Showing posts with label CHRONIC PAIN. Show all posts
Showing posts with label CHRONIC PAIN. Show all posts
Thursday, September 06, 2012
WELCOMING A STUDENT
Welcome Allison! It was nice to meet you this week. What a pleasure it is for Rachel and me to have a Ph.D. student doing a group work practicum in our chronic pain group. Here we are, preparing to integrate another group leader. The great thing about having students is that we learn from them while they learn from us. Students, through their questions and their knowledge, teach us to be a little more clear about what we are doing, and why we are doing it.
It’s hard to know what a student might expect a hope group for people with chronic pain to be. Group work done in a counselling setting is usually referred to as group therapy. Our work is therapy, though not direct therapy for the pain. It is therapy for the emotions and behaviours that attach themselves to the pain and make life difficult. Being psychologists rather than pain doctors, we will be using psychology to shape emotions and behaviours. . Our first stated objective is to bring people with chronic pain together in an environment that is fun and positive. The approach is rooted in the theory that bringing them together is good, that how you bring them together will matter, and that they’ll have more power against the pain in a fun and positive place than they would in other places.
We’re expecting 8 participants. They will come to us for 2 hours on 6 consecutive Tuesday afternoons. Some may stand up or lie down because sitting is so uncomfortable for them, while others will sit peacefully and wait to be reminded that it is time for a break. Some may be very angry while others will say that they are grateful. Some may want to talk all the time while others might have to be addressed directly if they are to say anything at all. But all of them will have considerable experience with pain. Their pain is physical.
Most of the people registered in this group were referred by pain specialists—experts in the art of medical remedies. The key word here, when you think of remedies, is chronic. Conditions are labelled as chronic when there is no cure. Chronic pain is persistent, resistant, insistent. It is as confounding to physicians as it is to sufferers. It refuses to go away when you bombard it with drugs. It sneers at you when you try to exercise it away. It turns you into a recluse, a grouch, a whiner. It drives your friends away and frustrates your relatives. Chronic pain scoops up your hope and bashes it against walls. When you search for a cure, it tells you to accept your condition. When you resign yourself to letting it win, it accuses you of being lazy. It blames you for being the cause of your own decline. When you get right down to it, chronic pain is not some little thing. It’s a big, big thing. That’s why professionals from many disciplines are experimenting with a variety of options. One option is a hope and strengths group.
The group you will be helping to facilitate, Allison, is our 12th hope and strengths group for people with chronic pain. You’d think we might be getting tired of it, but we aren’t. Rachel and I have learned quite a lot along the way, as anybody would, repeating a process so many times. One thing we’ve noticed is this: you have to work on the hope and strengths before you work on the pain. When you bring together people who have chronic pain, chronic pain expects to be the elephant in the room—not the normal unmentioned elephant, mind you, but the big elephant that takes up all the attention. Everybody turns to look at the elephant, to talk about the elephant, to recount battles with the elephant, to curse the elephant. Left unchecked, the elephant tramples everything in its path.
Suffice it to say, it’s not much fun paying attention to chronic pain. It’s not very hopeful either. So we are going against the tide when we promise to create an environment that is fun and positive. Having learned this the hard way, we carefully budget our attention—more paid to fun and positive at the beginning, more paid to pain later on. We’ve noticed that chronic pain withers a bit in the face of fun. Anything you can do to wither it before you address it has got to be good. Ignoring it doesn’t make it go away, but after you’ve made some space for the fun to grow, it’s hard for even the most intrepid elephant to trample it completely.
Fun, though, is only part of the picture. If we wanted only fun, we might simply take the group to a comedy club and measure the impact. An environment that is fun and positive has more than just fun. It has the feeling that things can happen, that all hope is not lost, that more is possible. This is where our hope and strengths strategies and tools come to work. These are the tools and strategies you will be observing and using as we make our way through the six sessions. Using pictures and stories and modified language, people will identify themselves first as having hope, as possessing strength, as the bearers of possibility. These are the selves they will bring to our later discussions about ways of responding to the pain and all the complications it causes.
We dare to hope that you will enjoy the group time as much as we do. We like to watch the people blossom, to laugh with them, to hear their stories, to see the pictures they choose for their collages. We like to learn when they teach us everything they know about dealing with chronic pain. Collectively they have a lot of wisdom about maintaining the personal relationships they cherish, and finding ways to re-imagine their lives. We like to see how much they enjoy working with our hope and strengths tools
We like the idea of having a student. We have worked hard to establish a program that could gain the respect of physicians and teaching institutions. Being able to offer a place to a student is an indication that this work has been worthwhile beyond its benefit to the group participants. We are looking forward to working with you Allison.
Friday, February 17, 2012
WISDOM, SUFFERING AND THE BEST TREATMENT FOR CHRONIC PAIN
“Societies like ours are structured technologically to deal with knowledge - it's what the Internet is great for, as TV, radio and print were before it. We're not as good at wisdom.” –Rick Salutin, The Toronto Star 2012-02-17
This week I am hoping for wisdom—a shared wisdom among those of us who try to help people with chronic pain, the wisdom to direct people in pain to the right treatment at the most opportune time. . Others are also thirsting for wisdom, though each of us travels the route that starts with our own area of expertise. Lately we have been asking and answering questions about our hope and strengths groups for people who have chronic pain. The answers, so far as we can give them, are—in a word--confusing.
Q: Do our groups cure chronic pain?
A: Not likely, but then, medical treatments don’t cure it either. That’s what makes it classify as cronic.
Q: Do our groups reduce the pain?
A: In some cases we notice that people who are showing visible signs of pain in session 1 are showing fewer visible signs in session 3. More than that we cannot say. What we do know is that people report receiving benefit from attending.
Q: What pain-reducing strategies are you using?
