Author: adiemusfree

I have many passions, but one of them is to help people experiencing chronic health problems learn to achieve their potential. This blog is developed for health care providers who want to help people develop their skills for living well, while respecting their values. I have worked in the field of chronic pain management, helping people develop 'self management' skills for 20 years. Many of the skills are directly applicable to people with other health conditions. I like to work collaboratively with people, respecting that all people have limitations and vulnerabilities - as well as strengths and potential. I use a cognitive and behavioural approach, believing that therapy is not helpful unless there are visible changes in what the person does. If you are a person experiencing health problems, you may find information here that is helpful. I encourage you to make sure any advice you receive anywhere (including here) is based on sound scientific studies. This blog is not designed to give any personal advice on health conditions, and should not replace a consultation with your own health care providers.

…and now what we’ve all been waiting for: What do to about central sensitisation in the clinic


For the last couple of weeks I’ve posted about central sensitisation; what it is, and how to assess for it. Today I’m going to turn to the “so what” question, and talk about what this might mean when we’re in the clinic.  Remember that most of this material comes from Jo Nijs’ recent talks at the New Zealand Pain Society.
Firstly, remember that pain is an experience that people have, underpinned by neurobiology, but also, depending on the level of analysis, on interactions with others, on systems and how they work, on culture, on individual experiences, and of course, on interacting within a body within an environment or context. Everything I say from here on is based on these assumptions.

The first point Jo Nijs makes is that when we know a bit more about the neurobiology of persistent pain associated with central sensitisation, we can use this knowledge wisely when we help someone make sense of their pain. This doesn’t mean wholesale and broadcast “I-will-tell-you-all-I-know-about-pain-neurobiology-because-I-know-you-need-to-know-it-because-I-know-it-and-think-it’s-important” which is, truth to tell, a lot more about the know-it-all than the person in front of them! We need to earn the right to give information – that means establishing that we’ve heard the other person’s story and the current meanings they’ve made from their experience. It also means asking permission to share new information. It means thinking about WHY we want to share new information.

So what if the person doesn’t use the same groovy language we use to describe his or her understanding?! So what if they’ve got some of the newer ideas slightly skewed. In the end, what’s important is that the person understands these things:

  • Pain isn’t a direct reflection of what’s happening in the tissues.
  • Pain can be influenced by many things, some of which are physical forces (heat, pressure and so forth), some of which are ideas, and some are emotions. And there are a bunch of other variables that can influence the experience, including what else is going on around the person.
  • The brain is intimately involved with our experience of pain, and it’s a two-way street from body to brain and brain to body.
  • Persistent pain is more about neurobiology than tissue damage per se (but not exclusively about neurobiology).

Our job is to make sure the person understands these things, rather than our job being about “educating” people. The end result matters, rather than any particular process.

If we look at the evidence for helping people reconceptualise their pain, there’s plenty to show that this approach is useful – it’s been a key tenet of a self-management cognitive behavioural approach to pain management since at least the late 1970’s. The later research (from Butler, Moseley and Louw et al) is simply looking at this approach within a slightly different cohort and in a different context. Rather than being integrated with an interdisciplinary pain management programme, research from these guys shows that physiotherapists (in particular) can deliver this kind of information very effectively – and that it helps reduce the fear and subsequent efforts to avoid pain (such as not moving, seeking healthcare, and being worried about pain). Yay!

It’s true that there are many different ways to influence the descending modulatory system, and release endorphins. One of them is to help people understand their pain and be more confident about moving. Another is to place hands on the person – hence massage therapy, manual therapies, manipulations and so on. Nijs believes hands on therapy has best effect after you’ve gone through some of the reconceptualisation that’s often needed (Bishop, Torres-Cueco, Gay, Lluch-Girbes, Beneciuk, & Bialosky, 2015).

Similar arguments can be made for considering sleep management and stress management as an integral part of pain management. (To be perfectly honest, I always thought this was part of what we did…). So here’s the argument: we know most people with persistent pain experience rotten sleep. We also know that people are stressed by their experience of pain. Because poor sleep is associated with increased activation of glia in the prefrontal cortex, amygdala and hippocampus, and therefore are pro-inflammatory, pain is often increased after a poor night’s sleep. Sleep medications interfere with the sleep architecture, so it’s useful to consider nonpharmacological approaches to sleep management.

Three strategies to consider:

  • CBT for insomnia – here’s one resource to use
  • ACT or acceptance and commitment therapy – I’ve written a great deal about ACT, just use the search function on this blog for more
  • Exercise – OMG yes, exercise is effective! (just not right before bedtime, kthx)

Stress management is tougher. We can’t avoid experiencing stress – and neither can we live in a bubble where we don’t ever get exposed to stress. Instead, we probably all could do with learning multiple ways of managing stress. Things like realistic evaluations of the situation, increasing our capabilities for regulating our response to stress via biofeedback if need be, and using mindfulness as a strategy for being with stress instead of fighting against it, or folding beneath it.

I haven’t cited many references in this post – not because there aren’t many, but because there are SO many! And I’ll post more next week when I start looking at the rather sexy neurobiological examinations of processes used in pain management for years (yes, we’ve been doing it for a long time, we now have great explanations for how these things might work – though effect sizes are still small.)

 

Bishop, M. D., Torres-Cueco, R., Gay, C. W., Lluch-Girbés, E., Beneciuk, J. M., & Bialosky, J. E. (2015). What effect can manual therapy have on a patient’s pain experience?. Pain, 5(6), 455-464.

 

Does central sensitisation matter?


In my last post I discussed some of the mechanisms thought to be involved in central sensitisation, and while many of the details remain pretty unknown, I think the general conclusion is that yes, it really is a thing. What do I mean by central sensitisation? Well, it’s curious, it can refer to the processes at spinal and brain levels that seem to reduce the usual descending inhibitory mechanisms, expand the areas in which neural activity takes place, and allows increased information flow to eventually reach conscious awareness. At the same time it can refer to the experience in which a person feels greater pain than anticipated, given the degree of input; pain that is distributed more widely than anticipated, given the degree of input; and/or pain that lasts longer than we’d expect, given the degree of input (Woolf, 2011). BTW most of this post is derived from talks given by Pro Jo Nijs at the recent New Zealand Pain Society Conference.

The question now is whether this really matters. After all, nociceptor inputs can trigger a prolonged but reversible increase in central nociceptive pathways – if they’re reversible, just eliminate the original nociceptive input, and voila! The sensitisation is gone. What we know, however, is that in many cases the tendency towards having long-term increased sensitivity remains, or was perhaps always present.

Well, unfortunately if someone does tend to have greater activity in the central nervous system, then it has the potential to add enormously to poor outcomes if he or she decides to have surgery. For example, individuals with this tendency experience poorer outcomes after total knee replacement; and after shoulder surgery; but not after hip-joint replacement surgery. Testing in these cases was conducted using conditioned pain modulation which involves people undergoing painful testing – when they’re already in pain! Brave souls. You can see why it’s not a popular testing procedure in mainstream surgical situations.

