Chronic pain

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Deconditioning? Or just not doing things any more?

For years there has been a general wisdom that people with chronic pain who gradually stop doing things “must” be deconditioned. That is, they must lose fitness, cardiovascular and musculoskeletal, and this is often used to explain low activity levels, high disability and the prescription of graded exercise.

While this explanation makes sense (remember what happens to limbs when they’re in plaster for six weeks? all skinny and wasted?) – it doesn’t inevitably hold, in my experience. I vividly recall a person who routinely swam 20 lengths of an Olympic pool in very fast time every day, yet could not, in his estimation, return to any kind of work, and who did not sit – for an entire three week programme. It’s always seemed a bit odd to me that even though people report they can’t do many everyday activities, they can complete a rigorous gym programme.

So, skeptical me was very pleased to see another paper by the wonderful Nicole Andrews, occupational therapist and PhD, and her colleagues Jenny Strong and Pamela Meredith. This one is about approach to activity engagement, certain aspects of physical function and pain duration and was published in Clinical Journal of Pain in January this year (reference at the bottom of the page). It’s an important paper because it challenges some of the assumptions often made about activity levels and “fitness”, as well as the use of an operant conditioning model for pacing – pacing involving working to a set quota, rather than letting pain be the guide. The concept of pacing has been woven into most pain management programmes since the early days of Fordyce, but more recently has been criticised for lacking a clear definition, and for very little in the way of empirical support as a stand-alone treatment.

In this study, Andrews and colleagues examined the relationship between certain activities and a “habitual” approach to activity engagement, and pain duration. This is a different approach to studying activity and over- or under- activity in that it examines specific activities rather than using a global measure of disability – and this is important because the people we work with do specific activities (or occupations as I’d call them) and it will be more important to be able to predict the types of activities people do, or not do, rather than simply using a general guide.

Andrews and colleagues used a tool I particularly like called the Pain and Activity Relations Questionnaire (McCracken & Samuel, 2007) – this is a 21-item measure that looks at how people approach their activities. It has three subscales – avoidance, confronting, and pacing. Confronting measures “over”activity, while the other two are self explanatory.  They also used the Oswestry Disability Index, an old standard in measuring physical functioning.

The analysis was really interesting, and well-described for those who want to dig deeper into how this team found their results. I’ll cut to the chase and simply point out that they used the items rather than the overall score of the ODI, which allows for a more fine-grained analysis of the kinds of activities individuals engaged in, and how they approached those activities. This is the stuff occupational therapists and physiotherapists really want to get their teeth into!

So, what did they find?

Firstly, individuals who reported high levels of avoidance and low over-activity also reported significant restriction in personal care tasks, compared with those people who reported low levels of both avoidance and activity. There was no relationship between this item and pain duration, but there was a relationship between pain intensity and interference.

Lifting tolerance, however, was affected by pain duration and pain intensity rather than avoidance patterns. Walking tolerance wasn’t affected by approach to activity, or pain duration, but age and pain intensity were important factors. Sitting tolerance was not related to approach to activity, and only pain intensity was a contributor rather than pain duration. Finally, standing was also not associated with approach to activity and was only related to pain intensity.

Sleep was influenced by approach to activity engagement – and with pain duration. This means people with pain for one year and who were inclined to be “over” active and not avoidant, and those who were highly avoidant and highly “over”active were more likely to report problems with sleep than those with low avoidance and low “over” activity. (BTW I put the “over” in quotes because it could also be called “confronting” or “pushing” or “doing” – I think it’s weird term not yet well-defined). The group most likely to report poor sleep were those reporting high “over”activity and low avoidance who reported sleep problems 9.23 times more than those reporting low “over”activity and low avoidance. Once again, pain severity was the only other variable influencing reporting.

Sex life was not associated with approach to activity engagement, nor to pain duration. Social life, however, was associated with approach to activity engagement with those reporting high avoidance and “over”activity reporting more restrictions than those with low levels of both, along with similar results for those reporting high avoidance and low “over”activity – again, pain duration wasn’t associated, but pain intensity was.

Finally, travel was more likely to be reported a problem by all those compared with the low avoidance, low “over”activity group, with the high avoidance, low “over” activity group most likely to report problems.

What does all this mean?

Bearing in mind that the population from whom these participants were taken were attending a tertiary pain management centre programme, and that this is self-report, the findings from this study are really very exciting. As the authors point out, when the ODI is mapped on to the ICF (International Classification of Functioning, Disability and Health) the instrument covers sleep (body function), personal care, lifting, walking, sitting and standing (activity limitations), and social life and travel (participation restrictions). Activity limitations can also be divided into two domains – mobility and daily activities (basic and instrumental activities of daily life) – walking, standing and sitting are therefore “mobility”, while personal care and lifting are “daily activities”.

These findings show that mobility activities were not associated with an individual’s approach to activity engagement – they differ from the other items in that they’re performance skills, that is, they make up other activities can’t be reduced to a smaller component. The authors suggest that the responses to these items in this study may reflect the individual’s perceived capability to engage in daily activities, as opposed to their actual physical performance to engage in these tasks.

I think this means it’s important to ask about what people do in daily life, rather than rely simply on reported levels of walking or sitting. Tie self report into activities – for example, sitting tolerance might be best described in terms of whether a person can sit to watch a whole TV programme, or whether they need to get up during the ad breaks.  It’s important to note the relationship between approach to activity and poor sleep – sleep being one of those aspects of living with pain that people most want addressed. Perhaps by moderating the approach to activity we might be able to help people develop more effective sleep patterns. It also seems to me that we need to tie outcomes from pain management to real life activities in which an individual wants to participate – rather than a more “objective” measure such as the six minute walk test – which might satisfy our urge to measure things in a nice orderly way, but might not be relevant to an individual’s life.

Finally, this study shows that overactivity and avoidance patterns are not inevitably associated with reduced capacity over time. I think this is a “received wisdom” that needs to be unpackaged



Andrews, N. E., Strong, J., & Meredith, P. J. (2016). The relationship between approach to activity engagement, specific aspects of physical function, and pain duration in chronic pain. Clinical Journal of Pain, 32(1), 20-31

McCracken LM, Samuel VM. The role of avoidance, pacing, and other activity patterns in chronic pain. Pain. 2007;130:119–125.


