Rarotonga

How much do you really need to deal with catastrophising?


Catastrophising is a popular concept in pain management. It’s been associated with poor outcomes in major joint replacement (Riddle, Wade, Jiranek and Kong, 2010); spinal fusion (Abbott, Tyni-Lenne & Hedlund, (2010); in experimental pain modulation (Bartley & Rhudy, 2008); in cancer pain (Bishop & Warr, 2003); and influences interpersonal relationships (Buenaver, Edwards & Haythornthwaite, 2007).

I’m often asked: so, what do I do about it? Can it be treated? What does it really mean? Should I (any kind of non-psychologist) try to treat it, or should I leave it to the psychologists?

The short answer is, I think, yes we need to be aware of catastrophising, yes we can do something to help people become less likely to catastrophise, and yes I firmly believe any and all health professionals have a contribution to make to reduce the tendency to catastrophise simply because it can be so influential for distress, function and disability.

What does catastrophising really mean?

Catastrophising is, basically, the tendency to think the worst about a situation. It probably has some adaptive function in that it helps people identify all the things that can go wrong so they can do something to reduce that risk. On the other hand, it’s not such a wonderful thing when it leads to ruminating (brooding), feeling helpless, and to magnify (or emphasise) all the disasters that could happen, when the probability is really quite low (Sullivan, Bishop & Pivik, 1995).

It’s likely that most of us will have, at one time or another, anticipated the worst. Most of the time the worst doesn’t happen, and we go our way, reassured that we’ve planned for, and managed the situation more effectively than if we’d carried out regardless. But for people who tend to catastrophise about their pain, the risk is fairly high that they’ll experience more distress, depression and disability than those who don’t.

I want to point out that identifying that someone tends to catastrophise does not mean their fears should be dismissed out of hand.  The person who tends to catastrophise is likely to disagree with you, feel their concerns are being trivialised, feel rejected and less likely to talk to you about their concerns. Not the way to maintain a therapeutic relationship!

How can you tell if someone’s catastrophising?

The main assessment measure of catastrophising is Sullivan, Bishop & Pivik’s “Pain Catastrophising Scale“.  It’s not the only measure, but it’s one of the most well-known. It’s relatively brief, and has excellent psychometric properties. But if you’re not comfortable using a pen and paper measure, how else can you decide if someone’s tending to think this way?

Some good questions to ask are:

“What do you think is the most likely outcome of this [procedure/painful event]?”

“How are you feeling about this pain?”

“What can you do to help yourself when your pain is like this?”

“How much can you distract yourself from the pain?”

“What do you think this pain means? What’s your theory about this pain?”

If the person answers negatively – for example, they say they can’t even think about an outcome it’s so bad, or they don’t think it’s ever going to get better, or it’s “terrible”, or “awful”; if they say they can’t distract themselves from the pain, they keep thinking about it all the time; and if they think there’s nothing they can do to help themselves, they feel helpless or hopeless; and if they think the pain means something sinister or bad – then you’re likely to have identified someone who is appraising their situation more fearfully than is helpful.

If the person says “Oh but it really is that bad!”

Remember when you were a kid and were terrified of the dark, or bugs, or things under the toilet lid? or when you were really upset and someone said “Calm down!” – remember that flash of anger that the other person was just not aware of how terrified you were? Simply disagreeing or correcting someone is not going to reduce their anxiety.

I find that first of all it’s important to reflect to the person that you understand they are really worried by their pain. Saying something like “It seems that your pain is really bothering you, and you’re really worried about what it means now and might mean in the future. Have I understood you correctly?”

I then find it useful to unpack the specifics of what the person is really worried about. I might ask “When you say the pain is terrible, what does that mean? What do you think might happen?”

What I’m trying to do is reduce the global appraisal the “everything” is “awful”. I want to find out the details, the underlying beliefs that are underneath the fearful appraisal. So, for example, if the answer to the question above is “I feel like I’m going to die, I can’t breathe and it’s frightening” or “I think it’s never going to end, it’s going to be there all the time, forever”, I can begin to gently reality test these beliefs and also provide some skills to help the person get through them.  I firstly reflect what I’ve heard: “It sounds so scary, not to be able to breathe – no wonder you’re feeling afraid” or “I’d be worried too, if I thought my pain was going to be there all the time, forever”.

Then I might begin suggesting we work on ways to handle the emotions associated with this belief (it’s very hard to reality test if the person is very distressed). “I wonder if we could just spend a minute looking at some ways to help you deal with your feelings, so they don’t wind your nervous system up more? Even if it’s frightening, it’s hard to deal with when your body is getting very stressed, so tell me, what do you find works well to help you calm down?” I might either use what the person says, or teach some diaphragmatic breathing and mindfulness.

Then it’s often a good time to work through a nonthreatening explanation of pain. There are so many ways to present this – YouTube videos of Lorimer Moseley “explain pain”, or Mike Stewart “Know Pain”, or the 5 minute pain video by Hunter Integrated Pain Service. Or you can use your own explanations and metaphors that are meaningful to the person. A case formulation can be helpful too.

When should you refer to a psychologist?

I think most people with chronic pain are fine just learning simple skills like breathing, mindfulness and gently approaching movements that they’ve been worried about doing. Even better if this is carried out with a strong eye to what the person can do and wants to be able to do in their everyday life. Success does breed success.

But there are a percentage of people who really struggle with catastrophising. If you find that the person you’re working with can’t use breathing to calm down, finds it really difficult to stop brooding (especially if this is going on all night!), or finds it very hard to accept a different way of viewing pain, then it’s time to work together with a psychologist to develop an approach that combines what you do (restoring occupational engagement or function) with cognitive therapy or ACT (Acceptance and Commitment Therapy). I personally find it’s people who have very rigid beliefs about their pain, about how the world works, and who find it difficult to experiment and try new things that need this kind of input.

So – should we think about catastrophising in our clinical work? Definitely yes. It’s too important to omit. Should we help people who tend to think this way? Definitely yes, it’s not necessarily the remit only of a psychologist, and I’d argue that we ALL need to contribute.

 

Abbott, A.D., Tyni-Lenne, R., & Hedlund, R. (2010). The influence of psychological factors on pre-operative levels of pain intensity, disability and health-related quality of life in lumbar spinal fusion surgery patients. Physiotherapy, 96(3), 213-221. doi: 10.1016/j.physio.2009.11.013

Bartley, E.J., Rhudy, J.L. (2008). The influence of pain catastrophizing on experimentally induced emotion and emotional modulation of nociception. Journal of Pain, 9(5), 388-396.

Bishop, S.R., & Warr, D. (2003). Coping, catastrophizing and chronic pain in breast cancer. Journal of Behavioral Medicine, 26(3), 265-281.

Buenaver, L.F., Edwards, R.R., & Haythornthwaite, J.A. (2007). Pain-related catastrophizing and perceived social responses: Inter-relationships in the context of chronic pain. Pain, 127(3), 234-242.

Riddle, D.L., Wade, J.B., Jiranek, W.A., & Kong, X. (2010). Preoperative pain catastrophizing predicts pain outcome after knee arthroplasty. Clinical Orthopaedics & Related Research, 468(3), 798-806.

Sullivan, M.J., Bishop, S.R., & Pivik, J. (1995). The pain catastrophizing scale: Development and validation. Psychological Assessment, 7(4), 524. doi: dx.doi.org/10.1037//1040-3590.7.4.524

calm still afternoon

Accepting pain – or are we measuring something else?


Acceptance. Ask a person living with chronic pain whether they accept their pain and the answer is highly probably a resounding “No!”. It’s a word that evokes resignation, feeling helpless and giving up. Or at least that’s what many qualitative papers seem to show (Afrell, Biguet, Rudebeck, 2007; Baker, Gallois, Driedger & Santesso, 2011; Budge, Carryer & Boddy, 2012; Clarke & Iphofen, 2007; Lachapelle, Lavoie & Boudreau, 2008; Risdon, Eccleston, Crombez & McCracken, 2003). I remember when hearing a person tell me “Oh I accept my pain” thinking that this was often a clear indication that underneath it all, the person was pretty angry about the unfairness of pain impacting on their life.

