get ready for PT.  As I am bundling up to leave the house for my appointment, the phone rings. It is my PT - she's stuck on the road trying to get in and wants to reschedule me for 10:30.  I decide to have a leisurely breakfast and take care of some work from the comfort of my couch.

Mid-morning, I get another email from my employer.  Conditions continue to be bad and the office will not open until noon.  So, other than not getting to sleep in, I'm in just as good of shape as I was last night.  Or so I think.  About 10am, I get another call from my PT.  She is still in traffic - can we reschedule for 1pm?  At this point I am glad I am not her, so I readily agree.  I can still be in the office by 2:30, 3pm at the latest.

Finally get to my appointment at 1pm. She begins by taking measurements to check my progress since the last session.  Using what looks like a protractor (and maybe is, in fact, a protractor), she determines that I have more mobility in the right foot than last time.  She also uses a tape measure to determine that the foot is 3cm less swollen than last time.  Woo-hoo!  (Must have been the Lyrica.)  She has me do some fairly simple exercises and watches me walk, gently reminding me that my strides are still too long and I'm still walking too fast.  I feel like a charm school reject.  She also massages my foot and leg muscles for awhile, which doesn't feel as good as you would imagine.

Then the real fun begins.  We go to the treadmill and she begins to fit me into the harness to keep the weight off my foot.  This is what it feels like:

But I'm pretty sure this is what it looks like:

She sets the timer for four minutes at a very low speed and I begin walking.  At about two minutes in, I get an unpleasant surprise - my left knee starts catching.  She stops the treadmill for a minute and I stretch it out.  She starts it again, and I make it another minute before it happens again.  She decides three minutes is sufficient.  We go back to the table and she works on my knee for a few minutes until there is a loud crack, which she claims is a good thing.  I bundle back up and head home to change clothes for work.

By the time I get home, it is obvious I won't be going to the office today.  The combination of PT, cold weather, and driving has done me in.  I snuggle up under a blanket on the couch with my warmest slippers on and finish working from home.

I'm pretty sore from the PT exercises and my knee isn't too happy with me, but those things are to be expected and I can live with them.  What's scaring me is the continuing pain in my foot.  I joke about the 1-10 scale, but there are times like tonight when I honestly don't know how to categorize it.  I'm just going to use 9+.  Right now, I'm determined not to use any pain medications that will affect my ability to function in a way that I consider normal.  I only have a week until the nerve block, and I'm banking on it working.

My other fear is the increasing pain in my left foot.  For the moment, it's confined to my big toe and there is no discoloration, so I will chalk it up to cold weather, arthritis, and PT.  If it doesn't improve when the weather warms up this weekend, I guess I'll have to come up with a plan B.

And I just swallowed my gum.  http://movieclips.com/nM9aq-the-sure-thing-movie-i-have-a-credit-card/

1/27/14. The post where I talk about control.

January 27, 2014: finally, some relief.  Woke up at around a 6, and stayed there much of the day.  A very busy day.  If you had told me six months ago I would appreciate a day spent at pain level 6, I wouldn't have believed you. But here I am, and it was a good day.  I'm fading tonight, but I expected worse with my activity level and the cold front that has blown in today.

And that's what's freaking me out.  I am used to being in control, and this is not something I can control or predict.  I don't know how I'm going to feel from one minute to the next, let alone from one day to the next. This had better not be some sort of metaphorical life lesson about letting go and facing fears.  But if it is, I hope they make a movie out of it.  A real movie, not one of those Lifetime TV movies.  And I hope Sandra Bullock plays me.  

Physical therapy in the morning, road conditions permitting.  They're going to have me walk on a treadmill while in some sort of harness to keep the weight off my foot.  (I'll pause a moment to let that mental image sink in.)  I already feel ridiculous, and I haven't even tried it yet.  At the very least, I should have a good story to tell tomorrow. 

As I write this, the pain is steadily ramping up.  Maybe the long day and cold weather are affecting it after all.  Which means maybe I am starting to be able to predict it.  Sandra Bullock will be very disappointed to hear that.

1/26/14. The post where I try to stay positive.

January 26, 2014: wow.  Today was a rough day.  I'm not sure I can use pain scale numbers anymore without getting into multiple decimal points. (I told you I was terrible at this game.) There were a few times this afternoon I thought I might throw up.  I also had an interesting new sensation tonight where it felt like I stuck my toe in an electrical outlet.  I'm going to have to look that up later and see whether it's a normal symptom, whatever "normal" means these days.

My first nerve block is scheduled for February 4.  That seems like a long way off right now.  Hoping for at least a few better days while I wait.  Otherwise, it's going to seem like a long way off for everyone else, too, especially for my patient, long-suffering husband.  I'm doing my best to stay positive, but that's easier some days than others. So let's go through the positives:

1.  The choir sang a beautiful, moving piece in church this morning and then my patient, long-suffering husband played another beautiful piece.

2.  Had a nice lunch with family and a musician friend who was in town for the weekend.  

3.  Saw a fun opera featuring some great performers.

4.  Have heard from lots of friends this weekend with positive messages of love.

5.  Today was a beautiful, sunny, warm day.

6.  My foot doesn't look like a sausage.

There. I feel a little better now.  

1/25/14. The post where I show off my mad hosting skills.

January 25, 2014: slept a lot better than the previous night and woke up feeling better.  It was still cold out, but my body had adjusted.  This was a day I had been looking forward to all week - we were having some friends over for a wine tasting.  I was also a little nervous, as it was the first social event we had hosted since my diagnosis, and it has become clear that I can't predict how I am going to feel at any given moment.  It was a fairly simple event - all we were providing was the venue and a few food items.  A good way to dip my toe back in the social pool.