Treat the pain… or treat the depression? Carpal Tunnel Syndrome management
Carpal tunnel syndrome is a very common pain disorder associated with compression of the median nerve at the carpal tunnel. Approximately 139 women and 67 males per 100,000 people will report this problem over the course of one year, although this depends on the definition used. The problem with CTS is not only that it is common, but also that it affects function – it is really difficult to carry out normal daily life with a numb or tingly hand, poor grip strength (particularly in the fingertips), and disruption to sleep from the ongoing deep achy sensation in the hand. Additionally, some studies show that people with CTS also experience widespread pressure pain hypersensitivity, and an increased response to heat, suggesting that the problem either triggers, or is part of a central sensitisation process.

Diagnosing CTS is conducted using two main approaches – firstly the clinical signs of pain, paraesthesia in the median nerve distribution, symptoms worse at night, and positive Tinel and Phalen signs; secondly, electrodiagnostic testing must show deficits of both sensory and motor median nerve conduction.

In this study, the authors were interested in establishing the relationship between clinical signs and symptoms, physical signs and symptoms (notably CROM and pinch grip force), as well as neurophysiological measures – and they also measured depression. I wish they’d included measures of pain anxiety, or catastrophising, but this was not included in this study.

224 women were included in the study, which carefully screened out individuals with potential confounding contributory causes such as whiplash, pregnancy or diabetes.  The initial and expected findings were that women with higher reports of pain also demonstrated poorer CROM, pinch grip, lower heat pain hypersensitivity, and overall poorer functional hand use.

The first interesting finding was that women in this study reporting only moderate levels of pain also reported poor functioning. The authors suggest that, as a result of this finding “it may not be necessary to report higher levels of pain to find a repercussion in functional activities.” In other words, the impact of CTS on functional use of the hand appears ahead of the pain intensity, although the two are associated.

The study also found that heat pain hyperalgesia over the carpal tunnel as also associated with the intensity of hand pain – they suggest this may be due to peripheral sensitisation which is present from very early on in the presentation.

Looking at depression and the relationship with CTS, interestingly, the women did not demonstrate very high levels of depression, which surprised me a little given they had been selected for inclusion on the basis of having CTS symptoms for 12 months or more. The analysis found that depression was associated with poorer hand function and greater pain, even though the women did not report very high levels of depression. These authors suggest that “perhaps proper management of depressive symptoms in CTS may reduce, not only chronicity, but also induce an improvement in hand pain-related disability.”

Somewhat more controversially for some physiotherapists, these authors also argue that because depressive symptoms resolve during (as a result of perhaps?) physiotherapy treatment in 40% of people with work-related musculoskeletal pain injuries, perhaps those treatments should target mood management as well. So much for “but it’s not in my scope of practice”!

In fact, the authors are very clear that “proper management of individuals with CTS should include therapeutic interventions targeting physical impairments, that is, manual therapies; psychological disturbances (cognitive behaviour), and mechanical hypersensitivity (that is, neuromodulatory pain approaches).” If ever there was a time to get upskilled in a whole person approach to rehabilitation, this paper supports doing so now.

Fernández-Muñoz, J., Palacios-Ceña, M., Cigarán-Méndez, M., Ortega-Santiago, R., de-la-Llave-Rincón, A., Salom-Moreno, J., & Fernández-de-las-Peñas, C. (2016). Pain is Associated to Clinical, Psychological, Physical, and Neurophysiological Variables in Women With Carpal Tunnel Syndrome The Clinical Journal of Pain, 32 (2), 122-129 DOI: 10.1097/AJP.0000000000000241


Using a new avoidance measure in the clinic

A new measure of avoidance is a pretty good thing. Until now we’ve used self report questionnaires (such as the Tampa Scale for Kinesiophobia, or the Pain Catastrophising Scale), often combined with a measure of disability like the Oswestry Disability Index to determine who might be unnecessarily restricting daily activities out of fear of pain or injury. These are useful instruments, but don’t give us the full picture because many people with back pain don’t see that their avoidance might be because of pain-related fear – after all, it makes sense to not do movements that hurt or could be harmful, right?

Behavioural avoidance tests (BAT) are measures developed to assess observable avoidance behaviour. They’ve been used for many years for things like OCD and phobias for both assessments and treatments. The person is asked to approach a feared stimulus in a standardised environment to generate fear-related behaviours without the biases that arise from self-report (like not wanting to look bad, or being unaware of a fear).

This new measure involves asking a person to carry out 10 repetitions of certain movements designed to provoke avoidance. The link for the full instructions for this test is this: click

Essentially, the person is shown how to carry out the movements (demonstrated by the examiner/clinician), then they are asked to do the same set of movements ten times.  Each set of movements is rated 0 = performs exactly as the clinician does; 1 = movement is performed but the client uses safety behaviours such as holding the breath, taking medication before doing the task, asking for help, or motor behaviours such as keeping the back straight (rotation and bending movements are involved); 2 = the person avoids doing the movement, and if the person performs fewer than 10 repetitions, those that are not completed are also coded 2. The range of scores obtainable are 0 – 60.

How and when would you use this test?

It’s tempting to rush in and use a new test simply because it’s new and groovy, so some caution is required.

My questions are: (1) does it help me (or the person) obtain a deeper understanding of the contributing factors to their problem? (2) Is it more reliable or more valid than other tests? (3) Is it able to be used in a clinical setting? (4) Does it help me generate better hypotheses as to what’s going on for this person? (5) I also ask about cost, time required, scoring and whether special training is required.

This test is very useful for answering question (1). It provides me with a greater opportunity to review the thoughts, beliefs and behaviours of a person in the moment. This means I can very quickly identify even the subtle safety behaviours, and obtain the “what’s going through your mind” of the person. If I record the movements, I can show the person what’s going on. NB This is NOT intended to be a test of biomechanical efficiency, or to identify “flaws” in movement patterns. This is NOT a physical performance test, it’s a test of behaviour and belief. Don’t even try to use it as a traditional performance test, or I will find you and I will kill (oops, wrong story).

It is more valid than other tests – the authors indicate it is more strongly associated with measures of disability than measures of pain-related fear and avoidance behaviour. This is expected, because it’s possible to be afraid of something but actually do it (public speaking anyone?), and measures of disability don’t consider the cause of that disability (it could be wonky knees, or a dicky ticker!).

It’s easy to do in a clinical setting – A crate of water bottles (~8 kg) and a table (heights ~68 cm) are needed to conduct the BAT-Back. The crate weighed  7.8 kg including six one-litre plastic bottles. One could argue that people might find doing this test in a clinic is less threatening than doing it in real life, and this is quite correct. The setting is contained, there’s a health professional around, the load won’t break and there’s no time pressure, so it’s not ecologically valid for many real world settings – but it’s better than doing a ROM assessment, or just asking the person!