Acceptance is defined in Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT) as “a willingness to remain in contact with and to actively experience particular private experiences (Hayes, Jacobson, Follette, Dougher, 1994) (eds): Acceptance and Change: Content and Context in Psychotherapy. Reno, Context Press, 1994), and from this Lance McCracken and colleagues developed the Chronic Pain Acceptance Questionnaire. This measure has two dimensions: willingness to experience pain and engaging in values-directed activity despite pain.  The other way acceptance has been defined draws from self-regulation, and argues that withdrawing from goals that can’t be achieved, in order to turn to goals that can be achieved is a positive way to cope with life – acceptance is defined as disengaging from a goal to get rid of pain and instead, re-engaging in other goals that aren’t affected as much by pain.

Lauwerier, Caes, Van Damme, Goubert and Rosseel (2015) have recently published a paper reviewing the various instruments that purport to measure pain acceptance. In their analysis, a coding scheme was developed consisting of the three main aspects of acceptance that seem to represent the concept: disengaging from controlling pain, pain willingness (in certain circumstances), and engaging in other valued activities. These three concepts were drawn from the literature – and then there were the left-over concepts that were also present in measures of acceptance. These are the interesting ones!

The addition five codes were: controlling pain, pain costs, pain benefits, unclear and no fit.

They identified 18 difference instruments, of which five didn’t specifically measure acceptance of chronic pain or illness and were therefore excluded from the study, leaving 13 measures to review. The one mentioned the most in the studies reviewed was the Chronic Pain Acceptance Questionnaire-2o.

Moving on to the results, what did these researchers find? And of course, why does it matter

Well, most of the instruments were measuring aspects of acceptance – the Brief Pain Coping Inventory, Chronic Pain Acceptance Questionnaire-A and CPAQ-20, and the Pain Solutions Questionnaire. The original CPAQ and the PASOL were the only two measures with moderate (but the highest percentage) of items with all three acceptance features (disengagement from pain control, pain willingness, and engaging in activity other than pain control), and interestingly, most instruments included “engaging in activities other than pain control”, while the other two factors were less well-represented.

Even more interesting is that many of the items in these instruments were classified as “controlling pain” – in other words, measuring how willing individuals are to carry on with life without trying to control pain. At the same time, many of the instruments also measured “pain costs” – such as “because of my illness, I miss the things I like to do best”.

Then these researchers did some pretty fancy analysis, looking at dimensions contained within all the items from all the measures. What they found was a 2-dimensional solution, with one dimension going from “fully engaged in valued activities” (my description!) to “pain costs”, and the other axis going from “pain willingness” to “controlling pain”.

Conclusions and why this is important

Most of the assessment measures contained some of the concepts thought to be important in pain acceptance, but the aspect most commonly found was engaging in activities other than controlling pain. Items measuring disengaging from trying to control pain, and pain willingness were found less often, while many measures incorporate pain control, and some that reflected pain costs or were unclear. This research seems to show that engagement in activities other than pain control and pain willingness are key features of items measuring acceptance, but at the same time show that not many measures look at both of these concepts together.  Additionally, this research shows that many supposedly “acceptance” instruments actually measure attempts to control pain but then reverse score these items – this can mean that people using these measures interpret them as avoidance measures rather than willingness to experience pain – appealing to quite a different theoretical model (the avoidance or fear-avoidance model) rather than a pain acceptance model.

Why is this research important? Well, acceptance is still a relatively new concept in pain research and clinical practice. While it has been talked about a great deal, and there are numerous studies of acceptance, the instruments developed for such research have not been around very long, and as we can see, don’t always adequately represent the fullness of the theoretical domains. Some aspects are not well-represented or are at risk of being misinterpreted. What works in a research setting may not always be accurately transferred to a clinical setting, especially if clinicians pick up a new measure without reading the theoretical basis for its development.

I also argue on the basis of my research that “disengaging from trying to control pain” doesn’t only need to be represented by items suggesting that people no longer seek treatment. From my findings based on people who live well with chronic pain, treatment is still a feature – but the investment in the outcome of treatment is far less. It’s less important that the pain is removed, treatment is “an option” rather than a necessary part of “returning to normal”.

I also argue that pain willingness is conditional upon the values placed on the activities the individual wants to do. So, if the activity is boring, unpleasant, hard work or doesn’t have rewards to the individual, the person is more than likely to avoid it, but if it’s highly valued then pain becomes a less dominant factor in the decision to do it.

Why should clinicians care? Because acceptance is an exciting and fruitful aspect of living well with pain that we can incorporate into our treatments. Acceptance is about learning to live well, “being with” or “making space” for the presence of pain, so that the other aspects of life are able to be engaged in. That’s important given how few people can have their pain completely reduced.

 

 
Lauwerier, E., Caes, L., Van Damme, S., Goubert, L., Rosseel, Y., & Crombez, G. (2015). Acceptance: What’s in a Name? A Content Analysis of Acceptance Instruments in Individuals With Chronic Pain The Journal of Pain, 16 (4), 306-317 DOI: 10.1016/j.jpain.2015.01.001

Afrell, M., Biguet, G., & Rudebeck, C.E. (2007). Living with a body in pain — between acceptance and denial. Scandinavian Journal of Caring Sciences, 21(3), 291-296.

Baker, S.C., Gallois, C., Driedger, S., & Santesso, N. (2011). Communication accommodation and managing musculoskeletal disorders: Doctors’ and patients’ perspectives. Health Communication, 26(4), 379-388. doi: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/10410236.2010.551583

Budge, C., Carryer, J., & Boddy, J. (2012). Learning from people with chronic pain: Messages for primary care practitioners. Journal of Primary Health Care, 4(4), 306-312.

Clarke, K.A., & Iphofen, R. (2007). Accepting pain management or seeking pain cure: An exploration of patients’ attitudes to chronic pain. Pain Management Nursing, 8(2), 102-110.

Eccleston C, Crombez G. (2007). Worry and chronic pain: A misdirected problem solving model. Pain, 132(3), 233-236.

Hayes, Jacobson, Follette, Dougher. (eds)(1994).  Acceptance and Change: Content and Context in Psychotherapy. Reno, Context Press.

Lachapelle, D.L., Lavoie, S., & Boudreau, A. (2008). The meaning and process of pain acceptance. Perceptions of women living with arthritis and fibromyalgia. Pain Research & Management, 13(3), 201-210.

Risdon, A., Eccleston, C., Crombez, G., & McCracken, L. (2003). How can we learn to live with pain?: A q-methodological analysis of the diverse understandings of acceptance of chronic pain. Social Science & Medicine, 56(2), 375-386. doi: dx.doi.org/10.1016/S0277-9536(02)00043-6

walkaway

An allied health response to primary care for musculoskeletal aches and pains


For as long as I can remember, the joke about doctors saying “take two paracetamol and ring me in the morning” has been a pretty accurate reflection of reality – but no more perhaps?

A large review and meta-analysis of randomised placebo controlled trials of paracetamol in back pain and osteoarthritis has found that although paracetamol can provide a limited reduction in pain in osteoarthritis but not at a clinically important level, there is an elevated risk (four times) of having abnormal results on liver function tests (Machado, Maher, Ferreira, Pinheiro, Lin et al, 2015). The meaning of this elevated risk on liver function isn’t clear, but what is clear is the very minimal effect of what has been used as a mainstay drug for two of the most common complaints in the world.

Oh what are we to do? Because if the findings about paracetamol are stunning, add to it the clear evidence of harms associated with nonsteroidal anti-inflammatories, and we have a situation where the two most common front-line treatments for musculoskeletal pain are being strongly questioned. What’s a busy GP meant to do?

As a community, I think health professionals working with people who have musculoskeletal pain need to begin a concerted campaign to show the value of nonpharmacological approaches to managing life with aches and pains. We already have this beginning with some of the physiotherapy social media campaigns – see a physio first! But I think we could add “See your allied health team first”.