Adding to the view that central sensitisation matters clinically, Ferrandiz and colleagues (2016) found that central sensitisation mediates the treatment effects in people with low back pain; Jull and colleagues (2007) found the same for neck pain after whiplash; Coombes and colleagues (2015) found the same for people with chronic tennis elbow.  It seems that central sensitisation is associated with greater pain catastrophising, slower movements, higher pain reporting, poorer functioning, increased perception of pain, and fear of moving.

The question now is how best to assess for the presence of this phenomenon. Given that most people won’t want to undergo conditioned pain modulation (not to mention the need for testing equipment and skilled technicians to administer the test!), what’s needed is a reasonably simple way to identify those who have the characteristics of central sensitisation so we can plan for, and manage it, more effectively.

Nijs and the Pain in Motion Research Group published the first set of criteria in 2014, from an epidemiological perspective. This classification approach involves first excluding neuropathic pain – and the group propose using IASP diagnostic criteria for neuropathic pain (see Haanpaa & Treede, 2010). If the problem is neuropathic pain (where there is a clear lesion of the nerve), then it’s managed accordingly (although we really don’t have great treatments for this kind of pain, either!).

Then they propose an algorithm which helps to clarify whether the problem is central sensitisation or “something else”.

The first question is whether the person identifies they have “disproportionate pain experience” – now this I have a problem with, because what is a “proportionate” pain experience? Given how fluid our experience of pain can be, and how poorly the experience correlates with what’s going on in the tissues, I find this a bit tough to use as a clear-cut indicator. Nevertheless, it’s the first question asked in this algorithm…

The next question relates to the person experiencing diffuse pain distribution (or, perhaps, wider spread than expected). If this is the case, eg someone has a grazed knee, but pain is experienced all over the entire leg, then it’s identified as central sensitisation. If the result is more like pain just above the knee to just below, then it’s somewhat equivocal, so the authors suggest the person completes the Central Sensitisation Inventory. This is a questionnaire I’ve discussed in the past. I’m no nearer to establishing whether it really is a useful measure than when I wrote that blog, but the measure continues to be used, and research is ongoing. Certainly, Jo Nijs and group seem to think the measure holds promise and might help to classify those at greater risk of developing problems with pain if they proceed to surgery.

So, to summarise, while the mechanisms involved in central sensitisation are still being discovered, and it’s challenging to know where normal processes end and abnormal ones begin, it definitely seems to be a clinical phenomenon affecting not only those without peripheral nociception (eg migraine), but also those with clearcut peripheral problems like osteoarthritis. Central sensitisation processes seem to underpin some of the most problematic pain problems we know of, and can get in the way of recovery even when peripheral nociceptive input has been removed – 18% of total knee-joint replacements are revised because of ongoing pain, and this pain doesn’t seem to improve after subsequent surgery (NZ National Joint Registry). There’s confusion about language – does the term refer to the mechanisms thought to be involved, or does it refer to the experience described by people? And assessing it is challenging – either go through complex and painful testing, or complete a questionnaire that may confound distress about health (and subsequent hypervigilance about body symptoms) with pain and other responses that might represent the presence of central sensitisation processes being invoked.

More challenging still is what do we do once central sensitisation is identified? Are our treatments any good? That, folks, will be explored in the next enthralling episode on Healthskills!

 

Baert, I., Lluch, E., Mulder, T., Nijs, J., Noten, S., & Meeus, M. (2016). Does pre-surgical central modulation of pain influence outcome after total knee replacement? A systematic review. Osteoarthritis and Cartilage, 24(2), 213-223.

Haanpää M, Treede RD. Diagnosis and classification of neuropathic pain. Pain Clinical Updates 2010; XVII.

Nijs, J., Torres-Cueco, R., van Wilgen, P., Lluch Girbés, E., Struyf, F., Roussel, N., . . . Vanderweeën, L. (2014). Applying modern pain neuroscience in clinical practice: Criteria for the classification of central sensitization pain. Pain Physician, 17(5), 447-457.

Valencia, C., Fillingim, R. B., Bishop, M., Wu, S. S., Wright, T. W., Moser, M., . . . George, S. Z. (2014). Investigation of central pain processing in post-operative shoulder pain and disability. The Clinical Journal of Pain, 30(9), 775.

Woolf, C. J. (2011). Central sensitization: Implications for the diagnosis and treatment of pain. Pain, 152(3 Suppl), S2-15.

Wylde, V., Sayers, A., Odutola, A., Gooberman‐Hill, R., Dieppe, P., & Blom, A. (2017). Central sensitization as a determinant of patients’ benefit from total hip and knee replacement. European Journal of Pain, 21(2), 357-365.

Is central sensitisation really a thing?


It seems odd to me that there’s much argument about central sensitisation in pain circles. I thought the idea of central sensitisation was well-established based on research from some years ago – but apparently there are still arguments about its relevance, and lots of debate about how to identify it clinically. This post is based mainly on a presentation by Jo Nijs from Pain in Motion, at the recent NZ Pain Society meeting in Nelson. In this post I want to briefly review the material presented by Jo suggesting that central sensitisation is a thing. I’ll write more about assessment in a future blog, or this post will be the longest ever!

Firstly, what is it and why should it matter? Researchers have long been aware that when a nerve is repeatedly stimulated, in future stimulation it will respond for longer and with more intensity – this is called long-term potentiation. Recently, the contribution of glial cells to this situation has been identified (remember glia? Those little cells whose purpose no-one really knew? Turns out they release gliotransmitters that circulate throughout the spinal cord and allow information to be transmitted widely, far from the original source of stimulation – see Kronschlager, Drdla-Schutting, Gassner, Honsek et al, (2016). Glial cells occur widely throughout the central nervous system, and while LTP is a process we’ve known about in the CNS for some time – we’ve known because this is how “memories” are formed (remember “nerves that fire together wire together”? Pathways that frequently activate develop the tendency to continue to activate together) – we’ve perhaps not been aware that this occurs in the spinal cord as well. So, LTP occurs in both the spinal cord and the brain, and there is more than one way this process is facilitated. Glial cells are one. Central sensitisation involves this process of long-term potentiation across and amongst pathways within our nervous system – it means information from peripheral regions like your big toe are more likely to be transmitted to areas in the brain responsible for attending and responding to threatening information.

Why does this matter? Well, if we think of ourselves as a finely tuned homeostatic machine, one that wants to remain in a stable state, we can think of two systems balanced with one another. One system works to facilitate information transmission (nociceptive facilitation), while the other works to reduce or modulate this transmission (endogenous hypoalgesia). If we continue with the machine analogy, we want to know about “trouble” as soon as possible – so our nociceptive facilitatory system is like an accelerator, working promptly to make sure we know about the state of play very quickly. If you’ve ever driven a race car, you’ll know how twitchy the accelerators are! The brakes on this system is our endogenous opioid system which reduces the influence of the nociceptive system so we can keep moving forward. If the brakes fail, for whatever reason, in a race car we’ll burst forward! Similarly, if the endogenous modulatory system fails, for whatever reason, far more information ascends to relevant regions in the brain for interpretation – and ouch.