A: We introduce some relaxation exercise, and facilitate the sharing of information among the group members. Above all, we emphasize that we are hope specialists, not treaters of pain. Most of our efforts are directed toward creating an environment where hope and other positive emotions have an opportunity to flourish. That is the work that sets our groups apart. We use our knowledge to help people gain a sense of themselves as people who have hope, people who have strengths.
Q: Why do you bother with that?
A: Because it’s hard to feel good about anything, it’s hard to laugh, it’s hard to go out, it’s hard to seek the best help, it’s hard to feel confident when you are dealing with the combination of chronic pain and the difficult things that happen to people who have chronic pain. People with chronic pain get frustrated. They get tired of trying. They get angry. Hope and other positive emotions help with all these things.
As I write this, I am aware that thousands of Albertans with chronic pain—having begun at the office of their family physician--are referred to pain specialists. Their referral is handled in a central system that keeps them on a waiting list for more than a year, always hoping that the next doctor will stop the pain. They are on a journey. Who can say for sure what any of them might do differently along the way if they had a good laugh, or an opportunity to tell stories about their strengths, or choose pictures for a hope collage? Who can say for sure what effect any of this might have on the ability of a body to make the most of the medicines the doctors offer?
All of us—helpers and sufferers alike, hope for an end to the suffering. And in thinking about the sufferers I know, I wonder how we can take the information that we have, and generate the wisdom to offer the right treatment to the right people at the most opportune time.
This week I am hoping for wisdom—a shared wisdom among those of us who try to help people with chronic pain, the wisdom to direct people in pain to the right treatment at the most opportune time. . Others are also thirsting for wisdom, though each of us travels the route that starts with our own area of expertise. Lately we have been asking and answering questions about our hope and strengths groups for people who have chronic pain. The answers, so far as we can give them, are—in a word--confusing.
Q: Do our groups cure chronic pain?
A: Not likely, but then, medical treatments don’t cure it either. That’s what makes it classify as cronic.
Q: Do our groups reduce the pain?
A: In some cases we notice that people who are showing visible signs of pain in session 1 are showing fewer visible signs in session 3. More than that we cannot say. What we do know is that people report receiving benefit from attending.
Q: What pain-reducing strategies are you using?
A: We introduce some relaxation exercise, and facilitate the sharing of information among the group members. Above all, we emphasize that we are hope specialists, not treaters of pain. Most of our efforts are directed toward creating an environment where hope and other positive emotions have an opportunity to flourish. That is the work that sets our groups apart. We use our knowledge to help people gain a sense of themselves as people who have hope, people who have strengths.
Q: Why do you bother with that?
A: Because it’s hard to feel good about anything, it’s hard to laugh, it’s hard to go out, it’s hard to seek the best help, it’s hard to feel confident when you are dealing with the combination of chronic pain and the difficult things that happen to people who have chronic pain. People with chronic pain get frustrated. They get tired of trying. They get angry. Hope and other positive emotions help with all these things.
As I write this, I am aware that thousands of Albertans with chronic pain—having begun at the office of their family physician--are referred to pain specialists. Their referral is handled in a central system that keeps them on a waiting list for more than a year, always hoping that the next doctor will stop the pain. They are on a journey. Who can say for sure what any of them might do differently along the way if they had a good laugh, or an opportunity to tell stories about their strengths, or choose pictures for a hope collage? Who can say for sure what effect any of this might have on the ability of a body to make the most of the medicines the doctors offer?
All of us—helpers and sufferers alike, hope for an end to the suffering. And in thinking about the sufferers I know, I wonder how we can take the information that we have, and generate the wisdom to offer the right treatment to the right people at the most opportune time.
Monday, October 10, 2011
HELP IS ON THE WAY
For people with chronic pain
I wrote to the Edmonton Journal in response to their series on chronic pain. I wrote because the series was a good informational series that seemed to leave no hope at all beyond the eventual hope of a cure. In response to the letter from me to the edmonton Journal, Linda Baker wrote: Hi Wendy,
I wanted to thank you for writing that letter about people suffering from chronic pain. I, too, suffer from chronic pain - for 16 years now and I really
did not have any hope at all of feeling better until we moved to Edmonton and we found our wonderful doctor, Dr. Shute. He really understood what I was
going through and didn't hesitate to offer me morphine for the pain. He made such a difference in my life! My hope is that there will be more research
on chronic pain and maybe some day, people will not have to suffer as they do now. Your letter reaffirms that we shouldn't give up and there is hope for
chronic pain sufferers. There are resources out there and we should spread the word. For too long now, we've been under-treated or not treated at all;
particularly women (it's all in our heads you know!) My doctor in Westlock refused to have the opioid conversation with me as she asserted that I would
become addicted. That we know is a fallacy. We don't become addicted; we rejoin life.
Thanks again Wendy - I hope a lot of people read your letter!
Linda
I wrote to the Edmonton Journal in response to their series on chronic pain. I wrote because the series was a good informational series that seemed to leave no hope at all beyond the eventual hope of a cure. In response to the letter from me to the edmonton Journal, Linda Baker wrote: Hi Wendy,
I wanted to thank you for writing that letter about people suffering from chronic pain. I, too, suffer from chronic pain - for 16 years now and I really
did not have any hope at all of feeling better until we moved to Edmonton and we found our wonderful doctor, Dr. Shute. He really understood what I was
going through and didn't hesitate to offer me morphine for the pain. He made such a difference in my life! My hope is that there will be more research
on chronic pain and maybe some day, people will not have to suffer as they do now. Your letter reaffirms that we shouldn't give up and there is hope for
chronic pain sufferers. There are resources out there and we should spread the word. For too long now, we've been under-treated or not treated at all;
particularly women (it's all in our heads you know!) My doctor in Westlock refused to have the opioid conversation with me as she asserted that I would
become addicted. That we know is a fallacy. We don't become addicted; we rejoin life.
Thanks again Wendy - I hope a lot of people read your letter!