Started the day by bundling up and going to breakfast with a friend who is going through a rough patch and needed a little company.  (It's not always about me, remember?)  So far, so good.  Back home to meet up with my patient, long-suffering husband to make a grocery list and accompany him to the store.  About half-way through the trip my foot began to protest loudly.  Apparently grocery stores, and society in general, frown upon you lying down in the middle of an aisle to rest, so I slogged on and made it back home to rest.

For the rest of the day, I helped when I could and rested when I needed to.  Fortunately for me and our guests, my patient, long-suffering husband (a former chef), had things well under control.  Despite my lack of assistance, everything was ready when guests arrived.  And by "everything", I mean myself as well.  I was wearing two matching shoes and looked like I was ready to greet company.

The right shoe made it about 20 minutes into the evening.  Hoping to look more like a casual host and less like the tipsy bride in Sixteen Candles, I soon removed the left shoe as well. By the end of the evening, I was sprawled out on a chair with my foot up, letting my guests bring me food and refill my wine.  Not my finest hosting gig, but all went well and a fun time was had by all, including me.  

1/24/14. The post where I quote "This is Spinal Tap".

January 24, 2014: big weather change last night.  Temperature dropped from 80 degrees on Monday to the lower 20s Thursday night.  I had read that cold weather can aggravate RSD.  Guess what?  It can.  I thought that staying inside in my warm, cozy home would keep it from being an issue.  Guess what?  It didn't.  (Apparently it's more of a barometric pressure issue.)  Looks like I will now be an amateur meteorologist.  The pain gradually increased in the night, resulting in very little sleep and a very unhappy me today.  Luckily for my co-workers, the temperature drop was accompanied by enough ice that work was cancelled today.

Today, the pain was up and down, but consistently in the 7.5-9 range and a few times I would have called it a 9.5, which is the worst it has been so far.  I'm beginning to think that I have been miscalculating my pain levels on the scale.  I'm also beginning to fear that the scale goes to 11.   (In case you've never seen This is Spinal Tap, here's a link that feels very appropriate today: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4xgx4k83zzc.)

I have also resigned myself to the fact that I will not be riding in the charity bike ride I do every April.  I had been harboring a secret hope that I might be able to start riding again soon and could at least do the shortest distance.  I even went to my PT appointment on Wednesday prepared to ask if I could start riding again.  (What can I say?  I'm an optimist.)  After an hour of being told to slow down to keep from aggravating it further, I decided they might question my intelligence if I asked to start cycling, so I refrained.  Guess that will have to be more of a long-term goal.

In better news, the side effects from the Lyrica appear to be completely gone, including the water weight.  I'm not cancelling that muumuu order just yet, because I am still about 12 pounds north of my pre-RSD weight, but I have increased the number of clothing items I can fasten while continuing to breathe.  Small victories.

1/23/14. The post where I remember it's not all about me.

January 23, 2014:  first day without Lyrica.  Didn't sleep that well, and woke up 15 minutes before my alarm.  That's actually good news - other than the whole foot thing, I'm already starting to feel normal again.  My foot was pretty swollen, but didn't feel too bad, maybe a 6 or 6.5.  And it's a good thing, because I had a really busy day planned at work.  No time to think about this.

I've spent a lot of time on myself recently: taking care of basic needs (which takes a long time these days), doing research, visiting doctors, taking medicine, feeling sorry for myself, trying not to feel sorry for myself.  Several things happened today that reminded me I'm much happier when I think about other people.

First, a new "Kid President" video came out today.  For those of you who are not familiar, he is a kid with osteogenesis imperfecta (brittle bone disease) who makes funny, inspirational videos.  A few weeks after leg surgery, he made a new video that made me laugh and cry at the same time.  If you haven't seen him and need a lift, here's a link to his latest video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l5-EwrhsMzY&list=SPzvRx_johoA-YabI6FWcU-jL6nKA1Um-t&index=1

Second, I learned about two people in my life who are struggling with serious issues.  One physical and one mental, both potentially life-threatening.  Puts things into perspective.  I'll either stop hurting or I won't.  Either way, life will go on, with the help of friends and family who love me.  While this diagnosis has taught me that I need to spend a little more time on myself, I would rather spend time caring for other people, because that's where I get energy. Hmm...does that make me selfish?  Guilty as charged.    

1/22/14. The post where a lot happens.

January 22, 2014: pain started out at around a 6 this morning.  A couple of good days in a row.  Go, me!  Doctor appointment was around lunch time, with first physical therapy appointment immediately afterward.  During the morning, things started going slowly downhill and by the time I got to the doctor's office, I was pretty miserable.

I was shown to an exam room and the doctor's assistant came in to take my vitals, ask some pertinent questions, and get my file ready for the doctor.  She asked me about any changes and I explained that my foot now turns red instead of purple.  She looked down at my foot and said, "It looks pretty purple to me."  I looked down and she was right.  Well, crap.  Then I told her about the Lyrica side effects and she said, "None of that sounds very fun." She has a flair for understatement.

When my doctor came in, he was ready for action.  He told me to quit taking the Lyrica.  Woo-hoo!  He recommended starting nerve block injections, stressing the importance of treating it aggressively before it progresses.  When I mentioned the change in color of my foot and asked if that was a good sign, he told me that any color other than my normal color is not a good sign.  Well, crap.

I made appointments for two nerve block injections (two weeks apart, per my doctor's instructions) and headed upstairs to physical therapy, which is conveniently located in the same building as the pain management specialist, although it was prescribed by my previous doctor.   As soon as I met the therapist, I told him I had RSD and quizzed him about his knowledge of it (again, per my doctor's instructions).  Luckily for him, he passed my test and the session began in earnest.  Today was mostly diagnostics - lots of measurements and testing of mobility, strength, etc.  He looked at more than just my foot, to see if there were other alignment issues that might be contributing, so we could work on resolving them as well.