What sorts of things enhance connectivity between areas of the brain that deal with nociceptive information? Well, this is where things get all woolly and psychosocial for a while (sorry guys!). From many fMRI studies, it’s possible to establish that “pain catastrophising” or the tendency to brood on pain, feel helpless about it, and regard the pain as seriously intense activates brain areas like the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex, the anterior cingulate cortex, and the insula, which in term reduces the efficiency of the opioid analgesic system (that endogenous opioid system), makes it harder to distract attention from the pain, and increases facilitation (ie the transmission of nociceptive information from lower CNS to higher). In other words, this very psychological construct has a biological component to it.

Central sensitisation has been identified in many different pain problems, ranging from osteoarthritis in the knee (Akinci, Al Shaker, Chang, et al, 2016), post-cancer pain (Lam, 2016), shoulder pain (Sanchis, lluch, Nijs, Struyf & Kangasperko, 2015), and yes, those messy complicated ones like whiplash (Coppieters, Ickmans, Cagnie, Nijs, et al, 2015), low back pain (Sanzarello, Merlini, Rosa, Perrone et al, 2016) and fibromyalgia (Walitt, Ceko, Gracely & Gracely, 2016). Rates of central sensitisation vary from 10% in shoulder pain to 100% in fibromyalgia. For some good reading on central sensitisation in these disorders, take a look at the references I’ve cited.

So yes, central sensitisation is a thing, and it results in increased pain experiences that last longer and spread. Why do some people experience while others don’t? Now we’re venturing into rather more speculative areas, but some findings seem clinically useful. People who have, in their early years, experienced physical and/or psychological trauma, those who tend to catastrophise or have unhelpful beliefs (often inaccurate beliefs) about their pain,  those who have poor sleep, and those who have an elevated stress response seem more likely to have pain that fits with what we’d expect with central sensitisation (See Nijs & Ickmans, 2014).

Why does this occur? Well, stress increases release of glutamate and this in turn increases CNS excitability (makes sense – let’s react faster to everything, at least for a short time). At the same time, stress reduces GABA and serotonin, and as a result inhibition is reduced (the brakes come off). If we add microglial activity to the mix (remember that’s going to increase the connectivity between neurones), and if we add ongoing release of adrenaline in because the stress has been continuing for a while, we’re going to end up with activated glial activity in the prefrontal cortex, amygdala and hippocampus, all important areas for detecting salience and making decisions to act. These glial cells release chemicals known to increase neuroinflammation, reducing hippocampal activity (ultimately reducing volume of neurones in this area), increasing the size of the amygdala (which means it’s more capable of responding to threat), and reducing the prefrontal cortex size, reducing the capacity to make considered decisions (Kregel, Meeus, Malfliet et al, 2015). Ew… nasty! In longterm stressful situations, it seems our brains adapt – and not in a helpful way when it comes to experiencing pain. Whatever you do DON’T say to your patients  “Oh and by the way, your back pain means your brain is inflamed and parts of your brain are shrinking” – this is NOT helpful!

Next post I’ll discuss assessing for central sensitisation – but before I do, remember that central sensitisation is not the only factor at play in ongoing pain. In fact, some people don’t seem to develop central sensitisation even with ongoing nociception from either disease processes, or inflammation. We don’t really know why. What we do know is that simply treating peripheral nociceptive input when central sensitisation is present may fail to help the person – so keeping an eye out for it is important.

 

Akinci, A., Al Shaker, M., Chang, M. H., Cheung, C. W., Danilov, A., Jose Duenas, H., . . . Wang, Y. (2016). Predictive factors and clinical biomarkers for treatment in patients with chronic pain caused by osteoarthritis with a central sensitisation component. International Journal of Clinical Practice, 70(1), 31-44.

Coppieters, I., Ickmans, K., Cagnie, B., Nijs, J., De Pauw, R., Noten, S., & Meeus, M. (2015). Cognitive performance is related to central sensitization and health-related quality of life in patients with chronic whiplash-associated disorders and fibromyalgia. Pain Physician, 18(3), E389-401.

Kregel, J., Meeus, M., Malfliet, A., Dolphens, M., Danneels, L., Nijs, J., & Cagnie, B. (2015). Structural and functional brain abnormalities in chronic low back pain: A systematic review☆. Paper presented at the Seminars in arthritis and rheumatism.

Kronschläger, M. T., Drdla-Schutting, R., Gassner, M., Honsek, S. D., Teuchmann, H. L., & Sandkühler, J. (2016). Gliogenic ltp spreads widely in nociceptive pathways. Science, 354(6316), 1144-1148. doi:10.1126/science.aah5715

Lam, D. K. (2016). Emerging factors in the progression of cancer-related pain. Pain Management, 6(5), 487-496.

Nijs, J., & Ickmans, K. (2014). Chronic whiplash-associated disorders: To exercise or not? The Lancet, 384(9938), 109-111.

Sanchis, M. N., Lluch, E., Nijs, J., Struyf, F., & Kangasperko, M. (2015). The role of central sensitization in shoulder pain: A systematic literature review. Seminars in Arthritis & Rheumatism, 44(6), 710-716.

Sanzarello, I., Merlini, L., Rosa, M. A., Perrone, M., Frugiuele, J., Borghi, R., & Faldini, C. (2016). Central sensitization in chronic low back pain: A narrative review. Journal of Back & Musculoskeletal Rehabilitation, 29(4), 625-633.
Walitt, B., Ceko, M., Gracely, J. L., & Gracely, R. H. (2016). Neuroimaging of central sensitivity syndromes: Key insights from the scientific literature. Current Rheumatology Reviews, 12(1), 55-87.

A surfeit of learning


It’s been a busy few weeks as I’ve been at the San Diego Pain Summit and then the New Zealand Pain Society meeting where wonderful speakers presented on topics like exercise for pain, cognitive functional therapy, central sensitisation, opioid use in New Zealand, sensory profiles and other such topics. The chance to meet and spend time with clinicians who are passionate to not only learn about pain, but apply what they’ve learned in clinical practice is something I can’t miss.

What’s difficult, though, is deciding what to apply on Monday morning after having been to meetings or events where there’s so much new material to absorb. And that’s one of the problems, I think, in our clinical practice today. The years when it was relatively easy to do the same old, same old, have (thankfully!) gone – but in its place is the challenge of sifting through that new information and deciding what and how to do it.

So today I thought I’d go through some of the practices I’ve used – maybe it will help someone else?