Does it help me generate better hypotheses? Yes it certainly does, provided I take my biomechanical hat off and don’t mix up a BAT with a physical performance assessment. We know that biomechanics are important in some instances, but when it comes to low back pain it doesn’t seem to have as much influence as a person’s thoughts and beliefs – and more importantly, their tendency to just not do certain movements. This test allows me to go through the thoughts that flash through a person’s mind as they do the movement, thus helping me and the person more accurately identify what it is about the movement that’s bothering them. Then we can go on to test their belief and establish whether the consequences are, in fact, worse than the effects of avoidance.

Finally, is it cost-effective? Overall I’d say yes – with a caveat. You need to be very good at spotting safety behaviours, and you need to have a very clear understanding about the purpose of this test, and you may need training to develop these skills and the underlying conceptual understanding of behavioural analysis.

When would I use it? Any time I suspect a person is profoundly disabled as a result of their back pain, but does not present with depression, other tissue changes (limb fracture, wonky knees or ankles etc) that would influence the level of disability. If a person has elevated scores on the TSK or PCS. If they have elevated scores on measures of disability. If I think they may respond to a behavioural approach.

Oh, the authors say very clearly that one of the confounds of this test is when a person has biological factors such as bony changes to the vertebrae, shortened muscles, arthritic knees and so on. So you can put your biomechanical hat on – but remember the overall purpose of this test is to understand what’s going on in the person’s mind when they perform these movements.

Scoring and normative data has not yet been compiled. Perhaps that’s a Masters research project for someone?

Holzapfel, S., Riecke, J., Rief, W., Schneider, J., & Glombiewski, J. A. (in press). Development and validation of the behavioral avoidance test – back pain (bat-back) for patients with chronic low back pain. Clinical Journal of Pain.



Sweet Caroline

End of year roundup

It’s summer in New Zealand, and although the vagaries of Kiwi weather are always with us (33 degrees predicted today – but a southerly tomorrow and a drop of probably 10 degrees in half an hour!), we’re gearing up for our usual Christmas and New Year close-down. I’m also taking a break over the next three weeks, taking to the rivers (bring on the trout!) in Sweet Caroline the Caravan, complete with blue sky ceiling with tiny puffy clouds!

To end the year it’s common to come up with a top 10, so these are my top 5 posts from the year. They’re not always the ones with the most hits, they’re ones that I’m particularly pleased with. Over the next three weeks, why not take a browse through some of my favourites, and if you’re still stuck for reading matter, head to the “search” page and type in a term – or you can simply click on a Category or a Key Word and voila! there will be a bunch of posts to trawl through. Enjoy!

  1. Talking past each other: One of the weirdest things for me is being both a professional working in the field of chronic pain, and also being a person living with chronic pain. There’s a certain dread among some health professionals when they find out a person working in the field also has the condition – a bit like “so you’re in it for yourself”, “you’re living out your own issues”, “you’ll get over-involved”. Harsh. I got interested in pain management some years after I developed persistent pain. My interest began because the people I was working with (return to work programmes in the 1980’s) often had chronic pain, and I wanted to know more about how to help them. For many years I didn’t let anyone know I also had this “thing” they were trying to live with. I finally decided that being real, honest, authentic and not pretending I had it all together was far more helpful (and less stressful) than any kind of facade of professionalism I could apply. I can’t say whether what works for me will work for anyone else. I don’t always have answers. I can only say I know what it’s like to walk alone, trying to work out what will help and what won’t – and that’s a very lonely road to walk. For that reason I’ll be there, a one-woman cheering squad on your side.
  2. Telling someone they have chronic pain: Being given good advice when I first found out I had chronic pain would be one of the most important reasons I think I have learned to find wiggle room with my pain. It’s not the kind of message healthcare professionals are trained to deliver. By and large we’re taught to fix, cure, mend, heal or DO something. Chronic pain is one of those problems for which there are no easy, single bullet answers. There’s usually a mix of things that will give support – and a bunch of things that won’t do a thing, or may even harm. This post synthesises some of the things that I have found out about giving that “bad news”.
  3. Am I nuts or do I just have pain?: People living with chronic pain deal with stigma often. There’s an unwritten “moral” compass that people living around us use to identify whether someone is faking, mad, or just lazy. Is chronic pain a mental illness? Personally I would argue not – but then again, how do we define what is, and isn’t, a mental illness? Some super-slippery concepts here, but I prefer NOT to classify chronic pain inside a set of psychiatric labels. I think it’s stressful enough to live with chronic pain without the sense that it’s a mental health problem, because, after all, it’s experienced in the body. And while some of the factors involved in chronic pain are neurological, brain-based, and affect mood, thoughts and behaviour, there are many other health problems that are also influenced by the same set of issues. Personally, I don’t like labels that lump people together as if, because they have a predominant symptom, the problems arising from it are all the same. Many of you will know I use a case formulation approach – by using this approach a clinician acknowledges that there are many factors influencing the “what it is like” to live with chronic pain, and it gives priority to the everyday concerns of the person rather than trying to squish him or her into some sort of square box. I’ve got curves, they just don’t squish like that!
  4. Case formulation: I have written a few posts on case formulation – so here’s a list of them! I hope they’re useful :)  Case 1; Case 2; Case 3; Case 4; Case 5; Case 6; Case 7; Sorry if these are slightly out of order, and believe me, there are some more I haven’t yet listed!
  5. Who are you? The effect of pain on self: Nothing prepares us for the onset of a chronic illness. I mean it. Even if you KNOW you’re going to get something, when it’s finally given the label there’s a certain reality that can’t be shaken. All the assumptions of what we can or can’t do, our capabilities, our future goals, our assumptions about how life will be – these get shaken when we get told “I’m sorry, but you have _________”. Learning to deal with this new reality is both fascinating (to an outsider) and extraordinarily hidden (to the person and those outside). We don’t really know how people come to terms with having to give up aspects of self, adopt new habits, develop a focus on parts of self that weren’t previously valued. It’s an area of learning to live with pain that has been touched on, but needs far more attention, IMHO.

OK, so a random selection of posts from the last year, and a couple from years before. If I get time before I head out in Caroline, I’ll post another set – but in the meantime, I wish you a peaceful and safe holiday period, and hope you’ll build dreams and start actions for a fabulous 2016.

give it a whirl

Fibro fog or losing your marbles: the effect of chronic pain on everyday executive functioning

There are days when I think I’m losing the plot! When my memory fades, I get distracted by random thin—-ooh! is that a cat?!