The result?  Apparently I am all jacked up.  (My phrase, not his, although he admitted that it was probably an accurate description.)  Well, crap.  I won't bore you with all the details, but as an example, my left hip is higher than my right hip.  Whether that is the cause or the result of the issues in my right foot is anyone's guess.  The important thing is that he appears to have a comprehensive plan for resolving all the issues in the hope that they will not trigger the RSD again in the future.  I am in favor of this plan.

He also opined that my gait may be irritating my joint (and therefore, the RSD).  He suggested walking more slowly and taking much shorter steps to keep from bending my foot so much.  Those of you who know me well know this will be difficult, as I am usually set to Warp Speed 7.  I will do my best to comply, though.  He also gave me some simple exercises to do and asked me to come back twice a week for the next four weeks.  In recounting the details of my visit to my patient, long-suffering husband, I told him I didn't think the physical therapist realized yet that I am an over-achiever.  His response, "Don't worry, he'll know soon enough."

Whether it's the result of all the poking and prodding or just coincidence, the pain has ramped up to at least an 8 tonight, although the swelling doesn't seem to be as bad.  We'll see how I sleep without the Lyrica.  It would be a shame to find out I miss it after all my complaining...

1/21/14. The post where nothing much happens.

January 21, 2014:  not too much to report today.  Slept through my alarm again.  This is totally unlike me, so I'll blame it on the Lyrica.  Woke up with my foot a little swollen, but not feeling too bad.  I'd give it a 6.  I suspect my foot may be trying to fool me on the day before my next doctor's appointment. Kind of like when you have a great hair day on the day you are scheduled to get it cut.  Nice try, foot. I'm onto you.

Went through the now-familiar complex algorithm of matching a set of clothes that still fit me with a pair of shoes I can tolerate wearing.  The pickings are getting mighty slim.  That reminds me, I need to call the muumuu maker and check on my order...

Made it through another day at the office, with a break at lunch for a manicure, which is always a happy experience. (OPI's "I Knead Sourdough" from the San Francisco collection, in case you are wondering.)  The pain and swelling got progressively worse as the day progressed, but nothing unmanageable so far.  This evening it is up to about a 7, which seems pretty good after the weekend.

I'm trying to get my thoughts together for my appointment tomorrow.  The only positive change I've noticed is the change in the color of my foot from purple and black to red. (I guess I don't even know if that's a positive, but it sure seems like it to me.)  Negative changes: drowsiness, blurred vision, weight gain, foot swelling.  No appreciable change in pain level - I still have good days and bad days, and in my (decidedly unscientific) scale of measurement, the number still fluctuates between 6-9.  I have no idea whether any of these things are the result of the medication, the disorder itself, or walking again after being off my foot for three months.  Good thing I'm not a doctor.

In addition to my appointment, I also have my first physical therapy appointment tomorrow.  I'm hoping they'll clear me to start doing some workout activities.  I have a lot of clothes that need to be worn! Think good thoughts for me tomorrow.

  

   

1/20/14. The post where I appreciate small victories.

January 20, 2014:  A little bit of relief today.  The swelling went down in the night, which is always good news.  Pain was down to an 8.  Maybe even a 7.5.  I was off work for MLK Day and I was glad to feel a little better, because I had a lot of chores planned.

My patient, long-suffering (and wonderful) husband got me out of the house last night for some fun to get my mind off things, so I was also in a better frame of mind today.  Except for one thing.  We went to a couple of local "hipster" hangouts, which made me realize how totally uncool I have become.  Not sure when that happened.  But my best guess is 1981.

It doesn't help that I can't fit into 3/4 of my clothes.  For those keeping score at home, I've gained another three pounds since I started taking the Lyrica.  The good news is that according to my fancy scale, which tells me everything from my body mass index to the team batting average of the 1969 Yankees (.235), it's just water weight.  The bad news is that my clothes don't care.  All they know is that this is not what they signed on for, and they don't want to play anymore.  Unless the Lyrica makes a miraculous turnaround in the next day before my appointment, chances are I won't be taking it anymore, and I can't say I'll miss it.  

I didn't get everything on my list accomplished today, but I put several things in the win column.  Most importantly, I went to the grocery store by myself.  I can't remember the last time I've done that.  I'm sure everyone in the parking lot noticed the goofy smile on my face.  I also made dinner.  Yes, I know, it's not like I ran a marathon.  But you know what?  That's what it felt like.  Did it hurt?  Yes.  Will I pay for it tomorrow?  Maybe.  But it was worth it.      

1/19/14. The post where I tell you about the voices in my head.

January 19, 2014:  No better this morning.  The swelling in my foot had not gone down in the night, which was a pretty good indicator of the direction the day was going to go.  This has been one of those "coping" days.   I stuffed my right foot into a sausage casing shoe so I could drive to church - thank goodness for velcro fasteners.  I may not have been a very good conversationalist, but I managed to get through the public part of my day, and then headed back home to put my foot up.

Some days if I stay busy, I can get distracted and forget it about it for short periods.  On days like today, though, I haven't found anything distracting enough yet to take my mind off it.  Here is a very short dramatic reading to give you an idea of the inner conversation I have found myself having with my brain and sympathetic nervous system (SNS) on days like this.  (You can imagine James Earl Jones and Malcolm McDowell reading it if that makes it more interesting.)

SNS: ACK!!!  Your foot just got cut off!  I'll let your brain know and try to cut off the blood flow!  You call 911 and get someone to apply a tourniquet!
Me:  Calm down, my foot did not get cut off.    
SNS:  Are you sure?  Because I think your foot just got cut off.
Me:  No, it didn't. I promise.
Brain:  I think SNS is right.  It definitely feels like your foot just got cut off.
Me:  Guys, I'm looking right at my foot!  It did not get cut off.  Everyone just calm down.
SNS: ACK!!! Your foot just burst into flames!
Me:  STOP IT!

This may explain my concentration issues.