Firstly, I try to take just one thing away from a meeting. If I absorb more than this, it’s fine, but one new thing is usually quite enough for me! Someone made the point that changing habits is hard – and, just for a moment, think about what we expect the people we treat to do, and then think about that last conference and what you intended to do, but just didn’t… Without  intention, planning and support to change what you do, you’ll carry on doing what’s easy, what’s worked before, and what feels “comfortable”. So be kind to yourself and pick just one thing. For me, that one thing is to feel OK about teaching people to ask “and what does that mean to you?” when someone is telling me their story about their pain.

Next, I let the rest of the information I heard just sit and percolate a while. This means I might casually read something related, or I might review the speaker’s slides or recordings, but I don’t do this in a way that I’m madly trying to cram in action points. This is because I’ve chosen one thing to do, and that’s enough. The rest of the information won’t just disappear because I’m letting it rest, it’s just going to connect with other concepts and pop out later when I stumble on it while reading something else.

To apply what I’ve learned, I plan. Yep, you heard it, I plan! Just like our clients, we need to make specific action plans if we’re going to do things differently. I think there are two factors to apply: the first is how important I think the concept/action is to me, the second is how confident I am to make a change.

  1. Importance: While simply selecting the single thing I take away from a meeting implies that I think it’s important, it’s worth considering why I decided it’s so important. So I list a few reasons I valued that concept. For me, it was the idea that we can uncover more of the real concerns of a person if we ask what it means to them, we can be more able to hear what the person really wants. I also took the idea that anyone: PT, OT, MT, Osteo, Chiro, Doc, Nurse ANYONE can ask this question. This is important to me because if that question isn’t asked, the person may go on fearing the worst even if they appear to be “doing well”. And we cannot rely on “someone else” asking this question. Even if we’re not psychologists, and so think that beliefs and attitudes are out of scope, we ARE experts in how the human body works. We know structure and function. This means we have a responsibility to help people understand what’s going on their body rather than living in ignorance or confusion.
  2. Confidence: It’s not enough to think that something is important. We need to make it easy to make a change. This means identifying what might get in the way of change and planning around that. It also means identifying what might make it easy to change and structuring life so it’s not hard. It could mean writing some “cheat sheets” giving brief phrases to use (Alison Sim and I used this approach in our recent workshop), or it might mean a poster in a prominent place to act as a reminder. It might mean removing something from the environment so you don’t use it as easily. It could mean simplifying for a couple of times. For me it will mean working through possible arguments people make against asking those questions about meaning, using open-ended questions. Often the questions relate to time available in clinic, scope of practice questions, “opening Pandora’s box” questions, “what do I say next” questions, or the “it’s not my focus” questions. I’ll work on responses to these in advance so I can explore what these mean to the clinician before asking if it’s OK to explain my perspective.

I ask myself “what would it look like if I applied this new strategy?”, or “how would I know I was using this strategy?”. I also take time to review how I’ve gone using that new strategy – recording myself, asking someone to sit in on a session, even just reviewing against the “cheat sheet” to see what I used, and what I could have used.

If you take a moment to review my process, hopefully you’ll see the elements of a motivational approach to behaviour change. I’ve written quite a bit about motivation – hope this helps you too!

 

What to do with the results from the PCS


The Pain Catastrophising Scale is one of the more popular measures used in pain assessment. It’s popular because catastrophising (thinking the worst) has been identified as an especially important risk factor for slow recovery from pain (Abbott, Tyni-Lenne & Hedlund, 2010), for reporting high levels of pain intensity (Langley, 2011), and for ongoing disability (Elfving, Andersoon & Grooten, 2007). I could have cited hundreds more references to support these claims, BTW.

The problem is, once the PCS is administered and scored: what then? What difference does it make in how we go about helping a person think a little more positively about their pain, do more and feel more confident?

If you haven’t seen my earlier posts about the PCS, take a look at this, this, and this for more details.

Anyway, so someone has high scores on rumination, helplessness and magnifying – what does this mean? Let’s say we have two people attending the clinic, one has really high scores on all three subscales, while the other has low or average scores. Both have grumbly old low back pain, both have had exercises in the past, both are finding it tough to do normal daily activities right now.

For a good, general pain management approach to low back pain, and once red flags are excluded (yes, the “bio” comes first!) this is what I do. I establish what the person thinks is going on and ask if it’s OK to talk about pain neurobiology. Together we’ll generate a pain formulation, which is really a spaghetti diagram showing the experience as described by the person (I used guided discovery to develop it). I then ask the person what they’d be doing if their pain wasn’t such a problem for them, perhaps what they’re finding the most frustrating thing about their situation at the moment. Often it will be sleep, or driving or cooking dinner, or perhaps even getting clothes on (shoes and socks!). I’ll then begin with helping the person develop good relaxed breathing (for using with painful movements), and start by encouraging movement into the painful zone while remaining relaxed, and tie this in with one of the common activities (occupations) the person needs or wants to do. For example, I’ll encourage bending forward to put shoes and socks on while breathing in a relaxed and calm way. I’ll be watching and also encourage relaxing the shoulders and any other tense parts of the body. For someone who is just generally sore but doesn’t report high pain catastrophising, I will also encourage some daily movements doing something they enjoy – it might be walking, yoga, dancing, gardening, whatever they enjoy and will do regularly every day for whatever they can manage. Sometimes people need to start small so 5 minutes might be enough. I suggest being consistent, doing some relaxation afterwards, and building up only once the person has maintained four or five days of consistent activity. And doing the activity the person has been finding difficult.

If the person I’m seeing has high scores on the PCS I’ll begin in a similar way, but I’ll teach a couple of additional things, and I’ll expect to set a much lower target – and probably provide far more support. Catastrophising is often associated with having trouble disengaging from thinking about pain (ruminating), so I’ll teach the person some ways to deal with persistent thoughts that hang around.

A couple to try: mindfulness, although this practice requires practice! It’s not intended to help the person become relaxed! It’s intended to help them discipline their mind to attend to one thing without judgement and to notice and be gentle with the mind when it gets off track, which it will. I ask people to practice this at least four times a day, or whenever they’re waiting for something – like the jug to boil, or while cleaning teeth, or perhaps waiting for a traffic light.

Another is to use a “15 minutes of worry” practice. I ask the person to set a time in the evening to sit down and worry, usually from 7.00 – 7.15pm. Throughout the day I ask the person to notice when they’re ruminating on their situation. I ask them to remind themselves that they’re going to worry about that tonight and deliberately put that worry aside until their appointment with worry. Then, at 7.00pm they are asked to get a piece of paper and write ALL their worries down for a solid 15 minutes. No stopping until 15 minutes is over! It’s really hard. Then when they go to sleep, I ask them to remind themselves that they’ve now worried all their worries, and they can gently set those thoughts aside because they won’t forget their worry, it’s written down (I think worry is one way a mind tries hard to stop you from forgetting to DO something about the worry!). People can throw the paper away in the morning because then it begins all over again.