What would it mean to see an allied health professional first? And what would allied health professionals need to do to make this a valid option?

I think allied health professionals would need to make some changes to how we assess people presenting with pain – I wouldn’t want to ban the biomechanical, but here’s a question: how well do physiotherapists consider the psychosocial in their history taking? Luckily I don’t need to have the answer because Rob Oostendorp, Hans Elvers and colleagues have done the work for me.  In this study, therapists were observed conducting their first assessment with a new patient experiencing chronic neck or back pain. Their interviews were reviewed against the SCEBS (Somatic, Psychological (Cognition, Emotion and Behaviour) and Social dimensions of chronic pain), and given scores for how well the interviews explored these domains. Perhaps unsurprisingly, history taking for the Somatic dimension (how sore, where are you sore, what triggers etc) was excellent, with 98% including this area. BUT, and you’d expect this perhaps, Cognition was 43%, Behaviour was 38%, Emotion was 28%, and Social was 18%. What this means is that despite the clinicians themselves considering their coverage for all but the social domain as being “adequate”, in reality the only aspect that these clinicians covered well was the most basic area – “what does it feel like?”.

Challenging indeed.

Now, what would happen if we then examined what these clinicians do with that information? Because if we’re not so wonderful at collecting useful information across domains, my bet is that we’re even worse at combining this information to make sense of it – in other words, developing useful formulations.

Unfortunately I don’t have any information on how we as allied health clinicians use the information we collect, but if my experience as an educator and the very limited number of papers discussing formulations is anything to go by, I don’t think we’re doing too well. I suspect we tend to collect information then blithely continue doing what we’ve always done in terms of treatments. And I’m sorry I don’t have the evidence to support my hunch – would someone take this on for a project, please?

I think allied health professionals also need to make some changes to how we present what we do to the general public. While most people in the general public know that physiotherapists help people move, osteopaths are gentle and work with their hands, chiropractic looks after backs and necks – I’m not so sure anyone really knows what occupational therapists might offer, and I’m certain there would be some angst if psychologists were recommended as front line clinicians for musculoskeletal problems!

You see, while we’ve been concerned about a biomedical dominance in musculoskeletal pain, we haven’t been as good at helping the general public recognise that aches and pains are fairly common and often not a sign of pathology. We’ve been pretty poor at showing the value of relaxation, mindfulness and down-regulation as useful ways to deal with pain. We haven’t addressed the need to engage in occupations and activities that are fulfilling and enjoyable and enriching. In fact, I venture to say that we have almost wholly bought into the biomedical model when it comes to how to conceptualise musculoskeletal aches and pains. We are as guilty as anyone for considering an ache or pain as a sign that the person needs to be “fixed” or “mended” or “aligned” or “stabilised”.

I think a more radical approach, and one that allied health professionals can really endorse because there is evidence for it, is that living well involves being fully human beings. That means allowing ourselves to engage in what we love to do, to not only be active but also to relax, to be exuberant and to be peaceful. To think of our lives as a whole, rather than an isolated ouchy hip or knee or neck. And to look to our whole lifestyle as key to living well rather than “treating” the bit that happens to be bothering us right now.

Imagine that – an allied health workforce that puts out the message that life and wellbeing are the products of balancing all the wonderful facets of being human.

 

 

Machado, G.C., Maher, C.G., Ferreira, P.H., Pinheiro, M.B., Lin, C.-W.C., Day, R.O., . . . Ferreira, M.L. (2015). Efficacy and safety of paracetamol for spinal pain and osteoarthritis: Systematic review and meta-analysis of randomised placebo controlled trials (Vol. 350).

Oostendorp, Elvers, Mikolajewska, Laekeman, van Trijffel, Samwel, Duquet (2015). Manual physical therapists’ use of biopsychosocial history taking in the management of patients with back or neck pain in clinical practice. The Scientific World Journal, 2015, art. 170463, doi: http://dx.doi.org/10.1155/2015/170463

lining up

Things don’t always go smoothly


You know, making changes in life is never one of those beautiful uprising graphs like this:

progress It’s far more likely to be like this:

Untitled-1

There are days when life looks fantastic, then you hit a flat spot and it all goes pear-shaped.

While overall you’re definitely making progress, it doesn’t always feel like that especially during a set-back. And this is normal and predictable – but we nearly always fail to plan for it, so the set-back can pounce like a Tigger.

The thing is, though, that as clinicians we can forget this when we’re working with people living with pain. We’re so keen to see people make positive changes that we can forget just how hard it can be when change needs to happen right throughout the daily habits and lifestyle of the person. And so when someone begins to slow down in their pace of change, perhaps even fall back a bit, we can be somewhat unhelpful.

If set-backs are a normal part of making progress, why don’t we help people prepare for it? Forewarned is forearmed, or so they say (not sure who “they” is, but “they” are wise).

Preparing for set-backs

What constitutes a set-back? Different things for different people, I think. So for me, a set-back is a time when changes you’ve recently instituted get harder to do. The reasons changes might get harder could be because of a pain flare-up, or having less pain than usual. They could happen when life gets especially busy. Or the weather has turned colder (or hotter). Or because it’s holidays, or family members are unwell, or a new puppy gets added to the family. Set-backs can happen when anything disrupts the routine, and when the high of deciding to make a change begins to ebb.

Although set-backs are common, they don’t have to put people off their stride, but they DO need some planning. And it’s important NOT to use pain intensity as the guide to whether a person has handled a set-back well – remember that pain intensity can and does fluctuate for many, many reasons, and it’s not the pain that we’re as concerned about as the ability to handle it without losing track of making changes. Painful flare-ups can be a trigger for a set-back, but so can times when pain settles! In fact, in my experience it’s those times when things are going well, pain is settled and all seems to be ticking along when BAM! people forget to use the skills they’ve been developing and begin to head back down to the familiar but unhelpful ways of coping.

I think it’s really helpful to list all the various things that can get in the way of carrying on with changes.

Then it’s useful to list some ways to get around those factors – for example, if I know that cold weather is going to make it hard for me to get out of bed to go dancing first thing in the morning, I know I can programme the air conditioning so that the room is warm, I can lay my dance clothes out the night before (or practice in my PJ’s!), I can make sure my bedroom is warm in the morning, and I can set an alarm 5 minutes before my practice time to remind me. I can also have the music all ready to go in my player, and I’ve planned what I’m going to practice – in this way I’ve managed to work around the obstacles I know I will encounter. And I add to this by setting a ridiculously low amount that is my bottom line – five minutes! – and then I reward myself by eyeing myself in the mirror after my practice and saying “You’re a dancer!” And yes, I got this off the wonderful Nadira Jamal, Bellydance teacher extraordinaire.

setback planningWhen people do have a set-back, it’s still not too late to do something positive about it. In fact, I think there are two things to do.

1. Go through the factors leading up to the set-back. Identify all the opportunities where different choices could have been made. It’s the “seemingly innocent decisions” that gradually lead towards slipping up that really erode change.

So it might be that it’s been a really busy week, so I’ve thought that it’s OK to do half my exercises during the week, and because it’s been great to see a good friend, I’ve gone out with her rather than do my relaxation. And when I’ve been with the friend, we’ve gone to the pub and I had a drink or two. I’ve decided to get up and dance for a while. I’ve been enjoying myself and haven’t noticed the time. I have another drink and carry on dancing. My friend and I head home about midnight and I’ve got a busy day ahead tomorrow – ooops! I’m so sore I can’t move!

Does that sound familiar?

Where could I have made different choices? Sometimes it’s about avoiding a negative emotion, or about being in a positive mood and being carried away. Sometimes it’s because I might have been feeling a bit flat and down and so I’ve decided it’s OK not to do something – and ended up having to do things at the last minute. Whatever it is, it’s worthwhile taking some time to work back to the earliest point at which I could have made a different decision, and avoided wandering down the path of least resistance.