I'm still optimistic this will go into remission, but I'm starting to wonder if I need a plan B in case it doesn't.  In the meantime, I will do my best to stay occupied and keep arguing with myself.  I'll try to keep it down.

By the way, thank you to all of you who are still reading this.  I have no way of telling who is following the blog (probably because of my limited technical skills), but I know when you say things that you would only know by reading it.  Wink, wink, nudge, nudge...sausage legs.  I feel like I'm in a club with a secret handshake.  It means a lot to me.

1/18/14. The post where I tell you about ice and the McGill Pain Index.

January 18, 2014: first, a little housekeeping.  I've gotten a day behind on my posting, so this morning, I am posting about yesterday.  Those of you who are following me via email are getting posts the next day, so right now they are actually two days behind.  I intend to catch up by posting again tonight about today's events.

So much for my theory that the Lyrica was working.  The pain was back up in the 7-8 range all day. By the time I went to bed, my foot was swollen again, the pain had climbed to a 9, and I was using my yoga deep breathing to keep from either screaming or crying. The one good thing about Lyrica is that once I am able to fall asleep, I sleep pretty well.  And by "sleep", I mean "pass out in a drugged stupor."  I've also noticed that my foot tends to be red now instead of purple and black.  I don't know if that is a result of the medication, and I don't even know if it means anything, but it seems like a good thing.  Black is a scary color to see on your foot.

I had been a pretty good girl Saturday.  I wore sensible shoes and my orthotics and tried not to aggravate it.  I haven't established enough of a pattern yet to know if I was paying for the sins of the previous day, but I promise the shoe experiments are over for awhile.  One of my brothers was in town with his family for a visit, so I got to spend some time with them, which brightened the day considerably.

I go back to the doctor in three days and so far, I don't think I can say the Lyrica has caused any remarkable improvement.  I'm also having some issues (like swelling of my foot and difficulty concentrating) that I don't know whether to attribute to the RSD or the medication.  I'm not good at this "take it one day at a time" business.

I continue to read about the disorder and am learning some interesting things.  For instance, people with RSD should not ice injuries.  I still don't completely understand it, but it has to do with ice constricting the blood vessels.  Ice can trigger RSD, and in people who already have it, it can aggravate it.  Except in rare cases, only heat should be used to treat injuries.  This is great news.  I have always hated using ice packs.  The lesson I took away from my reading was no ice, more hot baths.  Score!

I am also reading about the McGill Pain Index, another thing I don't yet completely understand.  The bottom line is that according to this index, which was developed to quantify different types of pain, RSD (or causalgia, as it used to be called), has the highest score on the index and is considered the most painful chronic disorder.   This gives me some comfort.  I am not a wimp.  This really, really, really hurts.

I have more to say, but I'll save it for tonight.  Think I'll go take a hot bath...

1/17/14. The post where three strikes doesn't always equal an out.

January 17, 2014:  what a day!  This was the busiest, most event-packed day I've had in some time.  I made a few mistakes, but the story has a happy ending.

Had another shoe fantasy while getting ready for work, and this time I decided to go for it.  A new pair of suede boots (season-appropriate), that perfectly match my new cords and sweater for casual Friday at work.  Yes, they have a bit of a heel, but they are Borns and seem very comfortable.  I can put them on without screaming.  My calendar at work is pretty clear, so I won't have to do much walking.  I catch the shoe police napping and am not even questioned about my choice.  Strike one.

I realize while getting dressed that my orthotics are downstairs in the shoes I wore yesterday.  I'll pick them up when I get down there and put them in my shoes.  I am halfway to work before I realize I failed to do that.  I briefly consider turning around to get them, but quickly dismiss the idea.  Strike two.

About mid-way through the morning, I realize that it doesn't matter whether I sit or walk, it's the angle of the shoe that makes my foot hurt.  And not just my right foot.  My left foot also hurts, as it has not worn anything with a heel for six months.  And my ankle and knee are not pleased with my choice, either.  I consider taking off my shoes at my desk, but fear my foot will swell and I won't be able to get them back on again.  Foul ball.

At the end of the work day, I have just enough time to race home and pick up musicians for my patient, long-suffering husband's concert.  As we are loading people and instruments into vehicles to drive to the concert venue, my patient, long-suffering husband asks if I want to change shoes.  I quickly weigh the options.  Changing shoes means a trip upstairs and a change of clothes and accessories.  (I suspect that the females reading this are nodding their heads knowingly, while the males are scratching their heads in dismay...)  I answer, "No, I'm fine."  Strike three, but the catcher misses the ball.

It's a long night.  For those of you who don't know, I assist my patient, long-suffering husband in running a fine arts series, which means that concert night is a busy one: setting up, selling tickets and CDs, doing an accounting after the concert, and tearing down.  I know I am in pain, but am too busy to think about it enough to make a pain level determination.  By the time we arrive back home late last night, I feel certain I've done irreparable damage and am cursing my poor shoe choice.  I take off my boots, prepared for the worst.

And get a pleasant surprise.  It is barely swollen, and it is red, but not purple and black.  I keep it elevated for awhile and it looks even better.  When I assess the pain level, I put it at about a 6.  I beat the throw and am safe at first.  

This makes two "good" days in a row, even with my ill-advised shoe experiment.  In the long term, 6 is not acceptable, but for right now, it feels pretty good.  Maybe the medication is starting to work at the higher level?  In any event, I think I'll stick to sneakers this weekend.

I learned two things today: 1. I need to make better shoes choices right now. 2. Always run to first base on a third strike - every now and then you'll end up safe at first.

 

1/16/14. The post where I double my medication.

