What Chronic Pain Taught Me

I used to think getting older meant needing reading glasses and avoiding tequila. I didn’t expect to wake up one morning with a stiff neck that nearly broke me.

It started more than two years ago, as I was approaching 50. From contorting my body to accommodate a large dog, an oversized cat and sometimes a small human on my side of the bed, it wasn’t uncommon to wake up with some part of my body out of whack. But I couldn’t move the right side of my neck. Then I couldn’t lift my arm. Eventually, my entire shoulder was immobile.

I tried medical massages, cupping, yoga, acupuncture, hyperbaric oxygen therapy, new pillows. I got my neck X-rayed, MRI’d and CAT scanned. I saw orthopedic surgeons, physical therapists and holistic healers. They found nothing. It wasn’t a frozen shoulder, and other than a little arthritis in my spine, maybe some calcium phosphate crystal deposits near my rotator cuff, I was fine, they said. But I didn’t feel fine.

The pain was consistent, relentless. It affected the way I got out of bed, put on clothes, carried groceries. I couldn’t even open a jar or brush my hair. Slowly, steadily, the pain broke me down. I stopped surfing, wearing dresses, sleeping in my bed, going out. I gained weight and felt helpless, hopeless, useless. I became a version of myself I didn’t recognize or like.

Illustrations: Getty Images; Composite: Christine Labrador

Chronic pain is defined as pain that lasts at least three months and affects your daily life. About a quarter of the U.S. population suffers from it, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. For some, it’s so severe they start thinking about suicide. While that was never an option for me, I won’t lie—the idea of never waking up and experiencing pain again did sound appealing at times.

A year and a half after that initial stiff neck, I went camping at Mokulē‘ia. By this point, I had a hard time swallowing. Sitting in a beach chair was excruciating. It was around midnight when I got into my car and drove 30 miles to the hospital. When I got to the ER, I told the staff I wasn’t leaving until someone figured out what was wrong.

Seven hours, one X-ray and an MRI later, one of the doctors told me I had an infection in the soft tissue of my neck—caused by group A streptococcal—and immediately put me on IV antibiotics and steroids. It was the first time I didn’t feel pain in my neck and shoulder in more than a year.

It’s been a couple of years since I walked out of the ER. I’ve since been to more physical therapy sessions, got a dose of triamcinolone acetonide and had a serendipitous encounter with a healer. And I’m getting better. I’ve got a lot more range of motion in my shoulder, and I’m able to lie down without stacks of pillows under my head. I’ve even gotten back in the water.

What I learned from all this is you can’t give up—even when hope feels fleeting or altogether gone. Did a veteran orthopedic surgeon tell me that nothing’s wrong with my shoulder? Yes. Did that fix my shoulder? Of course not.

And did it stop me? Not yet.

I’m not saying I’m healed. But I’m healing. If this whole saga taught me anything, it’s that the body is weird, doctors don’t know everything and sometimes, the only way out is to keep showing up. Pain can take a lot from you, but it doesn’t take everything. Not if you keep pushing, asking and trying, even when you’re exhausted, frustrated and starting to Google, “Can I live without my right shoulder.”

I’m not pain-free yet, but I’m moving, surfing and sleeping with just one pillow. Progress is the point, and I’ll take it.

Born and raised on O‘ahu, Catherine Toth Fox is a writer, editor and children’s book author. She is the former food and dining editor of HONOLULU Magazine.