Usually people who score high on the PCS also find it hard to be realistic about their pain, they’ll use words that are really emotive and often fail to notice parts of the body that aren’t in pain. By noticing the worst, they find it tough to notice the best.  I like to guide people to notice the unloved parts of their body, the bits that don’t hurt – like the earlobes, or the belly button. I’ll offer guidance as to what to notice while we’re doing things, in particular, I like to guide people to notice those parts of the body that are moving smoothly, comfortably and that look relaxed. This is intended to support selective attention to good things – rather than only noticing pain.

Finally, I give more support to those who tend to be more worried about their pain than others. So I might set the goals a little lower – walking for five times a week, two days off for good behaviour rather than every day. Walking for five minutes rather than ten. And I’ll check in with them more often – by text, email or setting appointments closer together. It’s important for people who fear the worst to experience some success, so setting small goals that are achieved can build self efficacy – especially when I try hard to offer encouragement in terms of what the person has done despite the odds. So, if the person says they’ve had a real flare-up, I’ll try to boost confidence by acknowledging that they’ve come in to see me even though it’s a bad pain day, that they’ve tried to do something instead of nothing, that talking to me about the challenge shows guts and determination.

People who see the glass as half empty rather than half full are just people. Like you and I, they’re people who have a cognitive bias. With support, we can help people view their pain differently – and that process applies to all of us, not just those with high scores on the PCS.

 

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

Elfving, B., Andersson, T., & Grooten, W. J. (2007). Low levels of physical activity in back pain patients are associated with high levels of fear-avoidance beliefs and pain catastrophizing. Physiotherapy Research International, 12(1), 14-24.

Langley, P. C. (2011). The prevalence, correlates and treatment of pain in the european union. Curr Med Res Opin, 27(2), 463-480. doi:10.1185/03007995.2010.542136

What is pain for?


We’re told we need pain – without the experience, we risk harming our bodies and living short lives. With pain, and for most people, we learn to not go there, don’t do that, don’t do that AGAIN, and look at that person – don’t do what they’re doing! Thirst, hunger, fear, delicious tastes and smells, the feelings of belonging, of safety and security, of calm and comfort: all of these are experiences we learn about as we develop greater control over our bodies.

Pain is an experience we learn to associate with actual or possible threat to “self”. Let’s take a moment to think about what “self-hood” means.

If I ask you “who are you?” you’ll tell me your name, probably your occupation, maybe where you live and who you live with. Baumeister (1997) suggests our sense of self is about “the direct feeling each person has of privileged access to his or her own thoughts and feelings and sensations.” He goes on to say “it begins with the awareness of one’s own body and is augmented by the sense of being able to make choices and initiate action.” We learn about who we are through interacting with the environment, but also as we interact with other people and begin to sort through our roles, contributions and relationships.

Of course, our sense of self changes over time and is reciprocally influenced by choices we make as well as opportunities (and threats) around us, both environmental and social.

We work really hard to avoid threats to our sense of self. For example, I’ll bet we’ve all seen that person who steadfastly refuses to stop colouring his hair, wearing the same clothing styles as he did in his 20’s, holding on to the same habits as he did at the same age even when he’s now in his 50’s, has a paunch, and still looks for partners 20 years younger than he is…  He still believes he’s that young stud despite the evidence in the mirror. And of course the same applies to women perhaps more so!

So what happens when our mind/body is threatened? How do we know it? And what do we do about it?

In this instance I’m not talking about social threats, though there’s interesting research suggesting that being socially excluded has similar neurobiological effects as being physically threatened (or experiencing pain – though this may reflect the distress we experience when we’re hurt and when we’re socially excluded – see Iannetti, Salomons, Moayedi, Mouraux & Davis, 2013; Eisenberger, 2015). I’m instead talking about threats to our physical body. Those threats may be violence from another person, physical trauma to the body, or the threat of physical harm to the body. When we experience these kinds of threats, and once an aspect of mind/body has disentangled the threat evaluation from whatever other goals we’re currently engaged in, we experience pain. Tabor, Keogh and Eccelston (Pain, in press) define pain in terms of action: an experience which, as part of a protective strategy, attempts to defend one’s self in the presence of inferred threat.

So pain is there to help us maintain an intact sense of self in the presence of threat – threat that we’ve inferred from our context (or drawn a conclusion from incomplete data). It’s part of a system that works to maintain “us” in the face of multiple threats that we encounter.

Tabor, Keogh and Eccleston also argue that pain is an experience designed to intrude on awareness to show that “boundaries have been reached and action must be taken”. Pain is one way our mind/body can give us an indication of boundary – just how much, or how little, we can do. For example, I experience pain when I bend my thumb down to reach my wrist – it’s one way I can learn how far I can bend without disrupting something! The purpose of that pain is to help “me” defend against doing really dumb things, like stretching my thumb out of joint!

Interestingly, when we feel overwhelmed by our pain, when we can’t defend against it (because it feels too intense, has meanings that threaten our deepest sense of self) we tend to withdraw from responding to everything else – our conversations stop, we don’t notice other people or events, we pull into ourselves and ultimately, we can lose consciousness (think of the accounts of early surgery without anaesthesia – the surgeons were kinda grateful when the patient lapsed into unconsciousness because at last they weren’t writhing to get away – see Joanna Bourke’s book “The Story of Pain” for some harrowing stories!).

When we lose consciousness, our sense of self disappears. We lose contact with the “what it is to be me”.

Our sense of self also disappears when we experience pain we can’t escape and we can’t make sense of. Throughout the time while people are trying to label their pain, establish the meaning of their symptoms, and while people are searching for a solution to their pain, people’s experience of both time and “who I am” is threatened (Hellstrom, 2001).

To me, this is one of the primary problems associated with pain – and one we’ve almost completely ignored in our healthcare treatments. All our treatments are aimed at helping “get rid of the pain” – but what isn’t so often incorporated in these efforts is a way of engaging and rebuilding a resilient sense of self. So while the pain may ebb away, the “self” remains feeling vulnerable and threatened, especially if there’s any hint of pain returning.

What can we do better? Perhaps talk about what vision a person has of themselves as a “self”. Help them work towards becoming the “self” they believe they are – or at least helping them express the underlying values that their “self” has previously been expressing. That way perhaps people can find flexible ways to express that “self” – which will make them more capable of living well under any circumstances.

 

Baumeister, R. F. (1997). Identity, self-concept, and self-esteem: The self lost and found. Hogan, Robert [Ed], 681-710.

Bourke, J. (2014). The story of pain: From prayer to painkillers: Oxford University Press.

Eisenberger, N. I. (2015). Social pain and the brain: Controversies, questions, and where to go from here. Annual review of psychology, 66, 601-629.