January 16, 2014: nearly slept through my alarm this morning.  The side effects associated with doubling my medication were not as bad as the first day I took it, but I could definitely feel the difference.  Not quite sure how long I was in the shower. Let's just say it's fortunate for me that we have a tankless water heater.   Got fascinated by the sunrise. (Even more so than usual.)  Washed my face and flossed my teeth at least twice because I kept forgetting whether I'd already done so.  Still managed to get to work by 9:15 and even in my medicated state, I think I was a safer driver than 98% of the drivers I encountered on my morning commute.  Co-workers promised I wasn't acting weird at work, but it's hard to trust people who are secretly judging you over your shoe choices. (See yesterday's post.)  Effects didn't start wearing off until this evening.

The good news: my foot seemed to feel better today.  I think.  Or maybe I was too looped from the medication to notice.  Not sure I can come up with a precise pain number today, but I think it's lower than 8.  Except for one unfortunate incident this morning, for which I take full responsibility.

While getting ready to leave for work, it occurred to me that I had a pair of pretty red pumps that would look nice with my sweater.  In my addled state, I tried to come up with some logic for wearing them that would get me past the shoe police, aka my patient and long-suffering husband.  1: the heels are not that high.  2: they have straps. (I have no idea how that helps my case, but it made sense this morning.)  3: my orthotics fit in them.  4: my foot is going to hurt no matter what shoes I wear, so why not wear shoes that will make me happy?

Armed with this iron-clad argument, I put the orthotics in the shoes and slipped on the right shoe.  Then I stood up.   AAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEE!!!!!   Not sure that's exactly how you spell the sound I made, but it was something close to that.  I slipped the shoe back off, found a pair of my sensible, boring prescription shoes, and went downstairs to say goodbye to my patient, long-suffering husband without telling him about the incident he'd narrowly avoided.  Okay, shoe police, this time you won without even having to play.  Next time, you won't be so lucky...

1/15/14. The post where I talk about coping strategies.

January 15, 2014:  I slept with my foot elevated on a wedge pillow and by this morning the swelling had gone down.  Started the morning at about an 8, but by the time I left for work, I had convinced myself it was down to a 7.  The power of positive thinking?  Side effects from the medication are almost completely gone, and no traffic jam this morning, which was a relief.  And any day that I get to laugh with Mom on the phone is a good day.

I've done a couple of things this week that tell me I am not myself.  First, yesterday I purposely wore shoes that were inappropriate for the season.  Most of you know I am a stickler for fashion etiquette to the point of obsession.  Last week, I bought a pair of patent leather wingtips that are almost identical to a pair I had in high school.  I intended to save them for patent leather season, but yesterday I decided to throw caution to the wind and wear them to work.  And you know what?  The world did not come to an end.  Although I think co-workers may have been secretly judging me.

Second, I nearly forgot a haircut appointment today.  In my defense, it was not at my "normal" time.  And my technology totally failed me.  Hey, Google calendar reminder, seven minutes after an appointment is not the same as 15 minutes before the appointment.  But usually, the calendar reminder is an unnecessary backup to the steel trap in my head that remembers everything from the lyrics to every song I knew in the 70s to my schedule for the next three months.  Fortunately, I work five minutes from my hair salon, and my wonderful hair stylist is very understanding.  (The fact that she has cut my hair for so many years she could do it in her sleep came in handy and kept her schedule intact, I hope.)

It's becoming obvious to me that I don't have my A game right now.  If this is going to be a long-term thing, I am going to have to come up with a better coping strategy than "Sorry, Miss Whiny-Pants, but you are getting out of bed and going to work."  On the other hand, it's also becoming obvious to me that it's okay if I don't always have my A game.  Life goes on.  Even if my co-workers are secretly judging me.

Back up to at least an 8 tonight and foot is swollen again.  I think I'll call it a day.  I double my medication tonight, so keep your fingers crossed that the zombie doesn't make a reappearance...

1/14/14. The post where I get philosophical.

January 14, 2014: today was filled with ups and downs.  Pain level was at 7 this morning.  My patient, long-suffering husband dutifully asks me how my foot feels every morning when he wakes up.  My usual answer, "Oh I don't know...not as good as yesterday, but better than the day before" is not useful to him, so he's asked me to use the number system.  I guess it works as a relative system, as long as I'm always the one estimating it.  Side effects of the medication are significantly less pronounced today.  (Just in time to double it tomorrow night.)  At least it gives me hope that my body will adjust to it eventually.

I think my drive to work experience this morning was sort of a metaphor for the last year.   As I started my car this morning, the first thing I heard on the radio was a song that began, "Today could be the best day ever...".  Just what I needed to hear.  Yes, I've got this. Today is going to be awesome.  So I pulled out of my condo complex to find...a sea of cars.  (In case you need a little background, I live right beside a freeway, but I am the luckiest person in the world when it comes to commuting.  I live three miles from work and never have to get on the freeway.  I just take the frontage road for 1/4 mile and go under the underpass.  From there, it's a straight shot to work.  Eight minutes on a good day, 12 minutes on a bad day.)

Today, however, there was an accident on the freeway, which resulted in said sea of cars converging on the frontage road trying to escape the traffic jam.  Which resulted in those of us coming from the adjacent neighborhood having to rely on the kindness of strangers to be invited into the fray.  I gave the drivers on the frontage road my very best and most plaintive "Y'all!  My foot hurts! Please let me in!" look and eventually I got in the line of crawling vehicles.  Those of you with long commutes will not be impressed, but it took me 12 minutes to drive the 1/4 mile to the underpass.  When your foot howls every time you step on the gas or brakes, that seems like a long time.  The entire commute to work took 25 minutes - not impressive by most standards, but an eternity for me. During the commute, the next song I heard was "Please Ask for Help."  Truth is stranger than fiction.