2. Use a “Can Cope” plan for dealing with the fallout once it’s happened. This is a short set of actions that are already written down before the inevitable happens, so people don’t have to do the thinking when they’re feeling least like it. I always start with “Stop. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Say something nice to yourself”

The subsequent steps are designed to move from immediate and short-term actions to avoid a complete cr@p out – like doing a stretch or two, going to have a drink of water, taking a few minutes out to say something calming, maybe changing the task to something different for a few minutes, going to talk to someone (or phone them), maybe even taking lunch early. Longer term actions might include taking some medication (as a last resort), changing position, having the names of a few people to get support from, doing a relaxation, and so on.

The “Can Cope” plan can be written down on a small card about the size of a business card (they used to be called visiting cards). Then it can be kept in the wallet and pulled out when needed.

The thing with all of these approaches is that they need to be done BEFORE they’re needed. It’s incredibly hard to think straight when life has gone pear-shaped, so do the thinking before it happens. Make every action very specific – if the person is going to phone someone, list their name and phone number on the form. If they’re going to do some stretches, write them down. If it’s a coping statement, write it down!

And therapists, remember to let the person you’re working with come up with their own plans for how they might get around these things. Remember, people have incredible resourcefulness if WE just get out of the way and stop rescuing before it’s needed. I think the best way is to let the person know you have confidence in their ability to get through. Don’t step in to rescue – it doesn’t teach anyone anything, and it shows that really you don’t think the person is capable of managing by themselves. Unless you want to see a person and be their therapist forever, stand back and let it happen – then work with the person to analyse what went wrong and what they could do differently. Every set-back is a chance to learn!

 

Sunday alone time

Developing a shared plan


Last week I introduced you to one way I use to develop a shared understanding of the many factors influencing how and why a person seeks help for their pain.  The person and I work together to understand his or her perspective. I use a range of open-ended questions and reflective listening to guide our discovery of how his/her pain affects life and emotions.

Some points to note:

  • I don’t try to give explanations at this point – explanations will influence what the person says to me, and may inadvertently shape or change what he or she says without necessarily changing his or her beliefs.
  • I’m not trying to make any diagnoses either. A diagnosis is just a short-hand way of lumping a bunch of symptoms together. Great for research, and great for when we have a clear treatment, but a diagnosis tells us nothing about how the problem is affecting this person at this time. And in pain we’re always looking at the person and his or her experience, because even if we successfully get rid of the pain, the person will have learned something through the experience and this will influence the person in the future.
  • I’m informed by what we know about pain from research, so I’m constantly probing and looking for the relationships between factors we know will affect the person. Note that I’m not looking for tissue-level influences, but rather I’m investigating at a “person” level. This means I’m looking at psychological and sociological processes. I’m not ignoring those tissue-level factors, but I’m placing those off to one side for the moment. There are a couple of reasons for this: the first is that I’m probably not going to directly influence tissue-level factors. I don’t lay hands on people. I don’t give drugs. The second is that the person isn’t likely to be aware of those factors. They know much of their own experience (not all – but we’ll come to that), and experience and perception are the most potent drivers of what a person believes and therefore does.
  • I try wherever possible to flesh out my interview with additional information. This might be from questionnaires, or observing, or clinical notes from other people. And yes, I incorporate this information with the full knowledge of the person – in fact, they’re part of the process of integrating this information.

What do I end up with?

A spaghetti junction! A diagram that looks a lot like this:

formulationThis diagram is a pretty simple one, when you think of all the factors that could be involved – and in this case, I’ve made it much clearer than my usual scribble!

At this point I have a series of hypotheses to explain why Gerald is in this state. Together with Gerald, we’ve established that there could be some fear of pain, and in particular, fear that Gerald won’t be able to cope if his pain goes up and doesn’t settle. Gerald has also identified that he can feel helpless at these times, because he doesn’t know what else to do to manage his pain. He believes he’s getting unfit, and that’s adding to his feelings of frustration. He doesn’t want to go out with his mates because he’s irritable. He tries not to let his wife know how he’s feeling to protect her, but this adds to him feeling isolated. He doesn’t want to go back to work, not because he’s not motivated, but because he’s afraid he’ll let them down and this will add to his guilt. He doesn’t think his case manager understands this.

I could ask Gerald to list his main concerns and use these as a guide for my treatment outcomes, but I’ve recently started using a different approach. I’ll ask Gerald what he would be doing differently if his pain wasn’t such a problem to him.

Bronnie: Let’s imagine for a minute, what would you be doing differently if your pain wasn’t such a problem?

Gerald: Well, I’d be back at work, for one thing.

Bronnie: OK, and would you think you’d be back at work full time, or ease your way back in?

Gerald: Well, I think it would be sensible to ease myself back in because it’s been a while and I’m out of shape. Better to know I can do it than have a go and fail.

Bronnie: Great idea. What else would you be doing differently if your pain wasn’t such a problem?

Gerald: I’d take my wife out for dinner, it’s been hard on her while I’m so laid up and grumpy.

Bronnie: What’s your main concern about going out to dinner with your wife right now?

Gerald: I can’t sit long enough to enjoy a meal out. It all seems so hard, to get into a car, and drive to a restaurant, and sit there for three courses. I’m just too sore to do it.

Bronnie: So going to a restaurant and sitting to get there and while you’re there is going to increase your pain?

Gerald: Yeah. Is it worth it? What if it doesn’t settle? I can’t sleep and then the next day I’m shattered. I don’t think it’s worth it.

Bronnie: OK. Is there anything else you’d be doing if your pain wasn’t such a problem for you?

Gerald: I’d be going out and seeing my mates, going fishing and 4 wheel driving. I miss that. There’s no way I could do that right now.

Bronnie: What’s your main concern about going fishing, and seeing your mates at the moment?

Gerald: I’d be ready to go home before they’d even started. They’d get fed up with me slowing them down. And casting is really hard on my neck.

Bronnie: So to sum up then, it seems like there are some things you’d love to be doing, but reasons you think it would be better not to be doing them right now. If we go through them, you’d love to go back to work, but you’d like to do it gradually so you can get in shape again, and so you know you’ll succeed. You’d love to take your wife out for dinner, but the whole dinner thing feels too hard, and you’re worried that your pain will get out of hand and you won’t be able to sleep. And you’d really love to get back out with your mates again, and go fishing, but right now you think your mates would get fed up with you because you’d want to leave too early, and you wouldn’t be able to cast without setting your pain off. Does that sound about right?

Gerald: Yeah.

Bronnie: I think there are some things we could begin to work on so you feel more confident you can handle it when your pain levels go up and down. And I think we could work on some physical things that could help you feel a bit fitter, more able to do things for longer. And finally, I think it would be great if we could help you and your wife connect a bit more, perhaps not yet at a sit-down restaurant, but perhaps there are other ways this could happen. What are your thoughts? Is there anything you’d especially like to look at?

What I’ve tried to do here is identify the underlying reasons Gerald isn’t doing things. While pain appears to be the problem, it’s not the pain it self but the fear of possible effects of pain that haven’t even happened yet that are really stopping him from doing things. And this is adding to the misery of having neck pain.

By giving Gerald the chance to tell me his dreams, we’re going beyond “I need to get rid of my pain” and into the reasons for living in the first place. People don’t just live to get rid of pain, they live to have lives full of meaning, let’s not ever forget that.

bee & poppy

Chronic pain as psychiatric disorder


For years I’ve taken a stance that chronic pain is not a psychiatric disorder. Yes, it’s associated with depression, anxiety and a host of other problems, but in itself it’s not primarily a mental health problem. I was taken to task for this the other day. The argument went like this:

“Pain disorder”: chronic pain…thought to be caused by psychological stress.  I argued that I didn’t like the label, and have met more people with psychological problems after they’ve developed chronic pain, rather than chronic pain initiated through psychological stress. The International Association for the Study of Pain notes accompanying the definition of pain states:

“Many people report pain in the absence of tissue damage or any likely pathophysiological cause; usually this happens for psychological reasons…. pain most often has a proximate physical cause (http://www.iasp-pain.org/Taxonomy?navItemNumber=576).”