Hellstrom, C. (2001). Temporal dimensions of the self-concept: Entrapped and possible selves in chronic pain. Psychology & Health, 16(1), 111-124. doi:http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/08870440108405493

Iannetti, G. D., Salomons, T. V., Moayedi, M., Mouraux, A., & Davis, K. D. (2013). Beyond metaphor: Contrasting mechanisms of social and physical pain. Trends in Cognitive Sciences, 17(8), 371-378.

Tabor, A., Keogh, E. and Eccleston, C. (2016) Embodied pain— negotiating the boundaries of possible action. Pain. ISSN 0304- 3959 (In Press)

What difference does it make to know about psychosocial risk factors?


The “psychosocial yellow flags” or risk factors for developing ongoing disability after a bout of acute low back pain have been promulgated in New Zealand since 1997. Introduced as part of the Acute Low Back Pain Guidelines, the yellow flags were lauded both locally and internationally and subsequently there have been many international guidelines which have adopted this kind of integration. But what exactly do we do with that information? How does it help if we find out that someone is really afraid their pain means something awful, or if they fear their life will never be the same again, or if they truly worry about doing movements that provoke their pain?

Truth to tell, although there have been a lot of studies examining the relevance of psychosocial risk factors, the uptake among clinicians has been fairly abysmal. This is particularly so among clinicians who work either mainly with acute musculoskeletal pain, or amongst those who are mainly involved in treated the body. One physio I know said she got the impression during her training that psychosocial factors “are the things we can blame when our treatments don’t work”.

I think part of the problem is the focus on assessment “technology”. There is a proliferation of questionnaires that can be used to help spot the person who’s likely to have difficulty recovering. We have STartBack, Orebro Musculoskeletal Questionnaire, Pain Catastrophising Scale, Tampa Scale of Kinesiophobia, Depression Anxiety Stress Scale, Pain Self Efficacy Scale – most of which are known by their abbreviations, so it’s like an alphabet soup! But despite knowing about these questionnaires, and perhaps even administering them to people we think might need assessment, once the results come in it’s pretty difficult to know what to do next.

So what if a person reports really high levels of catastrophising? Or that they’re very high on the Fear of Injury/Reinjury on the TSK? Or that they have the lowest ever score on the PSEQ? What on earth do you do to make an impact?

Some people are very actively engaged in “Pain Education”. It’s given to absolutely everyone because “the evidence says” it “works”. Pain reduces. People get engaged in their exercise. Life returns to normal.

Some people refer immediately on to a psychologist. Let them deal with the “difficult” patients.

Others just carry on as normal but in the back of their mind have the “out” that “Oh but they have yellow flags” – and drop their expectations accordingly.

To me that’s just not good enough, and it suggests to me that we need to learn more about what these measures mean – and what to do differently as a result.

There’s a couple of problems though:

  1. How do we choose who to give a questionnaire to? – do we rely on “intuition” or do we give them out to everyone?
  2. Which questionnaires do we use? There’s no “gold standard” – just a mix of various measures that tap into part of the picture…
  3. How much do we rely on strong RCT’s examining whole treatment packages, versus how much do we rely on principles of behaviour change and knowledge of the underlying theories relevant to pain and disability?
  4. What if our clinical reasoning models are completely silent on the work involved in supporting people who present with these risk factors – what if our clinical reasoning models suggest that this work is not all that important compared with the “real” work of tissues and muscles and movement?

Here are my thoughts on what we can do.

I think we should give screening questionnaires to everyone who comes in with an acute bout of musculoskeletal pain, and I think there are a couple that really work well – Orebro is clearly one of them, PCS or PASS are both useful, and I think it’s helpful to screen for mood problems. Why do I think everyone needs these? Well, it’s easier to give them to everyone than to rely on our terribly inaccurate intuition. The risk of failing to identify someone who needs more support is high (and the consequences of omitting this is serious). By routinely administering screening measures we can de-stigmatise the process (though there shouldn’t be any stigma associated with understanding that pain involves the whole person!). We can make the administration easy by integrating it within routine clinic entry process – and by using electronic forms of each questionnaire we can make entering and scoring them easy.

We then need to learn what the questionnaires actually measure – not just the total score, but the subscales as well. Then we need to use those subscale scores to understand what we need to ask the person when we see them face-to-face. This helps us begin to understand the person and how they came to develop these beliefs and attitudes, and in doing so we can develop greater empathy for their experience – and alter our treatments to reflect their needs.

For management, I think we have to, at this stage, step beyond the RCT for evidence. There’s a few reasons for this: one is that RCTs naturally omit individual responses to the treatment meaning we lost the detail as to who responds to which aspect of the treatment. Another is that RCTs often group patients together to ensure power is reached – but in doing this, omit important individual differences. And finally, each person we see is a unique individual with a unique interaction between the various factors influencing their presentation – and there are simply insufficient RCTs to account for these differences. Does this mean we stop using evidence? Oh no!! It just means we need to look at the principles behind many treatments – what are the guiding principles and why might they apply to this person at this time? Finally we need to monitor outcomes so we can establish whether our approach actually helped.

Finally, I think our clinical reasoning models need to include important aspects of treatment that we vary, often without being aware that we do.

For example, if we see someone who scores very high on the PCS and tends to ruminate or brood on the negative, we can’t go ahead and give that person the same set of exercises or activities we’d give someone who is quite confident. We’ll need to lower the physical demands, give really good explanations, take the time to explain and de-threaten various sensations the person may experience, we’ll probably need to move slowly through the progressions, and we’ll definitely need to take time to debrief and track progress.

These “invisible” aspects of treatment are, I think, often the most important parts – but they’re often not mentioned in clinical protocols, and perhaps our skill in titrating the challenges we give our patients is not well developed. These factors incorporate psychological techniques of behaviour change – things like reinforcement, motivational interviewing, problem solving, Socratic questioning, how to fade support, how to bolster confidence, how to vary the environment, and how to avoid pliance and tracking (or going along with things rather than truly integrating the learning). If we want to work with people and help them change their lives, we need to learn how people change behaviour. That means, I’m afraid, learning some psychology…!

Empathy and catastrophising influence pain inhibition


When I went to occupational therapy school I was introduced to nociception and the biological underpinnings of pain. I wasn’t, at that time, taught anything about the brain, attention, emotions or any social responses to pain behaviour. Like most health professionals educated in the early 1980’s, pain was a biological and physical phenomenon. I suppose that’s why it can be so hard for some of my colleagues to unlearn the things they learned way back then, and begin to integrate what we know about psychological and social aspects of our pain experience. Because pain is a truly biopsychosocial experience. Those pesky psychosocial factors aren’t just present in people who have difficulty recovering from pain, they’re actually integral to the entire experience.

Anyway, ’nuff said.