As I said, today was full of ups and downs.  Received a link to a hilarious blog about pain levels from a friend, which made my day.  (Check it out if you are so inclined:  http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/02/boyfriend-doesnt-have-ebola-probably.html.)  Had a long conversation with one of my brothers, which always makes me very happy.  Met some lovely new neighbors who I think will become good friends.  Visited with a really nice musician staying with us who is playing a concert with my patient, long-suffering husband.  Enjoyed a delicious meal prepared by my patient, long-suffering husband.  Foot is swollen like a grapefruit and pain is up to a 9.  You win some, you lose some.

1/13/14. The post where I go back to work.

January 13, 2014: Just got home from work.  Which means I went to work.  Score!  While the concept of working from home is attractive in theory, it's mentally and emotionally uplifting to be able to make a distinction between "work" and "home."  It's also nice to have some human interaction.  (Or as a co-worker jokingly put it, "semi-human interaction.")  It was physically and mentally draining, but worth it.  I believe I'll try it again tomorrow.

My right foot is as swollen as I've ever seen it after wearing a shoe all day.  My patient and long-suffering husband just told me it looks like a sausage.  (I'm pretty sure he means that as a compliment.)  I will spare you the horror of a photo - instead, just imagine me with a sausage in place of my right leg.  On second thought, maybe you would have preferred a photo.

I'm still not noticing anything but side effects as a result of taking the Lyrica, but I'm still optimistic.  It's only been five days, and I double the dosage on Wednesday night, which I hope will cause some improvement without doubling the side effects.

Short post tonight, because I am going to handbell practice.  Yes, I play handbells.  You want to make something of it?  Don't mess with a handbell-playing, sausage-legged, blurry-eyed, chocolate-covered pretzels for breakfast-eating, muumuu-wearing, dry-mouthed, incoherently rambling zombie.

1/12/14. The post where I tell you about pain levels

January 12, 2014:  well, so much for the Lyrica working.  Things started going south yesterday afternoon and by 6pm I had given up on my evening plans and made a date with the couch.  Surely some mindless TV would take my mind off it.  By 8pm, it was clear the TV therapy wasn't working and the pain was excruciating, so I got in bed and took my Lyrica, hoping it would at least knock me out.  That plan didn't work, either. The good news is that after a very fitful night, the pain is back down to at least a bearable level.  I thought about sending a post in the middle of the night when I was awake and miserable, but decided pain blogging is probably similar to drunk texting (something that seems like a good idea at the time, but that you regret later), so I didn't.  You're welcome.

Those of you who have experience with pain management doctors know about the 0 -10 pain scale.  This is how they have you describe your pain, with 0 being no pain and 10 being the worst pain you can imagine having.  I am terrible at this game.  I can imagine a lot of pain, so I'm always concerned about starting too high on the scale and having nowhere to go.  "Pass" is not an acceptable answer to the question, though, so I told him that on my best days it's a 5, on my worst days it's an 8, and most days it's in the 6-7 range.  Last night was a solid 9, although the Russian judge only gave it a 6.2. (A bit of Olympics humor in honor of the upcoming winter games.)  Please, Lord, don't let there be anything over a 10...

As I got ready for church this morning, I did a mental checklist of side effects.  Dizzy? Check. Blurry vision? Check.  Dry mouth? Check.  Wait, what? I didn't remember that was an option.  I looked it up, and it is. This stuff had better start working soon, because it has several strikes against it already.

I got ready and went down to the kitchen, still feeling like a zombie, to eat breakfast before leaving.  That's when I saw it on the counter.  A bag of dark chocolate-covered pretzels I found in the pantry yesterday.  Chocolate releases endorphins.  Pretzels are healthy and have basically the same ingredients as toast.  Yes, I just found breakfast.  This might explain why people gain weight while on Lyrica.  They should add "loss of good judgment" to the list of potential side effects.

Win for the day: I drove to church today, my first driving experience since November. I got there and home without injuring myself or others.  Looks like I'm good to go to work tomorrow.  I could use your support, because I have a feeling it will be overwhelming.  Whatever you're into - prayers, good thoughts, chanting, special potions.  All are appreciated.

1/11/14. The post where I tell everyone more about RSD.

January 11, 2014:  foot was feeling a little better this morning than yesterday morning.  Lyrica kicking in or just coincidence?  Fingers crossed.  Vision still blurred - looks like my glasses will be a permanent fixture for awhile.  I was still pretty groggy this morning, but that gets a little better each day, so I should be good to go to work Monday morning.

A couple of wins to report.  I went to the grocery store last night and walked all the way through the store.  I was ready to sit down by the time we were done shopping, but it felt good to be able to do it.  With a few exceptions, we've been getting by for the last two months on quick trips for necessities and eating out of the pantry and freezer.   Now our kitchen is restocked!  

Win number two is two days' worth of stand up showers.  I've been sitting to shower since I got my cast to keep the weight off my foot, which makes getting clean a little trickier than I anticipated.  Fortunately, we have a built-in bench in the shower, but granite seat + winter + water = cold bottom!  (And yes, complaining about the granite seat in my shower is the textbook definition of a First World Problem.)  It's amazing the things you take for granted.

I did not include a lot about RSD in yesterday's post, because it was already longer than I intended. So today, I will try to give you all a brief rundown.  I am stealing some of this from various medical websites, but translating it into my own words for simplicity's sake.

Cause: for people who have RSD (more on that below), it can be triggered by an injury that is unrelated to the nervous system, or by an injury to the nerve itself.  In my case, since it manifested in a foot that was already injured, that was likely the trigger.  (I've read that in some people it can even be triggered by stress or loud noises.)  The "sympathetic" nervous system overreacts to the injury and goes into panic mode, cutting off blood flow to the injured area and flooding the brain with pain messages that are out of proportion to the injury.  As I told my mom, I had an inflamed joint, but my nerves think my foot was cut off in a saw mill accident. Apparently my nerves think I work in a saw mill.