Some people argue that this set of statements doesn’t consider central sensitisation (it was written before there were ways to examine living brain function) – but the end result was, as intended, to equate the experience of pain with only the experience of pain, rather than nociception or tissue damage. The person who disagreed with me suggested I was denigrating those with a mental health diagnosis – I hope I’m not, because illness affects people whether it’s so-called “physical” or “mental”.

Studies have shown that some people do develop chronic pain after being exposed to workplace stress – but haven’t been able to demonstrate that this is a direct stress —> pain relationship. Instead there could be any number of mediating and moderating factors, such as genetic predisposition to chronic pain, tendency to respond to stress with fatigue and increased risk of making errors, response from within the workplace system, working faster and harder because of stress, limited attention to recovery and so on. To show a direct relationship between stress and developing chronic pain, we’d need to see clear evidence of an impact on biological systems that are involved with both stress and pain, and we’d need to see a dose-response relationship and so on. There’s some suggestion that chronic stress may influence the HPA axis, particularly during childhood development, but the main hypothesis about stress and cortisol and neuroinflammation (the glucocorticoid cascade hypothesis) doesn’t appear to have translated well from animal studies to humans (Frodl & O’Keane, 2013).  Quintner and colleagues have suggested fibromyalgia may be the outcome of long-term adaptation to stress, but this hypothesis has not yet been rigorously tested (Lyon, Cohen & Quintner, 2011).

My stance on stress and chronic pain is that having chronic pain is extremely stressful. When a person experiences pain it disrupts and interferes with usual bodily experience during movement and rest. Being unable to do what’s important in life is frustrating, and can lead to social rejection – social rejection itself activates a number of neural pathways that are very similar to those active in chronic pain (MacDonald & Leary, 2005). There’s no doubt that for some people, the demoralising effect of trying time after time for a diagnosis, and the search for effective treatment is stressful enough to produce depression and/or anxiety, and certainly a sense of hopelessness and helplessness. If you happen to be vulnerable to mood problems, or to the effects of stress on a sensitive nervous system, then I’m certain there is a relationship between the two. But not in every case, and not all the time. And the jury is still out on which came first: the mood problem or the chronic pain.

Whatever, I have other reasons for not wanting chronic pain to be labelled a psychiatric disorder. Like it or not, mental health problems are not as well accepted socially as say, breaking a leg or having the flu. Despite the vigorous efforts of many people to raise awareness about depression and anxiety, it’s not anywhere near as easy to announce to people “I’ve got depression” than it is to say “I’ve got the flu”. It’s more difficult if you have chronic pain. Not only is there a really strong belief in the general community that pain should be associated with some sort of visible tissue insult, this belief carries through to many health professionals. Hopefully that’s changing, but far too slowly. What’s worse, many insurers and much compensation law identifies that if there’s no tissue damage, or the problem can’t be imaged, then pain is not a compensable condition. This places the person experiencing pain in an incredibly difficult position – how to demonstrate to people around them that they have a problem that isn’t imaginary and can’t be shrugged off.

Now add another layer of complexity to the argument. By labeling chronic pain a psychiatric disorder, the person being thus labelled experiences a double-whammy. Their pain may be real but not acknowledged, their suffering may be acknowledged but labelled a psychiatric problem. And very often treatment for psychiatric conditions is poorly funded, with limited attention to a biopsychosocial model or to an interdisciplinary approach.

A person given a diagnosis of “somatic symptom and related disorder” (according to DSM 5) is meant to mean they have “somatic symptoms associated with significant distress and impairment.”  The diagnosis is to be made “on the basis of positive symptoms and signs (distressing somatic symptoms plus abnormal thoughts, feelings, and behaviors in response to these symptoms) rather than the absence of a medical explanation for somatic complaints.” (See DSM-5, p. 309.)

I wonder, what are “abnormal” thoughts, feelings and behaviours in response to pain?  How is this judged? Who does the judging? What’s normal? Simply having pain that no-one can explain is, in itself, distressing. I’d have thought this was a pretty normal response.

The American Psychiatric Association states that the DSM 5 Pain Disorder diagnosis “takes a different approach to the important clinical realm of individuals with pain”. They go on to say “In DSM-IV, the pain disorder diagnoses assume that some pains are associated solely with psychological factors, some with medical diseases or injuries, and some with both. There is a lack of evidence that such distinctions can be made with reliability and validity, and a large body of research has demonstrated that psychological factors influence all forms of pain. Most individuals with chronic pain attribute their pain to a combination of factors, including somatic, psychological, and environmental influences. In DSM-5, some individuals with chronic pain would be appropriately diagnosed as having somatic symptom disorder, with predominant pain. For others, psychological factors affecting other medical conditions or an adjustment disorder would be more appropriate.”(click here for the document)

By acknowledging that it’s not possible to distinguish between pain associated with psychological, medical, injury or both, I think this category is a catch-all. I think it’s acknowledging that chronic pain is a problem that many people with mental health problems experience, and it recognises that clinicians working with those who have mental health problems need a box to tick to enable them to address the issues and be paid for it. This isn’t attacking those clinicians who use DSM V to justify their involvement with people who experience chronic pain. But I think it’s a clumsy way of addressing the underlying issue that means insurers and legislators STILL believe there has to be tissue damage, or something we can “see” before a person can have real pain.

 

Frodl, Thomas, & O’Keane, Veronica. (2013). How does the brain deal with cumulative stress? A review with focus on developmental stress, HPA axis function and hippocampal structure in humans. Neurobiology of Disease, 52(0), 24-37. doi: http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.nbd.2012.03.012

Lyon, Pamela, Cohen, Milton, & Quintner, John. (2011). An evolutionary stress-response hypothesis for chronic widespread pain (fibromyalgia syndrome). Pain Medicine, 12(8), 1167-1178.

MacDonald, Geoff, & Leary, Mark R. (2005). Why does social exclusion hurt? The relationship between social and physical pain. Psychological bulletin, 131(2), 202.

kayaks

After your assessment – then what?


Pain management is replete with assessment measures. There is even a handbook dedicated to pain assessment. I’m sure that every clinician has their favourite assessment tools and process. But there seems to be a gap in terms of how to use the findings from all this assessment: how to put it all together to make some sort of sense.

Chronic pain and disability is a multifactorial problem. There are contributions from biological processes, from psychological mechanisms, and from the social environments in which we live. I think only die-hard types would argue that thinking about pain from a purely biological perspective in any but the most simple presentations makes any sense at all. But how do you put the information together to arrive at a reasonable set of hypotheses about what is going on? I think it helps to have some sort of framework, because this simplifies the way information can be presented. I also think it’s useful to work from the patient’s perspective first, before integrating any contributing factors that don’t feature in the patient’s narrative.

I usually sit down with a large piece of paper or a whiteboard, and a pen, and begin assembling a kind of story.

Bronnie: “You’ve said that it’s hard to know when your pain is going to bother you, and you’re not sure how to make sense of it. Let’s see what we do know already. Tell me your theory of why your pain is still going on.”

Gerald: “Okay… Well one doctor said it was because I’d had a car accident and I’d strained my neck muscles when I got shunted from behind. I know I started to get sore the day after that accident.”

Bronnie: “Let’s put down “got shunted from behind – neck strain”.

smashGerald: “Yep, that’s how it happened.”

Bronnie: “And has anyone else given you an explanation that makes sense?”

Gerald: “Well, this one guy said that because my head got knocked around I might have had a concussion, and that might be why I have these headaches.”

Bronnie: “Does that make sense to you? Should I put that down?”

Gerald: “Yes, put that down, because I’ve had headaches ever since, and I know I really got a shake-up.”

Bronnie: “So, we have a shunt from behind, and a concussion. Is there anything else to explain why you’ve been having such trouble?”

Gerald: “Well one doctor said I was, what did he call it, kinesiophobic. That means I’m afraid to move. Well of course I’m afraid to move – it hurts! But it’s not like I’m a mental case.”

Bronnie: “What do you think he meant by that term?”