Linda
Friday, August 26, 2011
CHRONIC PAIN MEETS POSITIVE EMOTIONS
IF WE DON’T PLAY FIRST, HOW WILL WE DO OUR WORK?” (Lenora M. LeMay)
Chronic Physical Pain: I don’t like to be paranoid, but I believe the people at the Hope Foundation are out to get me. They’re putting on more of those hope and strengths groups for my sufferers. They’re bringing in positive emotions to work against me. It’s not fair.
Awe: isn’t that amazing? A few years ago nobody would have thought you should pit positive emotions against chronic pain. And now, here’s Pain, claiming it’s not a fair fight.
Gratitude: That’s something to be thankful for.
Joy: How absolutely delightful. I’m thrilled.
Amusement: I think it’s rather funny. Chronic Pain is such a monster that not even the medical profession can vanquish it. And here it is whining about fairness.
Pride: Yes, it is most satisfying to see how much attention we positive emotions are getting in the psychological research. Barbara Fredrickson says we broaden the repertoire of potential responses and build resources. It seems like people who have us find more options for themselves and more ways of getting the things they need. That’s why we’ve been asked to square off against Chronic Pain. There are people out there who believe we can really make a difference.
Pain: But it’s not fair. Here we have ten positive emotions fighting against little old me. I have been around a long time, and I know that ten to one fighting is not fair. I say you make it a fair fight. Choose one positive emotion. One to one. That’s fair.
Inspiration: I have an idea that might solve this. If Pain insists on having only one opponent, we should send Hope. Hope is the most complex of us all, and the only one that’s equipped to focus on the future. People with chronic pain need to be able to hope for a good future. Yes, I do believe that Hope can go in alone. Raise your hands if you agree,
Hope: Not so fast. I have my doubts about the wisdom of sending me in alone against Pain.
Serenity: Don’t worry. Hope always has doubts. That’s what distinguishes it from positive thinking and optimism.
Pain: I hope they don’t send Hope. It gets people thinking that they could have a good future, and I find that very threatening.
Hope: But I still don’t want to go in alone. We positive emotions have done it together and it has worked out well. I wouldn’t want to try it without your support. You’ve all been there to help. I am a helpful conversation piece. People can think about me, and talk about me, and make me the centre of activities, and it’s good when they feel me.
Pride: Actually, you have a bit of each of us in you.
Hope: That may be true. But each of you makes a special contribution. I say we all go together. Usually there’s more than one way to get what you need. Is there some other way of thinking about Pain’s complaints?
Inspiration: I suggest we send interest over to have a look at Chronic Pain. Maybe Interest will be able to notice something that will help us decide who should join the fight. Go on over, Interest. Take a look.
Interest: hello Chronic Pain. I’ve come over for a closer examination of your corner. Now that I have a better view, I see you’ve been misleading us a little. You are hardly here alone.
Pain: Of course I am. It’s just me against all of you. Not fair, I say.
Interest: Oh no you’re not. You are taking all the credit. But some others are acting alongside you. Fatigue is over here, tiring out the people who have to live with you, and Disappointment is demoralizing them when they try to find solutions. Hiding behind you I see Isolation, keeping your sufferers away from their friends and routine activities. And who is this over here on the left? Is it Despair? Why, yes it is. How are people supposed to take advantage of opportunities and resources if they don’t expect anything good to happen? And there’s Depression keeping its head down, making people feel like they’re not worth helping. Shame on you for whining. You aren’t alone at all. I say it’s a fair fight. Positive emotions against you and your team. We all should go in.
Awe: Nice job, interest. A case well stated.
Pain: okay okay. So I admit that my sufferers might be feeling more than me alone. But it still won’t be a fair fight. The leaders of the Hope Foundation groups are against me. They don’t give me a fair hearing. It starts on the first day.
Interest: Tell us more about what happens.
Pain: The sufferers come in, thinking mostly of me. Then the leaders just ignore me. First they make people feel welcome.
Love: That’s where I begin, with the warm welcome.
Pain: Then, instead of acknowledging me and giving me the right to speak for every sufferer, they get people to introduce themselves in ways they never expected. They don’t even mention me.
Joy & Amusement: Yes, it is a pleasure to be there for introductions. We’re always there at introductions.
Pain: After they get going, the leaders help them brainstorm about hope. I can’t stand it when the sufferers start brainstorming ideas about hope. Pretty soon they all think they are poets or something.
Hope & Inspiration: It does set a lovely tone, doesn’t it?
Pain: Near the end of the first session they start talking about hope suckers. I’m usually on the list of hope-suckers they mention, of course. But even then, I hear people giggling. How can I have power if people don’t take me seriously?
Amusement: Laughing and being truthful at the same time. They’re mentioning their discouragements and laughing at the idea of hope-suckers. I love it.
Pain: Sometimes nobody mentions me at the end of the day. I feel so small when that happens. But the second day is just as bad, or maybe worse. They start making those hope collages. It wouldn’t be so bad if they’d stick to picking pictures of things they hope for. I could definitely get in the way of that. But then they start picking out pictures of beautiful scenery.
Awe: That’s me at work.
Pain: It’s disgusting. They start choosing pictures of happy families.
Love: That’s my territory.
Pain: They’re always showing pictures of things they like to do.
Joy: It does get very pleasant.
Pain: Worst of all, it seems to be contagious. All that pleasantness and awe starts spreading. It’s like a disease and it’s hard to stop once it gets going. And there’s always something about peace and patience in those collage pictures. Don’t bother saying anything Serenity. I recognize your hand in it.
Amusement: Pain certainly is going on and on. It’s being positively chronic.
Gratitude: Thank goodness we sent Interest over to stir things up. I now see that we all have a part. Hope ought not to have to face it alone.
Pain: Pay attention to me. I am not finished yet. On the third day those leaders get going on strengths. Depression has a terrible time with that. You can almost see people getting bolder, prouder.
Pride: Oh, I love it. Depression is my worst enemy.