How do you get RSD?  That's the million dollar question.  There is a lot of research going on in this area, but it is still not really known.  It could be a genetic predisposition.  There is also research now indicating it might be an auto-immune malfunction, in which your immune system attacks your nerves. The mean onset age is 42, although it is starting to be diagnosed more often in children and teens. This may explain why this is just now happening, when I've had multiple injuries/surgeries in the past that could have triggered it.  I feel fortunate to have a doctor who is very familiar with it.  He has treated many others with RSD and keeps up with the latest research.   I think of him "an RSD nerd", but I mean that as a compliment.  (Hope he would agree.  On second thought, don't tell him I call him that...)

Symptoms:  there's not a simple test to determine whether you have RSD.  There are some tests that can give clues, but it is based mostly on physical examination for symptoms.  Here are the potential symptoms, according to the Mayo Clinic website:

• Continuous burning or throbbing pain, usually in your arm, leg, hand or foot
• Sensitivity to touch or cold
• Swelling of the painful area
• Changes in skin temperature — at times your skin may be sweaty; at other times it may be cold
• Changes in skin color, which can range from white and mottled to red or blue
• Changes in skin texture, which may become tender, thin or shiny in the affected area
• Changes in hair and nail growth
• Joint stiffness, swelling and damage
• Muscle spasms, weakness and loss (atrophy)
• Decreased ability to move the affected body part

Treatment:  I gave you the rundown on the course of treatment recommended by my doctor yesterday, but there are other treatments that can also be attempted if the others are not successful.  I'll tell you about those if we get there.  RSD can't be "cured", but it can go into remission, and that is what we are working toward.  Part of the treatment also includes coping skills in the event it doesn't go into remission.    

For the next week and a half, my main goals are to stay busy and take my meds.  One day at a time.   Many of you have already heard this story, but I'll tell it again just in case.  A few weeks ago, while I was still on the knee walker, I went to a birthday celebration dinner with some close friends.  As we were walking out the door, a group of (apparently inebriated) 20-somethings were walking in.  One of them gave me the thumbs up and said, "Keep on truckin', little one!"  Thank you, drunk boy.  I believe I will keep on truckin'.  

1/10/14. The post where I catch everyone up.

Hi, friends and family. It's Valerie.  If you're reading this, you know I've been diagnosed with Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy/Complex Regional Pain Syndrome.  I'm going to call it RSD from now on, because that's what my doctor calls it.  (Although I like the idea of calling it CRPS, because I think it would be pronounced "craps".)  I had never heard of it before my diagnosis, and I'm sure most of you haven't, either.  I decided to start a blog about my experience with it for several reasons:

1.  Lots of you sweet, thoughtful people have asked me to keep you updated and this is the most efficient way I can think of to do it.  This way, you can tune in if/when you are interested, rather than me sending out constant updates to everyone on my email list.
2.   It's a good way to educate people, including myself, on this disorder.
3.  Those of you who know me well know that I'm not very good at sharing, especially in person.  I'm an optimistic, positive person, the downside of which is that I'm not likely to tell you when I'm struggling.  It's a lot easier for me to share in writing, especially in a more anonymous setting like this, where I can pretend no one is reading it.

I am going to try to post every day for awhile, especially while I am getting the hang of it (and by "it", I mean both blogging and having RSD).  I want to share the good, bad, and funny, and I hope you'll enjoy the humor and learn a little along the way, about me and RSD.  Creative writing has never been my bag, so we'll see how it goes.  One other note: when I describe medical terms/procedures, I'm using my own definitions, so don't blame my doctors if I don't get it quite right.

Today's post will be pretty long while I try to bring everyone up to date.  Bear with me and I promise future posts will be shorter.

January- June 2013:  ouch, the balls of my feet are really sore all the time.  I cycle, walk, and wear ridiculously high heels way too often.  Oh, and I'm in my mid-40s.  Guess this is what middle age feels like...

July/August 2013:  while cycling with friends on a hot Saturday morning, the pain gets so intense I can't finish the ride.  I walk my bike the last quarter mile to my home and resolve to make an appointment with my doctor first thing Monday morning.  My doctor diagnoses me with sesamoiditis, which is inflammation of two pea-sized bones in the ball of your foot.  He refers me to a podiatrist, who prescribes customized orthotics to take the pressure off the sesamoid bones and some specific shoes that will be more appropriate.  While I love to buy new shoes, I don't like to be told what shoes to buy, and I don't want orthopedic shoes!  Guess what, turns out there are some really cute shoes that fit the bill, although they can't comply with my request for at least 3 inch heels.

September 2013:  still hurts, even with the new shoes and inserts.  In fact, the right foot hurts more than it did before.  An MRI of the right foot shows some osteo-arthritis, along with inflammation of the sesamoids, tendon, and bursae.  X-rays show possible stress fracture of the sesamoid, although the bones are so small it's hard to tell.  Doctor prescribes short boot for my right foot to get the weight off it.  I also get a cortisone shot.  By the way, when you get a cortisone shot in that joint, the doctor has to dislocate your big toe to make room for the needle.  I call my doctor every curse word I know while I am getting the shot.  He is very gracious about it.

October 2013:  short boot and cortisone shot not making a difference.  Doctor orders blood tests to check for possible auto-immune issues, and one of the tests is positive.  Doctor refers me to a rheumatologist for further blood tests.  Negative result on all additional tests.  Good news - I don't have rheumatoid arthritis or lupus.  Bad news - still hurting.  Doctor prescribes long boot for my right foot.  The pain in my right foot is starting to get really serious now.  Even the weight of a sheet on my toe in bed is miserable.

November 2013:  still inflamed, even with long boot.  Doctor prescribes a leg cast for six weeks and advises me to stay completely off it to give it time to heal.  This also means no driving.  I begin working from home and hitching rides from kind friends for doctor appointments and a few church activities.  Rather than crutches, podiatrist prescribes a knee walker, which is much easier to use than crutches and keeps my foot elevated, but nearly drives my patient, long-suffering husband out of his mind.  We both notice that my toes turn purple when I'm on the knee walker or have my foot near the ground, but I chalk it up to blood running to that area after it being elevated.  Pain is a little better, but still pretty bad.