Gerald: “I think it was a way he could say that it wasn’t his fault I wasn’t getting any better. That I need to pull myself together and start doing things.”

Bronnie: “What would you like me to put down on this diagram then? What do you think, are you afraid to move?”

Gerald: “Yes, I don’t want to hurt, so I don’t move. Every time I do move, I get a headache and feel awful.”

Bronnie: “I’ll add that in, then. It makes sense that if you hurt when you move, you stop moving. What we call it doesn’t really matter.”

Untitled-1Bronnie: “What’s it been like for you, not moving very much? How do you feel in yourself?”

Gerald: “It’s horrible. My life has closed in on me, and I’m not doing very much at all. I feel pretty down some days, but mostly I feel frustrated.”

Bronnie: “We could say then that being afraid to move has meant you’ve stopped doing a lot of things. And as a result you’re feeling down and frustrated.”

Gerald: “You can say that again.”

Bronnie: “And what about the people around you? What’s it been like at home?”

Gerald: “The kids couldn’t care less. They’re just grumpy because I’m not taking them to places like a taxi driver. I’m not driving because I really don’t want to get back into that car, even though it’s been fixed.”

Bronnie: “And what about your partner? How are things with her?”

Gerald: “I think she’s really concerned about me, but doesn’t know what to do. Sometimes I know she’s really angry with me, like it was my fault I got hit, other times she’s really supportive, and wants me to get some treatment to fix it so I can get back to normal again.”

familyBronnie: “And what’s been happening with work?”

Gerald: “Well, I can’t go back yet because I don’t want to drive. And I keep getting these headaches, so I don’t think I could even think about going back. My boss, he’s been ringing me to see if there’s anything he can do – he’s a good sort, and I want to go back, but what can I do when I’m like this?”

Bronnie: “And how are you doing for income at the moment?”

Gerald: “I’m on compensation, but my case manager keeps pressuring me to go back to work. She doesn’t seem to realise that I can’t do anything, I’d just be a liability. I think she needs to stop hassling me until I’ve got things sorted out a bit more. If only I could get rid of these headaches, and move my neck a bit more, but I can’t even look down to pick things up even if I could carry them.”

fomrulationBronnie: “To sum up, it looks to me like right now you’re feeling pretty stuck. There are lots of different explanations for your headaches and neck pain, but no matter what we call it, you’ve stopped doing things and as a result you’re feeling fed up and down. And your family aren’t really helping though they’re doing their best. Your employer is keeping in touch and that’s great but you don’t think you’re reliable enough to go back to work, even though your case manager keeps pushing for you to try. How does that sound?”

Gerald: “Pretty right to me.”

At this point, Gerald and I have developed rapport, and a shared understanding of his perspective on his pain. You’ll note that I haven’t started “educating” him, or trying to change his understanding. I haven’t done this because I want to be certain I’ve started to understand where he’s coming from. People don’t develop weird beliefs for no reason – these beliefs usually begin from a misunderstanding, or perhaps faulty logic that hasn’t accounted for some of the factors, and they usually make sense once you take the time to listen to the person.

I will also often add some questions about treatments he’s tried, and what he’s learned from them. I’ll usually ask about his family and colleagues beliefs about pain and what he should or shouldn’t be doing. I’ll ask about other times he’s had pain and what he’s done to recover, and what he might have learned about his resourcefulness and coping from these times (or his vulnerabilities and challenges).

I will usually then ask him what his main concern is, and what he thinks the “next best step” might be. The answers to these questions will often help guide the first therapeutic steps we take. I also incorporate his responses to a set of questionnaires I usually administer before seeing him. These include the Pain Catastrophising Scale, Chronic Pain Acceptance Questionnaire, Chronic Pain Coping Inventory, and Pain Anxiety Symptoms Scale, plus a measure of general function or disability such as the Pain Disability Index, or the Multidimensional Pain Inventory. By reflecting on the findings from these questionnaires, together we can factor those aspects of his understanding into the formulation diagram.

If I’m working within a team, I like to bring the team into the formulation process – but not until after the client/patient and I have developed our understanding first. This makes it much easier to generate a collaborative approach to learning about the many factors influencing the person’s presentation.

I’ll continue with this formulation in next week’s post….

A couple of good readings:

Asmundson, Gordon J., & Hadjistavropolous, Heather D. (2006). Addressing Shared Vulnerability for Comorbid PTSD and Chronic Pain: A Cognitive-Behavioral Perspective. Cognitive and Behavioral Practice, 13(1), 8-16.

Thompson, B. (2012). Abductive reasoning and case formulation in complex cases. In L. Robertson (Ed.), Clinical Reasoning in Occupational Therapy: Controversies in practice (1st ed., pp. 15-30). Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell.

Tompkins, Michael A. (1999). Using a case formulation to manage treatment nonresponse. Journal of Cognitive Psychotherapy, 13(4), 317-330.

Vertue, F.M., & Haig, B. D. (2008). An abductive perspective on clinical reasoning and case formulation. Journal of Clinical Psychology, 64(9), 1046 – 1068. doi: http://dx.doi.org/10.1002/jclp.20504

don't come around no more

On pain…and suffering


Two words that often go together: Pain, Suffering.  Pain we can define according to the IASP definition –

An unpleasant sensory and emotional experience associated with actual or potential tissue damage, or described in terms of such damage (Read the note below as well).

Suffering? What is that?

My favourite definition comes from Eric Cassell (Emeritus Professor at Cornell University). He makes the point that bodies don’t suffer, only people do, saying that “in all the situations in which suffering comes about the meaning of the occurrence to the person and the person’s perception of the future are crucial” (Cassell, 2011). The point he makes is that while bodies may have nociception, and neuroendocrine responses to emotional stimuli, bodies do not have a sense of the future, and bodies don’t know meanings, only people do.  Illness doesn’t come from disease, it comes from a process that “unfolds over time” as the sickness and how it is lived show the individual character of the person who has them.

So, then, what is suffering? It is the response to a threat to self-integrity.  This means the way we suffer is always personal to what matters most to us.

Cassell’s paper outlines why some of our healthcare efforts result in more suffering than less. He argues that health professionals want to alleviate suffering, but need some sort of measurement tool to detail whether their efforts have met with success. But being better, or worse, is “ultimately defined by the patients themselves”, and when sickness is defined, it should reflect what it means to be well in the patient’s terms (Cassell, 2011, p. 12).

Now here’s where it gets interesting. Because health professionals make assumptions about what it is that is causing the suffering in their patients. And in many cases, the assumption in pain management is that it’s the pain that is causing the suffering. If that were the case, people with low levels of pain wouldn’t seek help, and people with extreme pain would be seeking treatment. Is that the case? Well, not exactly, actually. People seek treatment because their pain is beginning to interfere with what they want to do (Ferriera, Machado, Latimer, Maher, Ferriera & Smeets, 2010). It’s the meaning of the pain that drives people to look for help. So, we have people with arm pain they’ve had for months, but they seek treatment only when there is a change at work because now they can’t keep up.  People with low back pain who only look for help because it’s winter now and they can’t stand on the rugby field to watch their son playing.

The problem with assuming that having pain is equal to suffering is that there is an expectation that treating the pain intensity will automatically alleviate the suffering.

Let’s think about that for a moment: Jonathan has just had his first episode of angina. He came into hospital for it to be checked out, and has been given a clean bill of health but given tablets to take if the pain returns. He’s advised “this is a bit of a warning”, and told to go on his way but perhaps lose a little weight and do some more exercise. Jonathan hears “next time you have this it could be the Big One”, and because his pain occurs when he’s doing exercise, he doesn’t exercise very often. He takes his angina pills as soon as he begins to feel a little tightness in his chest. And he seems to be having this quite often, especially when he starts thinking about how he nearly had a heart attack. He has no pain – but he is suffering.