Pain; But that’s not the end of it. By the fourth session, they’ve started paying attention to me. But are ,my sufferers complaining, letting me have the day? No! They’re making lists of resources, sharing information on ways of putting me down. All sorts of things come to light. One person knows something and pretty soon everybody knows it.
Awe: They actually start talking about things that help them.
Interest: And they get excited about searching for options.
Pain: How am I to defend myself against all that?
Gratitude: Can’t you just be happy that they’re dealing with you? You were complaining about being ignored.
Pain: The worst thing about the strengths and resources is that they start to build up Hope.
Amusement: I get a kick out of watching Hope sneak in, growing a little bigger all the time. Maybe on the first week Hope is the subject of a little amateur poetry. But on the last day, people are laughing about the future and imagining all sorts of adventures. Hope seems to be running the show.
Love: Don’t forget about me. The people with pain always say they hate to leave. They get rather attached to each other, and to the leaders, and to us. They remember that Isolation made them lonely and they don’t want it back. I guess they really aren’t too keen on facing Pain alone.
Pain: I don’t see why. I’m not nearly as powerful at the end as I am at the beginning. All those positive emotions release hormones that work against me. The sufferers aren’t nearly as willing to bow down to me. They’ve got their new friends and their new resources. They’ve got funny things to remember and pictures to look at. They’ve got ideas of things to try. Even if I stay around, I am not nearly the force I used to be.
Interest: Well, Pain, I have assessed the situation from many perspectives and I do believe you are justified in being fearful. Over the next few years there will be a lot more research that will help us find more effective ways of handling you. The medical people are working on it, and the psychology people too.
Hope: Sounds like there’s good reason to have me. When it comes to your future, Chronic Pain, I think you can expect to meet some stiff opposition. In the meantime, we positive emotions, your sufferers and the Hope Foundation leaders will be at the Hope Foundation on Tuesdays this fall, waiting to take you on.
Chronic Physical Pain: I don’t like to be paranoid, but I believe the people at the Hope Foundation are out to get me. They’re putting on more of those hope and strengths groups for my sufferers. They’re bringing in positive emotions to work against me. It’s not fair.
Awe: isn’t that amazing? A few years ago nobody would have thought you should pit positive emotions against chronic pain. And now, here’s Pain, claiming it’s not a fair fight.
Gratitude: That’s something to be thankful for.
Joy: How absolutely delightful. I’m thrilled.
Amusement: I think it’s rather funny. Chronic Pain is such a monster that not even the medical profession can vanquish it. And here it is whining about fairness.
Pride: Yes, it is most satisfying to see how much attention we positive emotions are getting in the psychological research. Barbara Fredrickson says we broaden the repertoire of potential responses and build resources. It seems like people who have us find more options for themselves and more ways of getting the things they need. That’s why we’ve been asked to square off against Chronic Pain. There are people out there who believe we can really make a difference.
Pain: But it’s not fair. Here we have ten positive emotions fighting against little old me. I have been around a long time, and I know that ten to one fighting is not fair. I say you make it a fair fight. Choose one positive emotion. One to one. That’s fair.
Inspiration: I have an idea that might solve this. If Pain insists on having only one opponent, we should send Hope. Hope is the most complex of us all, and the only one that’s equipped to focus on the future. People with chronic pain need to be able to hope for a good future. Yes, I do believe that Hope can go in alone. Raise your hands if you agree,
Hope: Not so fast. I have my doubts about the wisdom of sending me in alone against Pain.
Serenity: Don’t worry. Hope always has doubts. That’s what distinguishes it from positive thinking and optimism.
Pain: I hope they don’t send Hope. It gets people thinking that they could have a good future, and I find that very threatening.
Hope: But I still don’t want to go in alone. We positive emotions have done it together and it has worked out well. I wouldn’t want to try it without your support. You’ve all been there to help. I am a helpful conversation piece. People can think about me, and talk about me, and make me the centre of activities, and it’s good when they feel me.
Pride: Actually, you have a bit of each of us in you.
Hope: That may be true. But each of you makes a special contribution. I say we all go together. Usually there’s more than one way to get what you need. Is there some other way of thinking about Pain’s complaints?
Inspiration: I suggest we send interest over to have a look at Chronic Pain. Maybe Interest will be able to notice something that will help us decide who should join the fight. Go on over, Interest. Take a look.
Interest: hello Chronic Pain. I’ve come over for a closer examination of your corner. Now that I have a better view, I see you’ve been misleading us a little. You are hardly here alone.
Pain: Of course I am. It’s just me against all of you. Not fair, I say.
Interest: Oh no you’re not. You are taking all the credit. But some others are acting alongside you. Fatigue is over here, tiring out the people who have to live with you, and Disappointment is demoralizing them when they try to find solutions. Hiding behind you I see Isolation, keeping your sufferers away from their friends and routine activities. And who is this over here on the left? Is it Despair? Why, yes it is. How are people supposed to take advantage of opportunities and resources if they don’t expect anything good to happen? And there’s Depression keeping its head down, making people feel like they’re not worth helping. Shame on you for whining. You aren’t alone at all. I say it’s a fair fight. Positive emotions against you and your team. We all should go in.
Awe: Nice job, interest. A case well stated.
Pain: okay okay. So I admit that my sufferers might be feeling more than me alone. But it still won’t be a fair fight. The leaders of the Hope Foundation groups are against me. They don’t give me a fair hearing. It starts on the first day.
Interest: Tell us more about what happens.
Pain: The sufferers come in, thinking mostly of me. Then the leaders just ignore me. First they make people feel welcome.
Love: That’s where I begin, with the warm welcome.
Pain: Then, instead of acknowledging me and giving me the right to speak for every sufferer, they get people to introduce themselves in ways they never expected. They don’t even mention me.
Joy & Amusement: Yes, it is a pleasure to be there for introductions. We’re always there at introductions.
Pain: After they get going, the leaders help them brainstorm about hope. I can’t stand it when the sufferers start brainstorming ideas about hope. Pretty soon they all think they are poets or something.