Today I stumbled across a cool study exploring two of the psychosocial phenomena that we’ve learned are involved in pain. The first is catastrophising. And if you haven’t got your head around catastrophising it’s probably time to do so. It’s one of the strongest predictors of disability (Edwards, Dworkin, Sullivan, Turk & Wasan, 2016). Catastrophising is the tendency to “think the worst” and consists of ruminating (brooding on), magnifying (over-estimating the negative impact) and helplessness (feeling as if there’s nothing you can do).  The second is empathy, or the ability to sense other people’s emotions, coupled with the ability to imagine what someone else might be thinking or feeling. Empathy is not the same as sympathy which seems to be about the emotions a person experiences while observing another’s emotional state. In fact, separate parts of the brain are involved in the two experiences (Cuff, Brown, Taylor & Howat, 2014).

Back to the study. This study examined conditioned pain modulation in partners observing their partner undergoing a painful experience. It was carried out by Gougeon, Gaumond, Goffaux, Potvin and Marchand (2016) in an attempt to understand what happens to the pain experience of people watching their loved ones in pain. The experimental protocol was (1) baseline; (2) assessing pain VAS 50; (3) pre-CPT heat pain testing (thermode preimmersion at a fixed temperature); (4) CPT (either at 201Cor71C); and (5) post-CPT heat testing (thermode postimmersion at the same fixed temperature). What they did was ask the participants to submerge their right hand in a freezing cold waterbath while video recording them. They then asked their partners to place their right hand in lukewarm water while watching the video recording. Participants were asked to rate their pain intensity.

What they found was the higher the catastrophizing score was, stronger was their descending pain inhibition when they were watching either themselves or their spouse in pain. In women, the more empathic the women were, the better was their descending pain inhibition when they observed their spouse in pain.

This is extraordinary. Firstly, the finding that there was a correlation between catastrophising score and descending inhibition contradicts other research studies – Gougeon, Gaumond, Goffaux, Potvin and Marchand suggest that although cognitive and emotional processes underlying catastrophising increase pain perception and decrease inhibition, their experimental design may have increased pain perception during the conditioned stimulus which may have triggered more conditioned pain modulation. They also suggest that the catastrophising level of participants increases their perceived pain, explaining why it correlates with conditioned pain modulation efficiency.

Secondly, women were more distraught than men by observing pain in others. Adopting the perspective of a loved-one elicited stronger activation in regions involved in the “pain” matrix than adopting the stranger’s perspective (Cheng et al), and the authors suggest that empathy is a powerful factor involved in pain modulation while observing someone in pain. This shows that descending inhibition is influenced by physical stimulus characteristics (such as intensity or location), as well as personal cognitive dimensions. A far cry from the notion that psychosocial factors play little part in modulating our pain experience.

What does this actually mean for us?

Well, to me it suggests that we need to be aware of our own empathic response to observing someone else who is experiencing pain. Let’s put it this way: if I’m an especially empathic person (and especially if I tend to catastrophise) and I see people who are experiencing pain in my clinical practice, my own emotional and cognitive response to seeing people may influence my behaviour and practice. For example, I might be less willing to tell people that I don’t have a way to reduce their pain. I might pursue more “heroic” healthcare – send people off for more treatments, try for longer with unsuccessful treatments “just in case”, I might even send people away from my care because I find it hard to tolerate being around someone who “doesn’t respond”.

You see, being empathic and catastrophising tends to elevate feelings of distress in the presence of pain. If we don’t have effective ways to manage our own distress when we are in the presence of someone who is indicating they’re sore, we’re at greater risk of developing burnout and of feeling frustrated (Gleichgerrcht & Decety, 2014).

For this reason I’m a fan of using mindfulness because it does help people to step back from the emotional judgements of experience, and in particular the negative impact such judgements have on both interactions and emotions (Dobkin, Bernardi & Bagnis, 2016).

 

Cheng Y, Chen C, Lin CP, et al. Love hurts: an fMRI study. Neuroimage. 2010;51:923–929.

Cuff, B. M. P., Brown, S. J., Taylor, L., & Howat, D. J. (2014). Empathy: A review of the concept. Emotion Review, 8(2), 144-153. doi:10.1177/1754073914558466

Decety, J., Yang, C.-Y., & Cheng, Y. (2010). Physicians down-regulate their pain empathy response: An event-related brain potential study. Neuroimage, 50(4), 1676-1682.

Dobkin, P. L., Bernardi, N. F., & Bagnis, C. I. (2016). Enhancing clinicians’ well-being and patient-centered care through mindfulness. Journal of Continuing Education in the Health Professions, 36(1), 11-16.

Edwards, R. R., Dworkin, R. H., Sullivan, M. D., Turk, D. C., & Wasan, A. D. (2016). The role of psychosocial processes in the development and maintenance of chronic pain. The Journal of Pain, 17(9, Suppl), T70-T92.

Gleichgerrcht, E., & Decety, J. (2014). The relationship between different facets of empathy, pain perception and compassion fatigue among physicians. Frontiers in behavioral neuroscience, 8, 243.

Gougeon, V. M., Gaumond, I. P., Goffaux, P. P., Potvin, S. P., & Marchand, S. P. (2016). Triggering descending pain inhibition by observing ourselves or a loved-one in pain. Clinical Journal of Pain, 32(3), 238-245.

On the value of doing, being and becoming


An old occupational therapy tagline was “doing, being, becoming”. The meaning of this phrase is intended to point to the tight relationship between what we do, who we are, and how we develop and grow. As I read blogs discussing an increased emphasis on “real world” outcomes there is something missing from the narratives: that intangible quality that marks the difference between colouring in – and painting. Or filling in a form – and writing a poem. Going from room to room – and dancing. Something about expressing who we are and what we value.

Values are things we hold dear. They are principles, or “desired qualities of behaviour”, life directions (not destinations).

The things we do (our actions) are inevitably infused with our values because how we do things (sloppily, carefully, neatly, with gay abandon, enthusiastically) is an expression of what we think is important. To give you an example, I occasionally vacuum my house. Sometimes I’ll do it really thoroughly – because I love seeing a sparkling house. Sometimes I’ll do it with a flick and a promise – because it’s a beautiful day and I want to get out of the house. In both instances I’ve expressed something about what is important to me – I do enjoy seeing my home looking tidy and organised. I don’t have to have reasons for liking my home this way, I just do. When I do a quick flick through my home it’s not because I’m lazy or I don’t care, it’s because I value getting out of the house more than I value having a tidy and organised home on that day.

Values don’t have to be explained. We don’t have to have reasons for holding them. They’re something we choose to place as important.

Why be concerned about values? Well, they underpin our choices. They provide motivation towards some activities, and away from others.

There is a lot of emphasis at the moment on people with osteoarthritis “getting fit” and “doing exercise”. The current approach in New Zealand is to provide community-based programmes to people who have just been declined joint replacement surgery (because we can’t offer surgery to everyone who wants it). Uptake hasn’t been enormous, and to be honest I’m not surprised. People who haven’t been exercisers are not very likely to begin an exercise programme that is undoubtedly going to increase their pain in the short-term (because, duh, movement hurts!) even if the programme offers hope of improved pain and function in the future. Putting this into a “values” and “motivation” perspective, people usually value comfort over discomfort. They value short-term outcomes over long. If they’ve never exercised much, it’s clear that exercise isn’t something they value. To help them engage in an exercise programme, we need to work hard to identify values they hold dear so they’ll look to those to over-ride the value of comfort over discomfort.