December 23, 2013:  cast comes off - an early Christmas present to myself! Or so I thought.  As soon as the doctor begins manipulating my foot to examine it, the pain intensifies and my foot turns purple and swollen.  Doctor puts me back in the long boot and advises me to continue using the knee walker.  Most of you probably heard the screams of agony from my patient, long-suffering husband from miles away when I told him about the knee walker.  Doctor prescribes physical therapy and begins talking about possible exploratory surgery, although he doesn't recommend it because of the potential damage to my foot.  At this point, I am at my wit's end.  Something is clearly wrong besides a little inflammation in my feet and I need an answer.  I get a referral to an orthopedic surgeon in town who specializes in feet and was highly recommended by a dear friend who is a retired rheumatologist.

January 7, 2014:  Appointment with orthopedic surgeon.  He examines my right foot thoroughly, asks me questions about my treatment history to date, and then asks me to take off my left shoe so he can compare the feet.  He looks at my left foot and says, "That's what I thought.  Have you ever heard of reflex sympathetic dystrophy?"  Obviously, the answer is no.  He explains it very briefly and writes it down, "so you can google it when you get home."  He wants me to go to a pain management specialist in town who treats RSD to confirm his diagnosis and begin treatment.  He says we need to "reset" my nerves and get rid of the pain, and suggests I come back to him when that is resolved so he can figure out what is wrong with my foot that triggered it in the first place.  

Excellent!  I have a diagnosis!  Sounds simple. Couple of visits to the pain management guy, problem solved.  Then I go home and google RSD as he recommended.  Uh, oh.  I start coming across words like "incurable", "remission", "coping strategy", "irreversible".  Maybe this is a little more serious than I thought.  Maybe I don't even have it. No point in worrying about it until I see the pain management guy, which happens to be tomorrow morning.  Thank goodness for cancellations.  I don't want to wait weeks to get this resolved.

January 8, 2014:  Appointment with pain management doctor.  He quickly confirms the diagnosis.  He is very knowledgeable and very positive.  He says we've caught it early enough that he feels confident he can get it into remission.  He tells me the steps he plans to take: first off, a prescription for Lyrica for two weeks, then a follow-up appointment.  If no significant improvement, a series of nerve blocker shots.  If that doesn't work, a device they can implant under the skin that sends electrical impulses to disrupt your nerves, for up to a year.  So far, so good.  Then I start to do the math - he just described up to two years of treatment to get it into remission!  (This guy is good.  He described it in such a positive way that it took me awhile to figure that out.)  He also told me that in the future I need to have any injuries treated immediately and tell doctors I have RSD before any surgery, so that precautions can be taken to try to avoid triggering it.  I look at my patient, long-suffering husband and see the "I told you so" look on his face, since it took me so long to see a doctor about this.  I see a lot of precautionary doctor visits in my future to satisfy my patient, long-suffering husband...

The best news I get from the pain management doctor is that I will not do any more damage to my foot from walking on it, because at this point the pain is being generated by my nerves and not because of the injury.  This means I can jettison the boot and the hated knee walker.  My patient, long-suffering husband does a happy dance in the exam room.  The doctor tells me I will have a lot of pain walking, but I need to do it to ensure my foot doesn't atrophy.  No pain, no gain.   I leave the office rolling the knee walker behind me, a little bewildered, holding my Lyrica prescription.  I am supposed to begin by taking it at night for a week to see how I react, then add a second pill during the day for the second week.  Those of you who know how I historically react to medication and anesthesia already know how this is going to go...

I go home and begin reading about Lyrica.  Possible side effects include dizziness, drowsiness, and blurred vision.  Oh, and weight gain.  Awesome.  I've already gained ten pounds during this ordeal, so that will be great.  I start making plans to purchase some muumuus on the internet, since I can already barely fit into my clothes.  Then I read the best part.  And by "best", I mean "worst".  No alcohol.  This is going to be a long two weeks.

One of the things I'm learning in my study about RSD is that it is important to keep your friends and family informed as a support network (and more generally, to spread the word about this disorder since so few people are aware of it).  I begin emailing friends and family to let them know about it, and I like the RSD Association's page on Facebook.  Yes, everything is on Facebook now.

January 9, 2014:  I wake up later than I expected, feeling like I'm coming out of anesthesia.  I say several nonsensical things to my patient, long-suffering husband and then try to pour myself out of bed.  I'm still working from home until Monday, but I have an extremely important conference call from 8am-2pm.  I have to get my act together.  I manage to stumble to the kitchen, get some breakfast, and emerge from my stupor just in time.  No change in my foot pain, or the color of my foot today.  Wishful thinking, I guess.  By the end of the day, I am in agony.  Besides the "normal" pain, I am now walking on my right foot for the first time in two months, so my ankle, knee, and hips ache.  I take another Lyrica and collapse into bed.

January 10, 2014: I'm a little less foggy this morning, but in a lot of pain.  Even my toes are tingling and burning.  It woke me up multiple times in the night, but I still managed to sleep pretty well, probably due to the Lyrica haze.  The blurred vision started today, so please excuse any typos.  A lot of work fires to put out, so no time to concentrate on pain, though.  I have already filled Monday, my first day back in the office, with meetings.  Maybe that's a good thing.  I need to stay busy right now, because it keeps my mind occupied.

Whew. Everyone is now officially caught up.  Tomorrow I will post more about RSD (symptoms, causes, etc.), but I wanted to get the background out of the way.  Thanks for hanging in there with me today.

Here's what my foot looked like this morning:

Thank goodness for my pedicurist.