Hope & Inspiration: It does set a lovely tone, doesn’t it?
Pain: Near the end of the first session they start talking about hope suckers. I’m usually on the list of hope-suckers they mention, of course. But even then, I hear people giggling. How can I have power if people don’t take me seriously?
Amusement: Laughing and being truthful at the same time. They’re mentioning their discouragements and laughing at the idea of hope-suckers. I love it.
Pain: Sometimes nobody mentions me at the end of the day. I feel so small when that happens. But the second day is just as bad, or maybe worse. They start making those hope collages. It wouldn’t be so bad if they’d stick to picking pictures of things they hope for. I could definitely get in the way of that. But then they start picking out pictures of beautiful scenery.
Awe: That’s me at work.
Pain: It’s disgusting. They start choosing pictures of happy families.
Love: That’s my territory.
Pain: They’re always showing pictures of things they like to do.
Joy: It does get very pleasant.
Pain: Worst of all, it seems to be contagious. All that pleasantness and awe starts spreading. It’s like a disease and it’s hard to stop once it gets going. And there’s always something about peace and patience in those collage pictures. Don’t bother saying anything Serenity. I recognize your hand in it.
Amusement: Pain certainly is going on and on. It’s being positively chronic.
Gratitude: Thank goodness we sent Interest over to stir things up. I now see that we all have a part. Hope ought not to have to face it alone.
Pain: Pay attention to me. I am not finished yet. On the third day those leaders get going on strengths. Depression has a terrible time with that. You can almost see people getting bolder, prouder.
Pride: Oh, I love it. Depression is my worst enemy.
Pain; But that’s not the end of it. By the fourth session, they’ve started paying attention to me. But are ,my sufferers complaining, letting me have the day? No! They’re making lists of resources, sharing information on ways of putting me down. All sorts of things come to light. One person knows something and pretty soon everybody knows it.
Awe: They actually start talking about things that help them.
Interest: And they get excited about searching for options.
Pain: How am I to defend myself against all that?
Gratitude: Can’t you just be happy that they’re dealing with you? You were complaining about being ignored.
Pain: The worst thing about the strengths and resources is that they start to build up Hope.
Amusement: I get a kick out of watching Hope sneak in, growing a little bigger all the time. Maybe on the first week Hope is the subject of a little amateur poetry. But on the last day, people are laughing about the future and imagining all sorts of adventures. Hope seems to be running the show.
Love: Don’t forget about me. The people with pain always say they hate to leave. They get rather attached to each other, and to the leaders, and to us. They remember that Isolation made them lonely and they don’t want it back. I guess they really aren’t too keen on facing Pain alone.
Pain: I don’t see why. I’m not nearly as powerful at the end as I am at the beginning. All those positive emotions release hormones that work against me. The sufferers aren’t nearly as willing to bow down to me. They’ve got their new friends and their new resources. They’ve got funny things to remember and pictures to look at. They’ve got ideas of things to try. Even if I stay around, I am not nearly the force I used to be.
Interest: Well, Pain, I have assessed the situation from many perspectives and I do believe you are justified in being fearful. Over the next few years there will be a lot more research that will help us find more effective ways of handling you. The medical people are working on it, and the psychology people too.
Hope: Sounds like there’s good reason to have me. When it comes to your future, Chronic Pain, I think you can expect to meet some stiff opposition. In the meantime, we positive emotions, your sufferers and the Hope Foundation leaders will be at the Hope Foundation on Tuesdays this fall, waiting to take you on.
Monday, May 30, 2011
WHAT IS HOPE?
Here is what some experts say. First some definitions from the famous hope writiers, then some quotes from other experts--the people in our Hope Foundation chronic pain groups.
Hope is: “A process of anticipation that involves the interaction of thinking, acting, feeling and relating, and is directed toward a future fulfillment that is personally meaningful”
(Charlotte Stephenson, 1991, p. 1459)
Hope is: “… the fundamental knowledge and feeling that there is a way out of difficulty, that things can work out, that we as human persons can somehow handle and manage internal and external reality…”
(Lynch, W. F., 1965, p. 32)
Hope is the “yes” to life.
(Ronna Jevne, 1999, p. 59)
Hope is the thing that: “enables individuals to envision a future in which they are willing to participate”
(Ronna Jevne, 1994, p. 8)
Hope is: “a cognitive set that is based on a reciprocally derived sense of successful agency (goal-directed determination) and pathways (planning to meet goals)” (Snyder et al, 1991, p. 572).
People with chronic pain say:
Hope is...
... fun to work with
... positive
... good health
... makes getting up in the morning easier
... chocolate
... a dream
... vital
... children’s laugher
... fun
... energizing
... being able to attain something that you dream of
... to live pain-free
... believing it will work out, even with bumps in the path
... being able to retain the strengths that I have
... focusing on what I can do, not what I can’t
... sometimes difficult to see
.. courage
... a thing that goes up and down
... faith
... believing in yourself
... tomorrow
... birds singing
... a pathway
... lost
... life force that keeps us going
... creative
... sunshine
... having good family and relationships
... spring
...worth working to find
... not giving up
... found in family ties
... working through negatives to get to positives
... a foundation
Hope is: “A process of anticipation that involves the interaction of thinking, acting, feeling and relating, and is directed toward a future fulfillment that is personally meaningful”
(Charlotte Stephenson, 1991, p. 1459)
Hope is: “… the fundamental knowledge and feeling that there is a way out of difficulty, that things can work out, that we as human persons can somehow handle and manage internal and external reality…”
(Lynch, W. F., 1965, p. 32)
Hope is the “yes” to life.
(Ronna Jevne, 1999, p. 59)
Hope is the thing that: “enables individuals to envision a future in which they are willing to participate”
(Ronna Jevne, 1994, p. 8)
Hope is: “a cognitive set that is based on a reciprocally derived sense of successful agency (goal-directed determination) and pathways (planning to meet goals)” (Snyder et al, 1991, p. 572).