Or another example: Frances has had a series of blocks to locate the source of her pain in her lower back. They’ve found it, but the results of the radiofrequency neurotomy are not as good as the blocks were. She has a lot less pain, but she’s afraid that if she moves too much, she might do more damage to her back and this will bring her pain on, so she’s playing it safe and hasn’t returned to her netball. She misses the social atmosphere of netball and, to be honest, she’s feeling down in the dumps, and because she’s not exercising she’s gaining weight. She’s suffering although her pain has been reduced.

I’ll conclude with these thoughts from Cassell (2011). I think this paragraph is profound –

A human being in all its facets interacts simultaneously outwardly into the world and with others, as well as inwardly in emotions, thoughts, and the body, and these are generally consistent and harmoniously accordant. By contrast, suffering variously destroys the coherence, cohesiveness, and consistency of the whole. The person’s experience of this is of no longer being in accord and “whole,” but rather of “being in pieces,” of not being able to “hold themselves together.” It is in this sense that suffering threatens or destroys the integrity or intactness of the person.

He points out that some practitioners think almost two kinds of knowledge exist: medical science about the body and disease, and knowledge of the person. And that these only join together at the bedside.  He says “The problem is not two kinds of knowledge in medicine, the problem is that the goals of practice are almost universally divided – treat the disease and care of the patient focusing on the personal asepcts of the illness – as though these were two separate elements to be brought together. That is not correct. There is only one goal: the well-being of the whole person who is the patient.

And this is The Most Important Thing Ever:

The key to relief of suffering is a focus on function. What do patients have when they have a sense of well-being? They believe they can accomplish their purposes and goals. Put another way, they can do the things they need and want to do to live their lives the way they want to (Cassell, 2011, p. 16).

Note: The inability to communicate verbally does not negate the possibility that an individual is experiencing pain and is in need of appropriate pain-relieving treatment. Pain is always subjective. Each individual learns the application of the word through experiences related to injury in early life. Biologists recognize that those stimuli which cause pain are liable to damage tissue. Accordingly, pain is that experience we associate with actual or potential tissue damage. It is unquestionably a sensation in a part or parts of the body, but it is also always unpleasant and therefore also an emotional experience. Experiences which resemble pain but are not unpleasant, e.g., pricking, should not be called pain. Unpleasant abnormal experiences (dysesthesias) may also be pain but are not necessarily so because, subjectively, they may not have the usual sensory qualities of pain. Many people report pain in the absence of tissue damage or any likely pathophysiological cause; usually this happens for psychological reasons. There is usually no way to distinguish their experience from that due to tissue damage if we take the subjective report. If they regard their experience as pain, and if they report it in the same ways as pain caused by tissue damage, it should be accepted as pain. This definition avoids tying pain to the stimulus. Activity induced in the nociceptor and nociceptive pathways by a noxious stimulus is not pain, which is always a psychological state, even though we may well appreciate that pain most often has a proximate physical cause. [italics my own]

Cassell, Eric J. (2011). Suffering, whole person care, and the goals of medicine. In T. A. E. Hutchinson (Ed.), Whole person care: A new paradigm for the 21st century (pp. 9-22). New York, NY: Springer. Retrieved from http://ovidsp.ovid.com/ovidweb.cgi?T=JS&CSC=Y&NEWS=N&PAGE=fulltext&D=psyc7&AN=2011-24010-002. doi: 10.1007/978-1-4419-9440-0

Ferreira, Manuela L., Machado, Gustavo, Latimer, Jane, Maher, Christopher, Ferreira, Paulo H., & Smeets, Rob J. (2010). Factors defining care-seeking in low back pain–A meta-analysis of population based surveys. European Journal of Pain, 14(7), e1-e7. doi: http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.ejpain.2009.11.005

Riverland

What does biopsychosocial practice really mean?


It’s still a bit of a buzzword, biopsychosocial. I’ve argued before that in pain, it’s more of a biopsychological model in practice (and here).*

I’ve had my wrist firmly slapped when I’ve suggested that a group of medical practitioners doesn’t really practice biopsychosocial pain management. I’m not the only person to point out how unidimensional some pain management practice is,  as Roth, Geisser & Williams (2012) point out. This paper argues that interventional pain management focuses narrowly on nociception as an exclusive target, challenges this biomedical view of peripheral nociception as a primary source of pain and discusses the potential that this viewpoint has to foster unhelpful beliefs about pain, discourage using pain coping strategies, and (my addition) may even reinforce fear of pain.

I originally thought I’d discuss just this paper, but in mulling things over, I want to extend my discussion beyond this one example, and think more deeply about what it means to practice biopsychosocial pain management.

So what makes me biopsychosocial?

Someone once said “You don’t always need a team of people to help someone with chronic pain, you just need to think biopsychosocially“. I can see their point. But what does that mean in my practice?

To me, practicing in a biopsychosocial framework means answering two questions:

  1. Why is this person presenting in this way at this time?

  2. What can be done to reduce distress and disability?

The first question is about this unique individual and the choices that have led to them seeing me, today. It’s also about the social context and attitudes that mean this person frames their situation as a problem. When I read that so many people have chronic pain but continue to work, or don’t seek treatment, I want to understand how and why this person has found it necessary to look for help.  The different motivations for seeing me will influence how we work together. For example, if someone has decided they can do more than they have been, but don’t quite know how to go about it, this will lead me to one set of “tools” from my toolbox (sorry Jason!). If, on the other hand, they’ve been sent to me by a compensation funder, they may not even want to do more than they currently can – or that may not be their priority at present. A different set of tools will be required.

I want to understand their problems as they see them. I want to look at the various factors that influence their problems, that may also influence any changes we make. I want to look at how the problems first arose, and then how they’re being maintained – these may not be the same! And it may take time to work through the various aspects to develop a case formulation that can explain why this person is presenting in this way at this time.

It’s only once I’ve taken some time to listen to the person and generate this case formulation that I can then begin to work on the second question. Distress and disability. Both of them, together. You see, it’s easy to address one or the other. Most health professionals want to reduce distress, it’s part of our reason for choosing healthcare as a job. If someone is distressed, our belief is that they’re suffering, and we have a duty to alleviate suffering. But if we’re not careful, we can treat distress but actually perpetuate disability, and disability can mean prolonged suffering. For example, if we give someone short-term relief through acupuncture (or massage, manipulation, medication or even empathy) the effect is to reduce distress immediately – but if and when the same situation comes up again, what do you think that person will do? Yes – head straight for you. It’s a great business model – but not so good for living a life that is half-way normal.

We need to think about how this person can begin to take the reigns him or herself to reduce disability, or the interference value of pain (and treatments and coping strategies and exercise associated with the pain). How can we as health professionals help this person do what’s needed to let pain interfere less?

And I guess that’s part of my frustration with needle jockeys, or people who push procedural pain management without considering that humans make sense of whatever happens to them. If managing pain means attending a treatment clinic every three months for a series of injections, when does that begin to interfere with life? At the end of one year? Two years? What about in 10 or 15 years? When do we call it quits?

And what do I do if I’ve been “trained” to go back for more jabs when my pain returns? And what do I now believe about my ability to deal with pain by myself? How much do I now fear having pain because I’ve been taught I need a quick fix? And from a social perspective, if I need to go to a clinic every three months for life, after a while, how are they going to see any new patients? At what point do they need to stop seeing new patients, or do they need to stop seeing old patients? And if they stop seeing old patients, what happens to me now?

You see, when a person doesn’t know there are any alternatives for managing their pain, how will they do anything differently? If the clinician doesn’t take the time to understand the person inside the pain, and doesn’t take a responsible stance towards what they offer as treatment, I think we end up with unethical practice. By selectively reporting outcomes, failing to assess psychosocial factors, and attending only to nociception and “identifying the source”, perhaps some clinicians are inadvertently creating dependence. Is this OK?

*ps the biopsychosocial model isn’t really a “testable” scientific model, it’s more of a heuristic or framework for thinking and integrating various aspects of human life.