We all have brain fades, but people with chronic pain have more of them. Sometimes it’s due to the side effects of medication, and often it’s due to poor sleep, or low mood – but whatever the cause, the problem is that people living with chronic pain can find it very hard to direct their attention to what’s important, or to shift their attention away from one thing and on to another.

In an interesting study I found today, Baker, Gibson, Georgiou-Karistianis, Roth and Giummarra (in press), used a brief screening measure to compare the executive functioning of a group of people with chronic pain with a matched set of painfree individuals. The test is called Behaviour Rating Inventory of Executive Function, Adult version (BRIEF-A) which measures Inhibition, Shift, Emotional Control, Initiate, Self-Monitor, Working Memory, Plan/Organize, Task Monitor, and Organization of Materials.

Executive functioning refers to “higher” cortical functions such as being able to attend to complex situations, make the right decision and evaluate the outcome. It’s the function that helps us deal with everyday situations that have novel features – like when we’re driving, doing the grocery shopping, or cooking a meal. It’s long been known that people living with chronic pain experience difficulty with these things, not just because of fatigue and pain when moving, but because of limitations on how well they can concentrate. Along with the impact on emotions (feeling irritable, anxious and down), and physical functioning (having poorer exercise tolerance, limitations in how often or far loads can be lifted, etc), it seems that cognitive impairment is part of the picture when you’re living with chronic pain.

Some of the mechanisms thought to be involved in this are the “interruptive” nature of pain – the experience demands attention, directing attention away from other things and towards pain and pain-related objects and situations; in addition, there are now known to be structural changes in the brain – not only sensory processing and motor function, but also the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex which is needed for complex cognitive tasks.

One of the challenges in testing executive functions in people living with chronic pain is that usually they perform quite well on standard pen and paper tasks – when the room is quiet, there are no distractions, they’re rested and generally feeling calm. But put them in a busy supermarket or shopping mall, or driving a car in a busy highway, and performance is not such an easy thing!

So, for this study the researchers used the self-report questionnaire to ask people about their everyday experiences which does have some limitations – but the measure has been shown to compare favourably with real world experiences of people with other conditions such as substance abuse, prefrontal cortex lesions, and ADHD.

What did they find?

Well, quite simply they found that 50% of patients showed clinical elevation on Shift, Emotional Control, Initiate, and Working Memory subscales with emotional control and working memory the most elevated subscales.

What does this mean?

It means that chronic pain doesn’t only affect how uncomfortable it might be to move, or sit or stand; and it doesn’t only affect mood and anxiety; and it’s not just a matter of being fogged with medications (although these contribute), instead it shows that there are clear effects of experiencing chronic pain on some important aspects of planning and carrying out complex tasks in the real world.

The real impact of these deficits is not just on daily tasks, but also on how readily people with chronic pain can adopt and integrate all those coping strategies we talk about in pain management programmes. Things like deciding to use activity pacing means – decision making on the fly, regulating emotions to deal with frustration of not getting jobs done, delaying the flush of pleasure of getting things completed, having to break a task down into many parts to work out which is the most important, holding part of a task in working memory to be able to decide what to do next. All of these are complex cortical activities that living with chronic pain can affect.

It means clinicians need to help people learn new techniques slowly, supporting their generalising into daily life by ensuring they’re not overwhelming, and perhaps using tools like smartphone alarms or other environmental cues to help people know when to try using a different technique. It also means clinicians need to think about assessing how well a person can carry out these complex functions at the beginning of therapy – it might change the way coping strategies are learned, and it might mean considering changes to medication (avoiding opiates, but not only these because many pain medications affect cognition), and thinking about managing mood promptly.

The BRIEF-A is not the last word in neuropsych testing, but it may be a helpful screening measure to indicate areas for further testing and for helping people live more fully despite chronic pain.


Baker, K., Gibson, S., Georgiou-Karistianis, N., Roth, R., & Giummarra, M. (2015). Everyday Executive Functioning in Chronic Pain The Clinical Journal of Pain DOI: 10.1097/AJP.0000000000000313

letting it all hang out

Taking a peek beneath the hood

What would it be like to lift the hood and take a good hard look at the skills needed to carry out various chronic pain management treatments? You know, take each profession’s jargon away and really look at what a clinician needs to know to conduct safe, effective treatment. Oh I know, this is skating on thin ice – each profession’s treatment paradigm and assumptions are incredibly important and I’m an outsider looking in, so please, before you push me under the cold, cold water, let’s think about the parts that really do the business in pain management.

The first set of skills that are crucial to effective pain management are those to do with communicating. The ability to listen carefully, reflect what’s being said, and to ask questions to genuinely understand what a person believes and feels, and how they got there.  To be able to help the person identify what’s important to them, their main concerns, their values and the direction they want to move towards. To know what to say and how to say it (Bensing & Verhuel, 2010; Hall, 2011; Hulsman, 2009; Klaber & Richardson, 1997; Oien, Steihaug, Iversen & Raheim, 2011).

These skills are generic to all health professionals, although perhaps enhanced and refined in those clinicians who are involved in talking as the therapeutic process.

The second set of skills involve being able to change behaviour. To be aware of operant conditioning, classical conditioning, and to use these principles along with those involving cognitions (eg “education” or providing information).  Interestingly, while these principles are derived from psychology, and perhaps educational research, ALL health professionals use these skills when they’re involved in asking the person to make a change outside of the treatment room.

Unless the clinician is doing something TO the patient, treatments for chronic pain typically involve asking the patient to DO something (Honicke, 2011; Persson, Rivano-Rischer & Eklun, 2004; Robinson, Kennedy & Harmon, 2011).

The third involve being able to progressively grade activities from simple to complex – modifying them so that the demands just slightly exceed the person’s capabilities or confidence.

  1. Those demands might be physical (repetitions, range of movement, loading, isolation to integrated movement),
  2. Cognitive (simple one-step directions through to complex multi-stage decision-making activities),
  3. Social (working alone, in a pair, in a small group, large group, being the follower, being the leader),
  4. Emotional (joyful flow or frustrating, touching on highly important values or those that are not especially relevant).
  5. Contextual (controlled contexts like a clinic room vs highly chaotic like a shopping mall on Christmas Eve)

It’s this latter set that I think we may forget when looking at skills and professionals. There can be an assumption that being able to do an exercise programme in a gym or clinic should lead to greater participation in life outside that setting. Exercises can be prescribed to isolate a small set of muscles, using all the usual suspects to increase strength, flexibility, speed and stamina – and the techniques to progress along this kind of training are, sorry guys, reasonably simple to learn. The challenge is for the person doing them to be able to transfer this training to the real world where movements are integrated, where the environment is complex and the demands and distractions are myriad.