People with chronic pain say:
Hope is...
... fun to work with
... positive
... good health
... makes getting up in the morning easier
... chocolate
... a dream
... vital
... children’s laugher
... fun
... energizing
... being able to attain something that you dream of
... to live pain-free
... believing it will work out, even with bumps in the path
... being able to retain the strengths that I have
... focusing on what I can do, not what I can’t
... sometimes difficult to see
.. courage
... a thing that goes up and down
... faith
... believing in yourself
... tomorrow
... birds singing
... a pathway
... lost
... life force that keeps us going
... creative
... sunshine
... having good family and relationships
... spring
...worth working to find
... not giving up
... found in family ties
... working through negatives to get to positives
... a foundation
Thursday, March 10, 2011
BUILDING HOPEFUL HELPING RELATIONSHIPS WITH CHRONIC PAIN PROFESSIONALS
Wendy Edey and Rachel Stege
(reprinted from the Grey Nuns Women's Welness Newsletter, Spring 2011)
We at the Hope Foundation put a lot of emphasis on hope, strengths and resources in our work with groups of people who have chronic pain. We ask people to share their wisdom with each other. Getting attention and help from professionals is one of the MOST common issues raised by participants in our hope and strengths groups for people with chronic pain. We collect a lot of knowledge from the group members in our process of developing hope by drawing attention to personal strengths and resources. The main issue with chronic pain, from a hope perspective, is that it doesn’t go away. This tests the courage of the sufferers, but also of the people who use their professional skills to relieve the pain. That said, our group members have a lot of good ideas about how to build good relationships with doctors, physiotherapists and other helpers. Here are some of the ideas they have shared with us.
Respect the fact that people are busy and make the most of the time you have. Anticipate common questions and have answers prepared. Focus on the problems you want to address. You may have many needs, but limit yourself to asking for those things that fit the work of this professional. Go in with a list of questions you want answered. Keep a diary of incidents or changes related to your condition and take it in with you.
Help professionals work efficiently as a team. You will benefit if they know what others are doing for you. Make it easy for them to communicate by gathering up business cards and giving them to other team members. Ask for copies of test results from one place and take them with you to appointments at other places.
Appeal to the human side. We all need encouragement. Express appreciation for what has been done, even if you feel that more should be done. Talk about what you have been doing for yourself. Learn the professional jargon and speak in a language that fits the situation.
Finally, don’t give up after the first few tries. Network to find helpful professionals. Ask others what has helped them. Do research to learn all you can about your condition.
Your motivation will help motivate others, and their motivation to help you will keep you moving forward.
(reprinted from the Grey Nuns Women's Welness Newsletter, Spring 2011)
We at the Hope Foundation put a lot of emphasis on hope, strengths and resources in our work with groups of people who have chronic pain. We ask people to share their wisdom with each other. Getting attention and help from professionals is one of the MOST common issues raised by participants in our hope and strengths groups for people with chronic pain. We collect a lot of knowledge from the group members in our process of developing hope by drawing attention to personal strengths and resources. The main issue with chronic pain, from a hope perspective, is that it doesn’t go away. This tests the courage of the sufferers, but also of the people who use their professional skills to relieve the pain. That said, our group members have a lot of good ideas about how to build good relationships with doctors, physiotherapists and other helpers. Here are some of the ideas they have shared with us.
Respect the fact that people are busy and make the most of the time you have. Anticipate common questions and have answers prepared. Focus on the problems you want to address. You may have many needs, but limit yourself to asking for those things that fit the work of this professional. Go in with a list of questions you want answered. Keep a diary of incidents or changes related to your condition and take it in with you.
Help professionals work efficiently as a team. You will benefit if they know what others are doing for you. Make it easy for them to communicate by gathering up business cards and giving them to other team members. Ask for copies of test results from one place and take them with you to appointments at other places.
Appeal to the human side. We all need encouragement. Express appreciation for what has been done, even if you feel that more should be done. Talk about what you have been doing for yourself. Learn the professional jargon and speak in a language that fits the situation.
Finally, don’t give up after the first few tries. Network to find helpful professionals. Ask others what has helped them. Do research to learn all you can about your condition.
Your motivation will help motivate others, and their motivation to help you will keep you moving forward.
Wednesday, December 08, 2010
BEING HOPEFUL IN THE FACE OF CHRONIC PAIN
The Hope Foundation is looking for chronic pain sufferers who would like to participate in a research project. Our goal is to understand more about the effects of group activities that build hope and inner strength. We need participants who are willing to attend six two-hour activity sessions and watch a videotape of session 3 with a researcher who will ask questions about the process.
The group process we are studying is designed to address a number of psychological conditions that commonly occur when people suffer chronic pain. They become discouraged and depressed when their pain continues after they have sought treatment. They tire of asking for assistance. They lose confidence in their ability to make good judgments. Increasingly limited by the pain, they stay home and become isolated. As time passes they stop seeking remedies, socializing with friends, participating in activities they previously enjoyed. They stop looking forward to the future. In short, as they come to accept their pain as chronic, they lose touch with the picture of themselves as hopeful people with personal strengths and resources.
Researchers have long maintained that hopeful, strong, resourceful people are the most able to cope with life’s challenges. Since its beginnings in 1992, the Hope foundation has been developing group programs that bring people together to learn from each other in a positive, hopeful way. You can find the brochure about our program at BEING HOPEFUL IN THE FACE OF CHRONIC PAINYou might know somebody could benefit from this program. Please share this information with them.
The group process we are studying is designed to address a number of psychological conditions that commonly occur when people suffer chronic pain. They become discouraged and depressed when their pain continues after they have sought treatment. They tire of asking for assistance. They lose confidence in their ability to make good judgments. Increasingly limited by the pain, they stay home and become isolated. As time passes they stop seeking remedies, socializing with friends, participating in activities they previously enjoyed. They stop looking forward to the future. In short, as they come to accept their pain as chronic, they lose touch with the picture of themselves as hopeful people with personal strengths and resources.
