Six and a half years ago I was diagnosed with complex regional pain syndrome (CRPS) in my right hand and upper extremity. I had just begun my senior year of high school and I had so many aspirations for my future. I was going away to college and I wanted to travel abroad to Ireland for my junior year. After I graduated, I would enter a master's program; then, I would enter the workforce as an independent woman. While living on my own and supporting myself, I would find a happy, fulfilling relationship and start a family. I thought I had my life all figured out . . . and I was only 17 years old!

Fate, however, had a different plan for me. Instead of enjoying the thrill of being a high school senior, I was being poked and prodded by numerous specialists, all differing in opinion as to what was really wrong with me and what course of treatment would be the most beneficial. I spent the majority of the next five and a half years in hospitals, doctors' offices, and medical facilities. I had nerve blocks, implanted catheters, pumps, and spinal cord stimulators. I was taking massive amounts of opioids, anti-inflammatory medications, and anti-nausea medicine. None of these treatments seemed to ease the pain or the severity of my CRPS.

Every day brought a new round of appointments, and after a while it began to seem normal. At a time when I should have been asserting my independence, I had to rely on others — mainly my parents, brother, and closest friends — to assist me in my most basic needs: getting dressed, cleaning myself, washing my hair. Life became lonely, tiring, and redundant. I lay in bed and went to doctor's appointments, yet I always stayed positive, truly believing that I would be happy and pain-free again. My belief that this pain was happening for a reason — making me a stronger person — helped me through this bleak period. I was certain my pain would ease and that I then could help others find hope and faith through the pain and agony.

The Road to Recovery
Then in October 2002, I came across a doctor in south Texas who had invented the sympathetic therapy system (STS) unit. The STS is designed to normalize the autonomic nervous system. By placing electrodes along nerve endings and using low-frequency electrical current, this machine stimulates the central nervous system. My parents and I decided that I needed to work directly with Dr Rhodes, so my mom and I moved to Texas for 15 months. While in Texas, I went through morphine withdrawals and stopped taking my other medications. This was a very difficult, agonizing process but it needed to be done.

By January 2004, after 14 months of STS treatment, I had regained slight mobility in my right hand and my pain began to lessen. I was relieved and overwhelmed with joy and thanks. I continued to improve during the next seven months, and I was able to use my right hand to dress and feed myself. I even began driving and walking again. I suddenly felt free of the burden of my illness. I rented my own apartment and was happy and content — grateful to be alive. Each day I was getting stronger, on the road to recovery.

In late August, I became reacquainted with an old family friend, but I was apprehensive about dating. The uncertainty of my health and knowing my CRPS was not in remission left me doubting whether he or I could handle a relationship. Knowing how difficult and painful the last six years had been, I wondered what we would do if something happened. But I took a chance.

The Flare-Up
The first three months were filled with laughter. I felt safe whenever I was with him and I began to trust that everything would be all right. Then six weeks ago, I suffered a serious flare-up, making it nearly impossible to walk. My feet, ankles, and knees began to throb. I couldn't stand to have anything touch my legs from the knees down. The pain was unbearable — my toes felt as if they were being submerged in boiling water; my ankles screamed with stabbing pains; and overall I felt a deep, piercing ache. I was miserable.

I had forgotten that a flare-up could be so debilitating. I fell apart. Once again I was unable to care for myself, so my parents took turns coming over to check on me. I could not bathe, leave the apartment, or sleep. I had a difficult time walking from my bedroom to the bathroom. I cried and cried, not knowing what to do.

I always believed in the mind-body-spirit connection, but I was too emotional to use those practices. I kept telling myself this anguish would end, and I needed to regain control of my spirit and attitude, but inside, I grieved the loss of my newfound health.

I knew I had to focus on my healing, but suddenly the complication of having a new relationship with someone whom had never seen this side of my illness reared its head. What would he do? Would he be supportive and reassuring, or would he feel trapped and uncomfortable? Did I feel comfortable telling him how I was really feeling? What was I going to do? I was petrified of the outcome because rejection is hard enough, but to feel rejected while I was the most vulnerable would be devastating to me. My whole world — the world I had been trying to create for years — was crashing down on me.

After about a week of feeling scared and insecure, I had an epiphany. This flare-up could be beneficial to our relationship, to any relationship in my life! The reality is that I have a chronic pain disorder and these episodes happen. I know I am a better person because of my experiences — I am strong and see my pain as a gift, not a tragedy. If he truly cares about me and wants to be with me, my health will not be detrimental to our relationship . . . sick or healthy, he would stand by me with support and love. And if not? Then someone else will. I cannot change who I am.

Moving Forward Once Again
I would love to say that this revelation changed everything for us and we became stronger and more connected because of it, but I cannot. We got through the rough times and now we are healing together. It made me see that I did not have a picture-perfect relationship, but a real relationship. Any relationship can be difficult at times because being together is hard, but the laughter it has brought me is well worth it. I realized that CRPS is a part of me, but it does not define me as a person or define my relationships. Time will tell what is in store for the two of us, but right now I am trying to release all my fears and anxieties and enjoy the time we have.

In the end, my mother and I went back to Texas to see my doctor for nine days. I am now walking slowly, with a slight limp, for about 10 minutes at a time. While I have made a lot of progress, I know I still have a ways to go. The pain is becoming manageable again, and I no longer need a wheelchair!

Right now, it seems like pain has always been a part of my life, and I do not remember what life without pain is like. It was so easy to forget the daily tribulations associated with the loss of mobility in an extremity, and the amount of energy needed to make it through each day. This past episode taught me never to lose sight of where I have been, what I have accomplished and where I hope to be headed. I know it is difficult to put a positive spin on living with chronic pain, but my relatively prompt recovery from this past flare-up gave me the strength to believe that I can conquer whatever comes my way.