Likewise with graded exposure training – beginning with the least feared movements, progressing to more and more feared situations using a graded hierarchy is something any one of us can learn provided we take the time to understand how and why this approach is used. What’s far more difficult is helping the person doing these activities in new and evolving situations so the skills generalise. Occupational therapists, for what it’s worth, are explicitly and uniquely trained to analyse occupations/activities to do precisely this kind of generalisation.

When we look at what works in chronic pain management, there are four things:

  1. Placebo or meaning effects which are strongly influenced by the way we communicate, and the person’s expectations from us and our interaction.
  2. Providing accurate information so the pain is “de-threatened” or at least loses a large degree of the threat value even if the pain doesn’t reduce as a result.
  3. Supporting the person to do more, whether that be through exercise or just doing more of what they want.
  4. Generalising those skills so that irrespective of the pain fluctuations or context, the person can remain able to participate in what’s important in their life.

And the skills needed to do these things? They’re the ones I’ve listed above.

What I think this means is the time has come to stop describing various treatments as “belonging” to any single discipline. They don’t “belong” to anyone – they’re generic skills that we ALL use. So I, as an occupational therapist warped by psychologists, will have greater technique in communicating, noticing psychosocial obstacles, and helping a person generalise skills into a range of contexts by virtue of my training. Paul, as a physiotherapist, will have greater technique in prescribing specific exercises for certain muscles, and have more confidence in exercise progression. Scott will have greater expertise in enhancing expectations and helping a person reconceptualise their pain in a way that dethreatens it. We ALL have effective skills across all of these areas, but at the same time we have particular expertise in what we originally trained in.

Finally, what I think this means is that when the call is made for clinicians to work in primary care, or alongside GPs or in ED, to help reduce healthcare use, increase participation in life and so on, it’s time we stopped saying “The (X profession) and the GP should form a team”, I think it’s time for us to say “The allied health team (made up of people with the following skills) should form a team with the person living with pain”.


Bensing, J. M., & Verheul, W. (2010). The silent healer: The role of communication in placebo effects. Patient Education and Counseling, 80(3), 293-299. doi:

Eakin, E., Reeves, M., Winkler, E., Lawler, S., & Owen, N. (2010). Maintenance of physical activity and dietary change following a telephone-delivered intervention. Health Psychology, 29(6), 566-573.

Hall, J. A. (2011). Clinicians’ accuracy in perceiving patients: Its relevance for clinical practice and a narrative review of methods and correlates. Patient Education & Counseling, 84(3), 319-324.

Hardcastle, S., Blake, N., & Hagger, M. S. (2012). The effectiveness of a motivational interviewing primary-care based intervention on physical activity and predictors of change in a disadvantaged community. Journal of Behavioral Medicine, 35(3), 318-333.

Honicke, M. (2011). Acceptance and commitment therapy as a challenging approach for occupational therapists in pain management. Ergotherapie und Rehabilitation, 50(7), 28-30

Hulsman, R. L. (2009). Shifting goals in medical communication. Determinants of goal detection and response formation. Patient Education & Counseling, 74(3), 302-308.

Klaber, M. J., & Richardson, P. (1997). The influence of the physiotherapist-patient relationship on pain and disability. Physiotherapy Theory and Practice, 13(1), 89-96.

Okun, M. A., & Karoly, P. (2007). Perceived goal ownership, regulatory goal cognition, and health behavior change. American Journal of Health Behavior Vol 31(1) Jan-Feb 2007, 98-109.

Oien, A. M., Steihaug, S., Iversen, S., & Raheim, M. (2011). Communication as negotiation processes in long-term physiotherapy: A qualitative study. Scandinavian Journal of Caring Sciences, 25(1), 53-6

Persson, E., Rivano-Fischer, M., & Eklun, M. (2004). Evaluation of changes in occupational performance among patients in a pain management program. Journal of Rehabilitation Medicine, 36(2), 85-91.

Robinson, K., Kennedy, N., & Harmon, D. (2011). Review of occupational therapy for people with chronic pain. Australian Occupational Therapy Journal, 58(2), 74-81.

Rosser, B. A., McCullagh, P., Davies, R., Mountain, G. A., McCracken, L., & Eccleston, C. (2011). Technology-mediated therapy for chronic pain management: The challenges of adapting behavior change interventions for delivery with pervasive communication technology. Telemedicine Journal & E-Health, 17(3), 211-216.


Connecting: A cognitive behavioural approach to initial interviews

As I’ve been reading and thinking about the ways health professionals work with people who live with pain, my mind keeps coming back to the power of human connection. Pain is ephemeral: we can’t touch it, see it or truly understand the “what it is like” for that person to experience that pain.  The only way we can get to understand even a little of another’s pain is when we take the time to hear what they’re saying. This post is about how a cognitive behavioural approach can inform our communication and build a bridge towards shared understanding. Only once this is begun can we start “treatment”.

A cognitive behavioural approach is based on the idea that people are not blank canvases, reflecting whatever is thrown at them. Instead people actively think about what is happening, seeking out information they think is relevant, depending on their past experiences, the framework they use to understand what’s going on, and to make predictions in light of what they want to do (goals).

What this means is that a conversation about pain is like dipping your toe into a stream. The stream keeps moving on, but the water gets swirled around where your toe is dipped. Whatever is upstream comes down along the waterways, where you dip your toe is here and now, and depending on the depth of your toe-dipping (and the stream’s flow) will influence the stream’s direction downstream. If your conversation is superficial and only concerned with issues the person doesn’t feel is relevant, your toe-dipping isn’t going to have much influence. But if you take the time to get into the water, immersing yourself in what the person is really saying (where they’ve been, what they’ve learned, where they want to go), you may well have a huge influence on their future directions.

What’s the focus of an initial interview?

An initial interview usually focuses on “what are the problems?” and “what can I do?” Of course, most clinicians also recognise the importance of establishing rapport, and the need to be empathic. The actual factors considered important within an initial interview vary depending on the model of health or disease adopted by the clinician. For a strongly biomechanically-oriented clinician the factors may be muscle length, strength, range of movement, loading and tolerance. For a clinician using a biopsychosocial framework, hopefully weight will also be placed on beliefs, understanding, attitudes, past experiences, emotions, predictions for the future, past treatments and what has been learned from these, existing stressors, vulnerabilities and strengths. And of course, a whole heap of family, friends, workplace and social factors should also form part of this assessment.