Researchers have long maintained that hopeful, strong, resourceful people are the most able to cope with life’s challenges. Since its beginnings in 1992, the Hope foundation has been developing group programs that bring people together to learn from each other in a positive, hopeful way. You can find the brochure about our program at BEING HOPEFUL IN THE FACE OF CHRONIC PAINYou might know somebody could benefit from this program. Please share this information with them.
Friday, October 22, 2010
ALEXANDER TECHNIQUE
The Monday evening homeward trek after work is different for me this fall. I am getting home later, stopping off to spend 45 minutes at an Alexander Technique session with Heidi Matter. She’s improving my posture. She’s teaching me how to figure out where my body parts are, and how I might reposition them to get relief from the pain that has been my unwelcome companion for far too long now.
Heidi’s methods are low-pressure, low-impact, low-risk. There are no extravagant promises of miraculous cures. There’s nothing to buy except her time. She stands me up and uses gentle touches at the base of my skull to position my head somewhere directly above the centre of my feet. She sets me to thinking about my head and soon I am stepping forward, propelled by my upper body. She sits me down and rocks me into a standing position. She lays me down and invites my hip and shoulder muscles to let go. “You don’t have to do anything,” she says. And so I don’t do much. My job is to follow the direction from her gentle movements.
You might seek out an Alexander teacher if you wanted to project your voice better, or sing with less strain, or stand and walk with more grace. You might seek an Alexander teacher if—like me—you had back pain. There’s nothing you have to do except show up, and how often you do that is totally optional. Like me, you might find some definite help in it, something you haven’t found elsewhere. But you probably wouldn’t seek an Alexander teacher, because you wouldn’t know you were looking for one.
There are Alexander teachers all over the world. The first was Frederick Matthias Alexander, an Australian actor who lost his voice and eventually regained it by teaching himself to reduce muscle tension. He taught his strategies to others and died in 1955. I discovered the Alexander Technique at the 2010 conference of the National Storytelling Network in Los Angeles. I went to a session on voice projection without knowing what I was going to and was amazed to find that I had accidentally stumbled upon the posture training I had been looking for. When the workshop ended I boldly walked to the front of the room and approached the teacher in a manner I knew to be totally inappropriate.
“I have back pain,” I said. “It hurts right here. Doctors and physiotherapists keep telling me to improve my posture, but when I ask them how, they don’t seem to have any suggestions that help me. They say to stand straight and I don’t think I even know whether I’m standing straight.”
“Okay,” she said calmly, as if we were the only people in the room and no other session was about to start. “Just bend your knees a little, and now lean forward a bit.” She had placed a hand on my lower back and was gently pressing forward. “Now,” she said, “we are going to move your head.” Two firm but gentle fingers were now lifting and pushing at the base of my skull.
The position she put me in was definitely unfamiliar, yet stable. “You haven’t been using some of these muscles for a while,” she said. Maybe not. The pain inflicted on my leg by my compressed disks after three days of conference sitting was not entirely gone, but I could feel the difference and it was good. David said maybe we should book time off work so I could take training in Los Angeles.
“I’ve never heard of Edmonton,” she said when we told her where we came from. “But if you look on the Internet, you might find a teacher there.” That’s how we found Heidi.
Heidi is one of three certified Alexander teachers in Edmonton. She works six hours a week, and those hours are not entirely full. I find that surprising, knowing how much she has helped me, knowing also how many Edmontonians are tortured by chronic back pain. “Why are you not busier?” I ask Heidi.
“The Alexander Technique is not well known here,” she says. That—I’ll say—is an understatement. But here’s the really surprising thing. Doctors and physiotherapists don’t seem much interested in learning about it either. It’s not that they know about it and think it’s bad, it’s just that they are indifferent, dismissive when I mention it.
I visit a doctor who has worked steadily and earnestly with my back pain for five long years. He has prescribed medications and changed them in favour of others that promised a better result. He has sent me to physio, and recommended that I find a new therapist when I was clearly not benefiting from the therapy. We’ve traced the deterioration through x-rays, bone scans and MRI. We’ve discussed the risks and benefits of surgery. He’s a good man, concerned and committed to making things better. I approach him knowing how happy he will be.
“I’ve found a good thing last summer,” I tell him in early October. “It’s the Alexander Technique. It’s posture training. I’d say it’s helped more than any of the physiotherapy I’ve had. It actually makes me feel better and not worse.”
I am excited to share this information, hoping he will recommend it to others, or at least think about doing so. But if he does, it will surprise me, because he doesn’t ask me any questions, doesn’t take any phone numbers down. “The name sounds familiar,” he says, moving on.
Back in Heidi’s office I say, “I’m well now, but Thanksgiving was the worst pain day I’ve had in a long time. It all started the day before with doing everything I know I shouldn’t do. I slept late and didn’t give myself time for a morning walk. Then I went to church and sat on the piano bench for far too long. Piano playing in the morning is a really hard thing. Then, without taking time for a walk, I got into the car for a three hour trip.”
As I continue on with my list of wrongs, Heidi is positioning a wooden chair in the middle of the floor and sitting me on it. “How high is the piano bench?” she asks, adjusting to the right height with a cushion. She positions a book under my foot where the sustain pedal would be and tells me to raise my arms and pretend to play. As if on cue, piano music replaces the flute solo that was drifting softly from the speaker in the wall.
As I hunch forward playing my imaginary piano she gently presses on my back, positions my shoulders, and touches the base of my skull, suggesting the direction my body ought to lean the next time I am feeling the pain when I play the piano.
“You think I’m going to remember all this and play the right notes too?” I ask her.
She says, “You don’t have to remember it. There’s nothing you have to do. You just let everything lengthen.” From experience with other things she has taught me I know what will happen. I’ll be sitting on the bench and feeling the pain, and then my body will remember Heidi’s small pressures and start to move in the directions she would have been giving if she were in the room.