Deyo, Richard A. (2015). Biopsychosocial care for chronic back pain. BMJ, 350. doi: 10.1136/bmj.h538

Engel, George L. (1977). The need for a new medical model: A challenge for biomedicine. Science, 196(4286), 129-136. doi: http://dx.doi.org/10.1126/science.847460

Kamper, Steven J, Apeldoorn, A T, Chiarotto, A, Smeets, R J E M, Ostelo, R W J G, Guzman, J, & van Tulder, M W. (2015). Multidisciplinary biopsychosocial rehabilitation for chronic low back pain: Cochrane systematic review and meta-analysis (Vol. 350).

Roth, R. S., Geisser, M E, & Williams, D. A. (2012). Interventional pain medicine: retreat from the biopsychosocial model of pain. Translational Behavioral Medicine, 2(1), 106-116. doi: 10.1007/s13142-011-0090-7

Rivermouth

Patterns of pain after total knee joint replacement


My orthopaedic colleagues are concerned about how they choose patients who will benefit from surgery, rather than ending up with poor outcomes. It’s interesting to know that knee replacement surgery is revised mostly because of pain rather than infection, dislocation or other surgical problems. Naturally, my colleagues would like to find an easy way to pick who is going to develop chronic post-surgical pain because it would avoid a lot of bother and repeated surgeries.

Pagé, Katz, and colleagues (2015) conducted this study which was nested within a study looking at postoperative gabapentin as a way to reduce the risk of postsurgical pain. People were studied for up to 12 months, which is a good length of time for outcome studies.  They then performed a complex statistical analysis called Growth Mixture Modeling, which is “a longitudinal analysis methodology in which a latent membership to discrete trajectories is estimated” (p. 462), which uses data drawn from baseline and each data point thereafter to generate groupings of individuals based on patterns identified in the data. I’m not sufficiently comfortable with my ability to describe the statistics so I’ll refer you to the article itself, but suffice to say, the researchers were able to identify four groups, and range of movement at the knee joint between the groups was no different – so it’s not the surgery that makes the difference, but “something else”.

They found four groups: (1) People with high baseline pain, but which decreased quickly after surgery, then decreased again at 12 months after surgery. This is the kind of outcome orthopaedic surgeons and patients want to see!

(2) People with low baseline pain that continued to reduce over time. Again, a group the orthopods like.

(3) People with high baseline pain but gradually reducing over time, higher immediately post-surgery than groups (1) or (2), but generally a good outcome for everyone involved. Possibly a group that needs a bit more TLC immediately after surgery than groups (1) and (2).

(4) People with moderate levels of pain before surgery and also after, but the pain not changing much even 12 months later. Not the kind of outcome that surgeons, or people having surgery want!

What factors were associated with this not-so-good outcome?

The first thing to note is that there was no difference in terms of age or gender – and this is unusual because often it is women and older women at that who have more difficulty recovering from knee replacement surgery.  People in group (4) were slower to move in presurgical functional tests, had greater anxiety (as measured on the Hospital Anxiety and Depression Scale), and had higher scores on the Pain Disability Index.

The authors consider that patients in group (4) had similar levels of acute postoperative pain to the other groups, but didn’t report any change in their score from before surgery to the first two measurement points at 4 days and 6 weeks postop. In fact, this group of people had the same level of pain intensity or thereabouts for the next 12 months. They suggest that treatments for this group of people should be given at this 4 days to six weeks stage to try to minimise their transfer from acute postop pain to chronic postsurgical pain, and they suggest these should target “prehabilitation” and “total-body physical conditioning”.

I have some questions that still remain unanswered:

  • Why did this group of people have the same level of pain intensity as the other groups, but lower functional abilities before surgery?
  • Could general anxiety as measured by the HADS and either health anxiety or catastrophising be associated (probably yes)?
  • If a person is generally anxious, does this mean he or she is more likely to be cautious while mobilising? is this group of people at greater risk of falling/doing less/participating less in rehabilitation postop (probably yes)?
  • Why did the study authors not include pain catastrophising as a measure? Would they have changed their recommendations for prehabilitation if they’d included it as a predictor?

It’s that last question that I’m interested in – pain catastrophising is associated with poorer outcomes in many different domains including orthopaedic trauma , orthopaedic surgery (Edwards, Haythornthwaite, Smith, Klick & Katz, 2009; Forsythe, Dunbar, Hennigar, Sullivan & Gross, 2008 Homes, Williamson, Hogg, Arnold & O’Donnell, 2013 Witvrouw, Pattyn, Almqvist, Crombez, Accoe et al 2009); and pain coping (Keefe, Shelby, Somers, 2010; Campbell & Edwards, 2009.

Treating people who have high levels of pain catastrophising isn’t easy but there are a number of options that might be useful. Amongst these are pain neurobiology “education” (Therapeutic Neuroscience Education or TNE) (Louw, Diener, Butler & Puentedura, 2013), mindfulness as a strategy for dealing with anxiety and pain , graded exposure to movement using a phobia paradigm rather than a graded activity one (ie addressing the thinking rather than simply physical fitness), providing people with enhanced postop recovery pathways using a combined psychological and physical rehabilitation approach.

My concern is that by ignoring the information we have about catastrophising, and focusing instead on the reduced function alone without considering why this group are less confident and move with more difficulty, one of the relevant issues won’t be addressed. While it’s easier to just use physiotherapy and exercise to mitigate disability, it doesn’t address the underlying anxiety or catastrophising that influences the amount of attention paid to pain, the meaning pain holds for people who catastrophise, and it doesn’t teach skills to deal effectively with the anxiety or catastrophising. Unless the physiotherapists carrying out exercise programmes are well-versed in psychological approaches to reduce catastrophising, I fear this recommendation may not be as helpful as it could.

 

Brander VA, Stulberg SD, Adams AD, Harden RN, Bruehl S, Stanos SP, Houle T. (2003) Predicting total knee replacement pain: a prospective, observational study. Clinical Orthopedic and Related Research, 416:27–36.

Campbell, C. M., & Edwards, R. R. (2009). Mind-body interactions in pain: the neurophysiology of anxious and catastrophic pain-related thoughts. Translational Research: The Journal Of Laboratory and Clinical Medicine, 153(3), 97-101.

Edwards, R. R., Haythornthwaite, J. A., Smith, M. T., Klick, B., & Katz, J. N. (2009). Catastrophizing and depressive symptoms as prospective predictors of outcomes following total knee replacement. Pain Research & Management, 14(4), 307-311.

Forsythe, M. E., Dunbar, M. J., Hennigar, A. W., Sullivan, M. J., & Gross, M. (2008). Prospective relation between catastrophizing and residual pain following knee arthroplasty: two-year follow-up. Pain Research & Management, 13(4), 335-341.

Holmes, Alex, Williamson, Owen, Hogg, Malcolm, Arnold, Carolyn, & O’Donnell, Meagan L. (2013). Determinants of Chronic Pain 3 Years after Moderate or Serious Injury. Pain Medicine, 14(3), 336-344. doi: 10.1111/pme.12034

Keefe, Francis J., Shelby, Rebecca A., & Somers, Tamara J. (2010). Catastrophizing and pain coping: Moving forward. Pain, 149(2), 165-166. doi: http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.pain.2010.02.030

Louw, Adriaan, Diener, Ina, Butler, David S, & Puentedura, Emilio J. (2013). Preoperative education addressing postoperative pain in total joint arthroplasty: Review of content and educational delivery methods. Physiotherapy theory and practice, 29(3), 175-194.

Pagé, M., Katz, J., Romero Escobar, E., Lutzky-Cohen, N., Curtis, K., Fuss, S., & Clarke, H. (2015). Distinguishing problematic from nonproblematic postsurgical pain PAIN, 156 (3), 460-468 DOI: 10.1097/01.j.pain.0000460327.10515.2d

Witvrouw, E., Pattyn, E., Almqvist, K. F., Crombez, G., Accoe, C., Cambier, D., . . . Witvrouw, Erik. (2009). Catastrophic thinking about pain as a predictor of length of hospital stay after total knee arthroplasty: a prospective study. Knee Surgery, Sports Traumatology, Arthroscopy, 17(10), 1189-1194. doi: dx.doi.org/10.1007/s00167-009-0817-x