I’ve attached a semi-structured interview I’ve used clinically when working with people who live with chronic pain – this interview can take 60 – 90 minutes, depending on the complexity of the person’s narrative – Self Management Semistructured interview. I don’t think this is the only way to approach learning about someone else’s pain, but it provides me with a very sound basis for deciding whether I can help the person, and more importantly, I think it gives the person a chance to feel that I’m really listening.

To abbreviate this interview, I’d hone in on two main questions that I need to answer:

  1. Why is this person presenting in this way at this time?
  2. What can be done to reduce this person’s distress and disability?

All of my questions are designed to help me answer these two questions. Of course, they’re not going to work at all unless the person I’m talking with is part of this conversation. After all, they have ideas about what they want from me, why they’re looking for help, and what’s led them to come to me now rather than seeing someone else, or at another time.

There’s something missing from this interview though!

Something you can’t get from a simple list of questions is how to ask them and how to respond to the answers. I used to think the art of asking good interview questions lay with the wording, but I’m not so sure now. I think it’s about my attitude. Let me unpack this.

Socratic questioning is the main orientation I use in my initial interview. Socratic questioning is about guided discovery, or a dialogue between me and the other person in which I guide both of us towards discovering things the person knows but may not know they know. Confused? Well, here’s an explanation of the process. (BTW I follow Christine Padesky’s approach for Socratic questioning – click here for more info)

Padesky states “Socratic questioning involves asking the client questions which: a) the client has the knowledge to answer; b) draw the client’s attention to information which is relevant to the issue being discussed but which may be outside the client’s current focus; c) generally move from the concrete to the more abstract so that; d) the client can, in the end, apply the new information to either reevaluate a previous conclusion or construct a new idea.”

To begin with, we need to find out what the person knows they know – so I will ask Informational Questions.  These include things like “what do you think is going on?”; “what’s your theory about your pain?”; “why do you think your sleep is so bad right now?”.

The second and equally important part is Listening. Not only am I listening to (and then reflecting that I’ve heard), I’m listening for words or phrases that are idiosyncratic, have emotional impact, those metaphors and images the person uses, the emotional feeling tone of their account.

The third is Summarising in which I gather together several phrases or responses given by the person, and present them back to him or her to make sure I’ve heard them correctly, but also to give them a chance to hear what they’ve been saying. Sometimes it’s only by talking that a person finds out what they’ve been thinking (ever had that happen to you?!). In Motivational Interviewing this is called “giving a bouquet” of what the person has been saying. I like that image!

The final phase is Synthesising, or Analytical questions. This occurs after you’ve spent the time finding out what the person thinks, listened carefully and then reflected this, explored the unique meanings the person puts on aspects of what is going on for them, and finally you’ve summarised and reflected their narrative as a whole – synthesising questions help the person make sense of what they’ve just said, pulling it all together. I sometimes use phrases like “so where does this leave you?” or “what does all that mean now?” or “what is your next best step?” Smart readers will recognise some of the Motivational Interviewing phrases in here!

The attitude I bring to this kind of encounter is one of curiosity. I’m genuinely curious to try to understand how this person has developed his or her understanding of their situation. This helps me step away from judging their situation as “good” or “bad, and in particular helps me avoid judging them as “good” or “bad” (or “coper” or “noncoper”). I constantly remind myself and others that people generally don’t get up in the morning to do dumb things. There’s usually a reason for people being in the situation they’re in – and often it’s about lacking accurate information.

Putting it together

Having gathered information, reflected what you’ve understood and confirmed this understanding with the person – now’s your chance to help that person develop their own, personal understanding of what’s going on. I like to call this their own personal model of pain. It won’t be complete, but it’s a great beginning. Padesky suggests asking “What do you make of this? How do you put this? How do you put these ideas together?”

For more information on a strengths based approach to cognitive behavioural therapy (not the same as a cognitive behavioural approach, but very interesting to read) – go here for a full paper by Padesky and Mooney, published in 2012, and for a much more detailed discussion of Socratic questioning in a panel – go here.




Scopes, roles, boundaries, contributions: who does what in a brave new healthcare world?

I have been meaning to write a post like this for some time now, but prompted to today by two things: one is an ongoing debate about non-psychologists using “CBT” with people who are experiencing pain, and the other is a conversation with Chai Chuah, Director General of the Ministry of Health in New Zealand. Let me set the scene:

We know there are a lot of people in our communities who have relatively simple pain problems – a temporarily painful knee after walking up hills for the first time in ages, a painful back that “just happened” overnight, a rotator cuff problem that makes it difficult to get dressed or hang out washing. We know that there are some pretty simple things that will help in these situations: some reassurance that the awful thing the person is worried about isn’t likely to happen (no, you won’t end up in a wheelchair because of your back pain, and no it’s not cancer); some pain relief to help with sleeping more soundly and so we can keep doing things; and gradually returning to normal occupations including work even if the pain hasn’t completely gone.

We also know that approximately 8% of people with low back pain will ultimately end up contributing to the most enormous spend in healthcare that we know about – their pain continues, their distress increases, their disability is profound.

BUT before we put all our attention on to this small group of people, I think it’s worthwhile remembering that people in this group are also more likely to have other health conditions, they’re more likely to smoke, to be overweight, to have mental health problems; they also probably come from lower socioeconomic groups, groups including people from minority ethnicities, people who find it much harder to get work, to remain in education and perhaps even people who typically use healthcare more often than the people who get back on their feet more quickly. Data for these statements comes from the 2006 Health and Disability Survey in New Zealand and numerous studies by epidemiologists around the world  –  back pain is only one of a number of problems people in this group have to deal with. I’m also not saying everyone who gets back pain that lingers has all of these additional concerns – but there is a greater prevalence.

What does this mean?

Well, for a while I’ve been saying that people working in this area of health (musculoskeletal pain) seem to be developed a set of common skills. That is, there is more in common between me and Jason Silvernail, Mike Stewart, Paul Lagerman, Alison Sim, Lars Avemarie, Rajam Roose and many others around the world from many different health professions, than there is between me and a good chunk of people from my own profession of occupational therapy. And I don’t think I’m alone in noticing this. (ps please don’t be offended if I’ve left your name out – you KNOW I’m including you too!)