An alternative might be to think of different ways of expressing values that will concurrently meet the goal of increased exercise. For example, I don’t enjoy exercise per se. In fact I’ve boasted that my body is an exercise-free zone! To tell the truth, that’s not exactly the case. I just don’t do “exercises”. Instead I dance. I get out of my chair for five minutes every 20 minutes and go do something involving my whole body. I garden. I play with the dog. I go out in the kayak. I walk miles when I’m fishing.

Some people would argue that “there’s no evidence base for this” – but I think we’ve forgotten that exercises are simply a planned and repetitive form of moving our bodies because we don’t do that nearly as much in modern times as we used to even in the early 1900’s, let alone in stone-age times. I don’t think hunter-gatherers “do exercises” except as training for something like war or hunting (to increase skill).

Living life with chronic pain must become a lifestyle. And it needs to be a lifestyle that has some life to it – not an endless series of “things we must do for health”, unless “health” is a particular value. If life is just about “things we do for health” doesn’t that constantly remind people of what they don’t have? That they’re not healthy? Making them patients instead of people? For most people, to be healthy is a means to an end: they want to connect with family, express who they are, contribute to their society, love and be loved. If the person in front of us isn’t into exercise, it’s OUR job to work out what they value and connect what we think is important to what they think is important, or we will simply fail.

Some simple steps to identify values – try these out in the clinic!

  1. When a person attends your clinic, they’re expressing a value, that they care about something. Asking the person “what do you hope from coming to see me” is a pretty common opening line. Try extending this by, after they’ve answered, asking “why is that important to you?” or “what would it mean you could do” or “how would that make a difference to you?”
  2. If a person says they don’t like something, try suggesting to them that they value the exact opposite. eg if they’ve said they really don’t like running, ask them why: “it’s boring” might be the answer. This answer suggests they like variety and excitement in their exercise routine. Then you can ask them what activities they see as exciting – maybe instead of running, they’d enjoy virtual boxing (bring out the Oculus Prime!), or a scavenger hunt, or geocaching.
  3. Use the 1 – 10 “readiness ruler” technique from Motivational Interviewing. Ask the person to draw a line and put 1 at one end, and 10 at the other. 1 = not at all important and 10 = incredibly important. Then ask them to put a cross on the line to indicate the importance they place on doing exercise/healthy living/pain management (whatever you’re asking them to do). Then (and this is important!) ask them why they put that mark so high. This is important – even if that mark is down on 2!! Ask them why they put it there and not lower. This will help elicit important values that you can then use to connect what you want them to do with what they value.

A new year


So 2016 is over, and 2017 is here. As usual, I find the new year to be a time for reflecting on what is important in life, and what I’d like to see more of this year. Usually I’ll want more balance. More space between frantic activity. Maybe even less frantic activity! And I pretty much always want to learn something new. But this year I want to be a bit different. Yes I’ve been thinking about what’s important, and yes I want more balance, but this year I want to work on a new project as part of this blog.

I’ve been writing for so many years, and one of my main reasons for doing so is to bridge the gap between what’s found in research, and what clinicians are doing in their practice. I want to inform and I want to infuse that information with a strong sense that alongside what we know from research we need to remember these things:

  1. We work with people – not doing things TO people (even if we do things to people), but we have a window of maybe an hour in a clinic in which everything we say and everything we do is pondered over by the people we see. And believe me, people will interpret what we say and do and then make their own decision about what happens next.
  2. We could all become a patient. That’s a bit humbling because we don’t expect we’ll develop a problem, but pain is indiscriminate – it will affect anyone and everyone. Trouble recovering is somewhat more discriminating – some people are at more risk than others, but here’s the thing: there are SO MANY variables that have been known to influence recovery that we can never be truly certain that we’ll be able to dodge that bullet. So, you and I can become a patient, and our recovery may also be complex, and we may need to swallow the bitter truth that rehabilitation is plain hard work.
  3. People don’t exist in isolation. Most of our treatment philosophy and techniques focus on the person with pain. Just that person. Not their family, their employer, their friends or colleagues or mates. Just that individual. But we know that people live within a community. And that community is pretty big – especially when we think of the connections made around the interwebs! And for every time we see “a person” we ALSO need to see “a person-in-context”.
  4. We get it wrong. We all do. We fail. We don’t reason clearly. We get hooked up in our own biases. We ignore things. We look for things that confirm our own beliefs. We notice things we want to notice, and conveniently ignore things we don’t want to notice. And we often don’t even know we’re doing it. That’s a constant and ongoing tendency we all need to work hard to counter.
  5. Research often omits important variables. This world is complicated. There are so many factors influencing what happens, when, where and why. Researchers can’t control everything. And because people are messy, complicated and ornery beings, the people we see (and ourselves) don’t always fit within the parameters of what’s been found in a research study. This doesn’t mean research findings aren’t important, it just means we need to temper our tendency to adopt a new and groovy thing just because a piece of research suggests it’s very cool. And we need to recognise that, especially here in NZ, studies conducted elsewhere in the world may not work as well here in our country. And that applies everywhere and to all human-oriented research. Context is critical. What people want and believe in is also critical. Qualitative research begins to bridge the gap between experimental designs and individual variability – but it’s often considered less valuable than quantitative research.
  6. People living well with chronic pain need to inform our practice. Why? Because we can learn so much from people who have been able to see life differently. Who have taken gems from wherever they’ve found them, been able to integrate those gems into their daily lives, and are now in the best position to help us learn what worked for them – and most importantly, why it’s worked.
  7. We’re biopsychosocial beings. People are biological beings, with psychological processes that influence their actions, many of which have been picked up from the social context in which they live. Those psychosocial factors are integral to living, not some add-on, after-the-fact mess that only applies if our treatments don’t work. We ALL actively process what happens to us, and interpret these things in light of what we already know and what we think might happen next. Yes I know this model is incomplete. I know some people can think of it as reductionist. Others think it’s messy and non-scientific. Still others believe it’s useless and impractical. But whether it’s an “accurate” way of thinking about people or not, I think it can be a helpful framework from which we can begin to explore situations where people are involved.

The new project

I’ve written thousands of words. Usually about 1200 once a week on this blog alone. My intention this year is to collate that writing and sort it into some semblance of order. I intend to post short summaries on topics and link to some of my older work for details. And maybe, just maybe, there could be a book at the end of it! Whatever I manage, this year I will be learning new things, and I will be posting them up here. So keep visiting! Ask questions and comment. Be part of the conversations that can change our approach to helping people with pain. Want to join me?