Oh so relieved to have found such a low-tech, simple and practical approach, I tell David that I’m going to make Heidi famous. The only problem is, I really don’t know how. After all, here I am, a hope counsellor who hasn’t yet figured out how to make hope counselling interesting to doctors and physiotherapists, even though it costs very little and helps people a lot. When I figure out how, Heidi and I might both be rich.
Heidi’s methods are low-pressure, low-impact, low-risk. There are no extravagant promises of miraculous cures. There’s nothing to buy except her time. She stands me up and uses gentle touches at the base of my skull to position my head somewhere directly above the centre of my feet. She sets me to thinking about my head and soon I am stepping forward, propelled by my upper body. She sits me down and rocks me into a standing position. She lays me down and invites my hip and shoulder muscles to let go. “You don’t have to do anything,” she says. And so I don’t do much. My job is to follow the direction from her gentle movements.
You might seek out an Alexander teacher if you wanted to project your voice better, or sing with less strain, or stand and walk with more grace. You might seek an Alexander teacher if—like me—you had back pain. There’s nothing you have to do except show up, and how often you do that is totally optional. Like me, you might find some definite help in it, something you haven’t found elsewhere. But you probably wouldn’t seek an Alexander teacher, because you wouldn’t know you were looking for one.
There are Alexander teachers all over the world. The first was Frederick Matthias Alexander, an Australian actor who lost his voice and eventually regained it by teaching himself to reduce muscle tension. He taught his strategies to others and died in 1955. I discovered the Alexander Technique at the 2010 conference of the National Storytelling Network in Los Angeles. I went to a session on voice projection without knowing what I was going to and was amazed to find that I had accidentally stumbled upon the posture training I had been looking for. When the workshop ended I boldly walked to the front of the room and approached the teacher in a manner I knew to be totally inappropriate.
“I have back pain,” I said. “It hurts right here. Doctors and physiotherapists keep telling me to improve my posture, but when I ask them how, they don’t seem to have any suggestions that help me. They say to stand straight and I don’t think I even know whether I’m standing straight.”
“Okay,” she said calmly, as if we were the only people in the room and no other session was about to start. “Just bend your knees a little, and now lean forward a bit.” She had placed a hand on my lower back and was gently pressing forward. “Now,” she said, “we are going to move your head.” Two firm but gentle fingers were now lifting and pushing at the base of my skull.
The position she put me in was definitely unfamiliar, yet stable. “You haven’t been using some of these muscles for a while,” she said. Maybe not. The pain inflicted on my leg by my compressed disks after three days of conference sitting was not entirely gone, but I could feel the difference and it was good. David said maybe we should book time off work so I could take training in Los Angeles.
“I’ve never heard of Edmonton,” she said when we told her where we came from. “But if you look on the Internet, you might find a teacher there.” That’s how we found Heidi.
Heidi is one of three certified Alexander teachers in Edmonton. She works six hours a week, and those hours are not entirely full. I find that surprising, knowing how much she has helped me, knowing also how many Edmontonians are tortured by chronic back pain. “Why are you not busier?” I ask Heidi.
“The Alexander Technique is not well known here,” she says. That—I’ll say—is an understatement. But here’s the really surprising thing. Doctors and physiotherapists don’t seem much interested in learning about it either. It’s not that they know about it and think it’s bad, it’s just that they are indifferent, dismissive when I mention it.
I visit a doctor who has worked steadily and earnestly with my back pain for five long years. He has prescribed medications and changed them in favour of others that promised a better result. He has sent me to physio, and recommended that I find a new therapist when I was clearly not benefiting from the therapy. We’ve traced the deterioration through x-rays, bone scans and MRI. We’ve discussed the risks and benefits of surgery. He’s a good man, concerned and committed to making things better. I approach him knowing how happy he will be.
“I’ve found a good thing last summer,” I tell him in early October. “It’s the Alexander Technique. It’s posture training. I’d say it’s helped more than any of the physiotherapy I’ve had. It actually makes me feel better and not worse.”
I am excited to share this information, hoping he will recommend it to others, or at least think about doing so. But if he does, it will surprise me, because he doesn’t ask me any questions, doesn’t take any phone numbers down. “The name sounds familiar,” he says, moving on.
Back in Heidi’s office I say, “I’m well now, but Thanksgiving was the worst pain day I’ve had in a long time. It all started the day before with doing everything I know I shouldn’t do. I slept late and didn’t give myself time for a morning walk. Then I went to church and sat on the piano bench for far too long. Piano playing in the morning is a really hard thing. Then, without taking time for a walk, I got into the car for a three hour trip.”
As I continue on with my list of wrongs, Heidi is positioning a wooden chair in the middle of the floor and sitting me on it. “How high is the piano bench?” she asks, adjusting to the right height with a cushion. She positions a book under my foot where the sustain pedal would be and tells me to raise my arms and pretend to play. As if on cue, piano music replaces the flute solo that was drifting softly from the speaker in the wall.
As I hunch forward playing my imaginary piano she gently presses on my back, positions my shoulders, and touches the base of my skull, suggesting the direction my body ought to lean the next time I am feeling the pain when I play the piano.
“You think I’m going to remember all this and play the right notes too?” I ask her.
She says, “You don’t have to remember it. There’s nothing you have to do. You just let everything lengthen.” From experience with other things she has taught me I know what will happen. I’ll be sitting on the bench and feeling the pain, and then my body will remember Heidi’s small pressures and start to move in the directions she would have been giving if she were in the room.
Oh so relieved to have found such a low-tech, simple and practical approach, I tell David that I’m going to make Heidi famous. The only problem is, I really don’t know how. After all, here I am, a hope counsellor who hasn’t yet figured out how to make hope counselling interesting to doctors and physiotherapists, even though it costs very little and helps people a lot. When I figure out how, Heidi and I might both be rich.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)