What’s common amongst us? The ability to see and work with complex, ambiguous, messy and multifactorial situations. Recognising that along with all of our individual professional skills, we also need to have

  • effective communication skills,
  • patient/person-centredness,
  • critical thinking,
  • generating a framework to work from,
  • identifying and solving the unique goals and situations the people we work with have,
  • ability to step beyond “this is my role” and into “what can be done to reduce this person’s distress and disability?”
  • And possibly the most important skill is being able to tolerate not knowing without freaking out.

That ongoing cycle of assess -> hypothesise -> test -> review -> reassess -> hypothesise -> test -> reassess ->  review

This is important because when people come to see us with a complex problem (and increasingly this seems to happen), the simple models break down. The tissue-based, the germ-based, the simple single-factor approaches do not fully explain what’s going on, and don’t provide adequate solutions.

What this means is we, ALL health professionals, will need to think about where our skills lie. Are we people who enjoy pumping through a big number of relatively simple problems? If so, that’s great! Your contribution is clear-cut, you know what you need to do, and you refine and practice your skill-set until you’re expert. I think this is awesome. Or, are we people who relish complex, who look at situations and see that it’s messy and complicated but don’t get put off? In this group we probably use skills for researching and planning, operationalising or getting things started, and we’re often the people who network furiously. We do this not because we’re social butterflies (me being the ultimate introvert), but because we know WE CAN’T DO THIS WORK ALONE!

What about clinical skills and scopes and boundaries?

You know, I am not entirely sure that anyone except the health professional him or herself cares who does what they do to help someone get better. It’s not whether a nurse or a speech language therapist or a podiatrist or a medical practitioner, it’s whether the person (or people) treats each person as unique, listens carefully, is honest and straightforward about what can and can’t be done, and knows when his or her skills are not sufficient so calls in the rest of a team for help. There is a time for working beyond your scope, and a time for calling in an expert – but to recognise when an expert is needed requires knowing enough about the problem to know that an expert might be helpful.

What this means in healthcare, I think, is adopting a framework that works across diagnosis and into the idea that people actively process what happens to them, they make their minds up about what’s needed, and they can learn to do things differently. I’d call this self-management, but I could equally call it a cognitive behavioural approach, or behaviour change, or motivational approaches or even patient-centred or person-centred care. The idea that people understand more than we often give credit, that they make sense from what happens to and around them, and that this knowledge influences what they do comes from a cognitive behavioural model of people, and fits beautifully within a biopsychosocial framework.

So, when I advocate getting skilled at cognitive behavioural skills, I could equally use the term “person-centred” or “self-management” – whatever the label, the contributions from each professional involved will ultimately influence the health experience and actions of the person we’re seeing.

Isn’t it time to be excited about opportunities to develop and to extend our skills? And if this doesn’t excite you, isn’t it great that there are a group of people who will respond to the simple and straightforward – but let’s not confuse the two situations.



Pain Acceptance rather than Catastrophising influences work goal pursuit & achievement

We all know that having pain can act as a disincentive to doing things. What’s less clear is how, when a person is in chronic pain, life can continue. After all, life doesn’t stop just because pain is a daily companion. I’ve been interested in how people maintain living well despite their pain, because I think if we can work this out, some of the ongoing distress and despair experienced by people living with pain might be alleviated (while we wait for cures to appear).

The problem with studying daily life is that it’s complicated. What happened yesterday can influence what we do today. How well we sleep can make a difference to pain and fatigue. Over time, these changes influences can blur and for people living with pain it begins to be difficult to work out which came first: the pain, or the life disruption. Sophisticated mathematical procedures can now be used to model the effects of variations in individual’s experiences on factors that are important to an overall group. For example, if we track pain, fatigue and goals in a group of people, we can see that each person’s responses vary around their own personal “normal”. If we then add some additional factors, let’s say pain acceptance, or catastrophising, and look to see firstly how each individual’s “normal” varies with their own acceptance or catastrophising, then look at how overall grouped norms vary with these factors while controlling for the violation of usual assumptions in this kind of statistical analysis (like independence of each sample, for example), we can begin to examine the ways that pain, or goal pursuit vary depending on acceptance or catastrophising across time.

In the study I’m looking at today, this kind of multilevel modelling was used to examine the variability between pain intensity and positive and negative feelings and pain interference with goal pursuit and progress, as well as looking to see whether pain acceptance or catastrophising mediated the same outcomes.

variationsThe researchers found that pain intensity interfered with goal progress, but it didn’t do this directly. Instead, it did this via the individual’s perception of how much pain interfered with goal pursuit. In other words, when a person thinks that pain gets in the way of them doing things, this happens when they experience higher pain intensity that makes them feel that it’s hard to keep going with goals. Even if people feel OK in themselves, pain intensity makes it feel like it’s much harder to keep going.

But, what’s really interesting about this study is that pain acceptance exerts an independent influence on the strength of this relationship, far more than pain catastrophising (or thinking the worst). What this means is that even if pain intensity gets in the way of wanting to do things, people who accept their pain as part of themselves are more able to keep going.

The authors of this study point out that “not all individuals experience pain’s interference with goal pursuit to the same extent because interference is likely to depend on pain attitudes” (Mun, Karoly & Okun, 2015), and accepting pain seems to be one of the important factors that allow people to keep going. Catastrophising, as measured in this study, didn’t feature as a moderator, which is quite unusual, and the authors suggest that perhaps their using “trait” catastrophising instead of “state” catastrophising might have fuzzed this relationship, and that both forms of catastrophising should be measured in future.

An important point when interpreting this study: acceptance does not mean “OMG I’m just going to ignore my pain” or “OMG I’m just going to distract myself”. Instead, acceptance means reducing unhelpful brooding on pain, or trying to control pain (which just doesn’t really work, does it). Acceptance also means “I’m going to get on with what makes me feel like me” even if my pain goes up because I do. The authors suggest that acceptance might reduce pain’s disruptive influence on cognitive processes, meaning there’s more brain space to focus on moving towards important goals.

In addition to the cool finding that acceptance influences how much pain interferes with moving towards important goals, this study also found that being positive, or feeling good also reduced pain interference. Now this is really cool because I’ve been arguing that having fun is one of the first things that people living with chronic pain lose. And it’s rarely, if ever, included in pain management or rehabilitation approaches. Maybe it’s time to recognise that people doing important and fun things that they value might actually be a motivating approach that could instill confidence and “stickability” when developing rehabilitation programmes.

Mun CJ, Karoly P, & Okun MA (2015). Effects of daily pain intensity, positive affect, and individual differences in pain acceptance on work goal interference and progress. Pain, 156 (11), 2276-85 PMID: 26469319

before the nor'wester

“Them” and “us”

The governing principles and purposes of International Association for the Study of Pain (and thus NZ Pain Society) are clear that “IASP brings together scientists, clinicians, health-care providers, and policymakers to stimulate and support the study of pain and to translate that knowledge into improved pain relief worldwide.”
There is no mention in this purpose of the people who experience pain. I think this is an omission.

Pain is a subjective experience. This means we can only be informed about pain when people communicate about it. So many aspects of pain have not been explored in a great deal of detail: things like gender, the lived experience of “good” outcomes vs “bad” outcomes, the use of labels like “failed back syndrome”, the “what it is like to be” a person receiving types of treatments, even determining whether a treatment is acceptable in the context of the real world – or not.

If we want to reduce the burden of pain within our population, shouldn’t we be incorporating the views of people living with pain? so the aims and priorities of those living with pain are included, increasing public awareness of pain and what it means to counter the prevailing attitudes towards people living with pain?

There is, however, a divide between “us” and “them”. “Us” being privileged to know about pain, to develop research agendas, to study pain and translate into improved pain relief, while “them” are passive recipients of such efforts.  This doesn’t fit with my views of the reducing gap between treatment provider and recipient, or of the relationship of collaboration that must exist between a person wanting help and those giving it. And it doesn’t afford a strong voice to people living with pain who have as valid a view as those who do not live with pain.

Is there room for a person-focused approach in pain research? And can people living with pain have a voice?

I’ve been reading some of the very old medical journals, ones like the New England Journal of Medicine from 1812. In this article, J. G. Coffin expounds on the use of cold bathing saying “For several years past from May to November, I have been in the habit of walking or riding on horseback freely til 12 or 1 o’clock of the day, hastening to the water’s edge, and plunging in with the least possible delay; and in no instance have I regretted the habit, but on the contrary have found it alike grateful and invigorating.” Now I’m not about to suggest we all begin cold bathing, but what I want to point out is the very personal nature of this account.

Compare this with an excerpt from Martel, Finan, Dolman, Subramanian et al (2015) discussing self-reports of medication side effects and pain-related activity interference: “Despite the potential benefits of each of these medications for the management of patients with pain, it is well known that the combination of a wide range of medications may lead to a number of adverse side effects, including nausea, dizziness, headaches, constipation, and weakness. These medication side effects are frequently observed in clinical settings and represent a complex pain management issue.” (p. 1092).

Patients,  not people, are discussed in the latter paper, even though the subject of this study is the experience of people taking medication for their pain. Numbers of side effects. Self-reports of pain intensity, reduced to a 0 – 10 scale. “Negative affect” reduced to numbers.  Interference in three areas of activity rated using the same scale.

While I applaud the need to measure variables of importance, I find it interesting that articles about subjective experiences of people feature far less prominently in our esteemed journals of pain research than those presenting a one-step-removed depersonalised view of what is a human experience.

In recent months I have been reading about the space that occurs between a clinician and patient. Benedetti’s writings on The Patient’s Brain (which, incidentally, also and equally discusses the clinician’s brain) help unpack that special place in which ritualised relationships including power and plea are played out every day. What I draw from Benedetti’s book is that while people seeking treatment appear the supplicants, in fact it is they who determine (to a great degree) whether a treatment will be helpful or not. The meanings ascribed to the interaction are formed by the person seeking help. Clinicians play out a role according to the “rules” of this interaction.

In a treatment setting we are but two humans meeting in a shared space. The quality of that interaction, and indeed the benefit experienced by the recipient of treatment, is strongly influenced not only by that person’s expectations, but also by the degree of empathy expressed by the treatment provider.  As Garden (2008) states “The biomedical approach to medicine all too often overrides concern about patients’ psychological and social experiences of illness” (Garden, 2008, p. 122).  She points out some of the factors that lead to difficulty with empathy in clinical encounters are often about social and cultural issues – too little time, sleep deprivation, a clinical culture that neglects clinician’s personal identity and physical experience (p. 122).

We should also know that downregulating empathy for people in clinical encounters can be a self-care strategy, as Reiss indicates in a brief paper in 2010 (Reiss, 2010). Downregulating the “pain empathy” response involves inhibiting neural circuits such as the somatosensory cortex, insula, anterior cingulate cortex, and periaqueductal gray. Downregulating these areas also “dampen[s] negative arousal in response to the pain of others”. She goes on to say “without emotion regulation skills, constant exposure to others’ pain and distress may be associated with personal distress and burnout” (p. 1605).  However, the harm caused by dehumanising, and unempathic healthcare results in focusing on organs and tests and poorer outcomes, as well as greater burnout, increased substance abuse and more patient complaints (p. 1605).

Cohen, Quintner, Buchanan, Nielson & Guy (2011) writing movingly of the potential role health professionals have in stigmatising those experiencing chronic pain. I wonder if the very way we investigate pain, the scientific model so often used to examine aspects of pain and pain management that works by compartmentalising people into “them” (usually people with pain) and “us” (usually researchers and clinicians) also leads to a sense that “we” are different somehow from people who experience pain. And hence from there to organisations established to study the pain of “them” without actually including “them”.

I wonder how many people working in the field of pain and pain management experience pain. Hopefully ALL of them sorry, US. And that means we need to begin thinking about how easily any one of us could become a person living with pain, and perhaps begin considering how we could work together to shift the societal belief that there is a “them” and “us.

Cohen, Milton, Quintner, John, Buchanan, David, Nielsen, Mandy, & Guy, Lynette. (2011). Stigmatization of patients with chronic pain: The extinction of empathy. Pain Medicine, 12(11), 1637-1643.

Garden, Rebecca. (2009). Expanding clinical empathy: an activist perspective. Journal of General Internal Medicine, 24(1), 122-125.

Martel, Marc O. , Finan, Patrick H. , Dolman, Andrew J. , Subramanian, Subu , Edwards, Robert R. , Wasan, Ajay D. , & Jamison, Robert N. . (2015). Self-reports of medication side effects and pain-related activity interference in patients with chronic pain: a longitudinal cohort study. Pain, 156(6), 1092-1100.

Riess, Helen. (2010). Empathy in medicine–a neurobiological perspective. JAMA, 304(14), 1604-1605. doi: