COVID19

5 Things I Learned from Lock-down


As New Zealand emerges from the most severe lock-down levels to greater freedom (but still not back to life as usual) I’ve been reflecting on what I’ve learned – no, not a new language, new baking skills, or sudden competence in using R (see here for a great tutorial), but things about myself. Odd though it may seem, I’m leaving lock-down with a sense of wistfulness. You see, the time from the end of March to end of April has been a lovely time for me.

I’m lucky, I have a good job, my work hasn’t changed much (well, a bit), my family are safe, I live close to the beach and a park, and the weather has been kind. It’s autumn in Christchurch, and it’s been mainly fine. The bird life has been flourishing. The foot traffic past my house has been families – Mum, Dad, kids on bikes and in pushchairs. Apart from the occasional drop-kick lighting fireworks or playing the Zombie Apocalypse Siren, and hammering from 7.00am to 11.30pm, our neighbourhood has been peaceful. And yet I know so many people in New Zealand and around the globe who are really struggling. Strange times indeed. So what have I learned?

  1. Solitude is not the same as loneliness. Solitude is being alone and being OK with it. Loneliness is being alone when you don’t want to be. Being with my own thoughts, listening to the murmuring of sounds around me, letting my mind wander then gently bringing it back to focus is a pleasure, almost an indulgence. Having headspace to let what passes through my mind just pass by, without music or talking or anything interrupting my musing is a pleasure. Better still: being with someone who also appreciates being together in silence. I’ve learned to love solitude.
  2. Some kids will remember this time with gratitude. I’ve watched whole families walking together, making huts from driftwood, spotting the teddies in the windows, making low-tech memories of time being together. I have a fairy door (and a fairy) at my gate, and watching the little kids search for the fairy (who flies from tree to tree each day!) is such a joy. I’ve seen Mums and Dads out cycling with their kids then heading home to do the DIY together. What a treasure! I’ve learned (again) that families need time being families.
  3. Some things stay the same – especially if you live with pain. Even though my days have been peaceful, my pain has not. With changes to my routine, the weather, sleep, and world events playing on my mind, my life with fibromyalgia still needs managing. I’ve had aches in places I don’t usually have aches, and the things I do to live alongside my pain still need doing. For me these things are: making sure I carry on with mindfulness (I savour those moments when I can be with my thoughts but not part of them), go for my walk for headspace and body movement, keep my sleep/wake routine reasonably consistent, and eat normally (hah! there’s chocolate and alcohol and crisps. I may have slipped up a little there…). I’ve learned that pain management is really life management.
  4. Comparing myself with others is a waste of time. Yes, there are people out there learning new things, self-improving all over the place, doing their on-line socialising (and CPD), being creative and producing a lot. Good for them! I admire their achievements, and I’ve even contributed to a few of those online Zoom talks. Meanwhile, I thought I’d have been truly productive in the studio making loads of silver jewelry (those of you who don’t know – that’s my ‘hobby’ that seems to have taken over my photography, painting, sewing and everything else!). I’ve created a few pieces – but when I caught myself feeling pressured to come up with a “COVID19 Collection” I realised that this pressure wasn’t me. It was my mind being competitive and wanting to prove something to others. The need to belong can lead me to also want to be acknowledged as Something Special. Better than. As good as. Because, of course, underneath that is “I’m not good enough as I am”. So I decided to let that rope go. I don’t have to compete. There isn’t a prize for She Who Produces The Most because in the end, life is a process not a goal. I’ve learned (again) that comparisons are one way my mind beats up on me, and my mind doesn’t know everything.
  5. Resilient people are adaptable people. Resilience is a word many people in Christchurch, NZ, are well and truly over. Since 2010, and the 10,000 earthquakes since, plus the Port Hills fire, and the terror attack on Al Noor Mosque, people in Christchurch have been challenged more than many in our wee country. Resilience doesn’t mean we’re unchanged. Resilience means we change with circumstances and we develop new ways of being, ways of expressing who we are and what matters to us. I sometimes think people believe resilience means “Oh you’ve bounced back and life goes on as it was” but for me the events since 2010 have had a profound effect on my life. I can’t walk through my city without seeing earthquake-wrought changes. I see bumper stickers saying “they are us” and “kia kaha“. I walk past the memorial wall Oi Manawa when I head in to work. The new streetscapes, city buildings, ongoing roadworks and repairs – all part of the way my city has changed. That underground subversive element in Christchurch has touched so much of our lives. Resilient people have found ways to express who they are despite the enormous impact of events over the past 10 years. I’ve learned that holding on to what I value while finding new ways to express these has given me freedom and growth – but I’ve had to let go of the form, the habitual, the routines that used to frame them. It’s painful. It’s tiring. It’s real and raw and hard work.

How does all this fit into a blog about pain? If pain doesn’t challenge clinicians and people experiencing it, I’ve wasted the last 30-odd years of my clinical career, not to mention my hours of social media involvement!

Change, as a clinician, can be tough – letting go of the form of what we offer (because … science) while holding on to why we ever started working as clinicians requires flexibility.

And solitude – to reflect on what it is we really want. We do it for families, those closest to our hearts (our own families, and others), so people can be who they really are.

Comparing ourselves with others leads to a popularity contest, and the self-management approach to pain is most definitely not a popular meme. I am not part of the Instagram/Twitter/TikTok/whatever meme culture. I don’t do short, snappy sound bites. There are, as far as I can see, no short-cuts or quick fixes for learning to live well with pain. There are only connections between people who care, who are willing to be vulnerable, who will let go of some things in order to take on new things in the pursuit of what matters.

This is what I’ve learned from Lock-down.

When life is topsy turvy


I had intended to write about a piece of research today, but as I read all the news reports about how much life has changed and needs to change more, I’ve decided it’s time to address important issues facing health professionals working in pain management and rehabilitation.

In New Zealand the alert level is at 2 out of 4. I suspect this has been instituted to soften the shock later in the week when we’re asked to completely lock down. We are currently being asked to maintain physical distancing, older folks are asked to self isolate as much as possible, GPs and nurses are being asked to move to virtual consultations, and all of us who can are being asked to work from home.

What is not happening is guidance from the Occupational Therapy Board NZ, or the Physiotherapy Board NZ. Further: ACC has permitted psychology and medical consultations via video links, but not occupational therapy, physiotherapy or the group programme under the Community Pain Contracts.

I’ve watched my massage therapy colleagues in NZ close their businesses because it’s not possible to provide safe therapy in this environment. Video conferencing is, however, completely feasible for occupational therapy and physiotherapy – I’ve been offering services via video for some years now. But apparently we’re somehow not included in those privileged to provide video services? It seems out of step, and perhaps demonstrates how little those making policy actually understand about our work.

I intend to run my next group session (tomorrow) as my last, the 4th week of six. The remaining two sessions will be run by video link. I’ll be working from home except Wednesday morning when I’ll go into work to pick up some things. The University is still arguing that we can go into work – but I work in offices in the Hospital building. I have elderly parents. My partner is immune compromised. I don’t want to distribute bugs from my perambulations to my partner, my parents, or casual encounters in at the Hospital.

In preparation for working from home, I’m returning to strategies I used while working on my PhD. That means maintaining my daily routine – up and about and at the computer by 8.00am. Working steadily through the day, breaking the day up using Pomodoro technique (how many tomatoes can I smash?). I’ll finish the day at 4.30pm. I’ll make sure I have my 5 minute movement snacks, along with glasses of water (and coffee!).

My office is set up with the “Focus” setting so I don’t get interrupted by social media, email, or news notifications. I have good lighting, heating, and a comfy seat. This is my work space. Luckily I can keep it separate from where I relax! I have access to reference books and journals, and I can video conference from where I sit. As usual it’s a clutter, but that’s the way I like my environment!

I suppose what I’m saying is that life will go on, albeit differently. And that adjusting to it means allowing myself to work differently but maintaining some of the habits that keep me on-task and focused. Being disciplined allows me the freedom to work without distractions – oooh squirrel! And I can still stop and notice what is beautiful in my environment.

Kia kaha (stay strong), arohanui (much love), and remember this:

Naku te rourou nau te rourou ka ora ai te iwi

With your basket, and my basket, the people will live

Coronavirus (COVID19), catastrophising – and caution


I don’t often leap aboard a popular topic and blog about it, but I’m making an exception right now because, although COVID19 is new – catastrophising is not.

There are a number of people who really do not like the term “catastrophising”. There are comments that this is a pejorative term, used to deny the validity of a person’s experience. That it means the person is exaggerating or being melodramatic or in some way not believable.

But as I read the many, many headlines about COVID19, including the international toilet paper frenzy, reading about Vitamin C or “anti-inflammatory foods” to combat it, I even saw a serious post about using hands-on therapy to “shift the toxins”…. And I wonder whether we can take a good hard look at ourselves and our response to this virus.

Firstly, getting accurate information about COVID19 has been difficult. There are some authoritative sources “out there” but they’re not necessarily the most sexy sites to visit. Not many memes coming out of our Ministry of Health in New Zealand! Much of the information we read on a daily basis is in the general news media, giving a “personal story” slant on “what COVID19 means”. Some really good information coming from our politicians in NZ – but also some scaremongering from the political opposition.

Does this sound familiar? Where does the good, accurate and evidence-based information about persistent pain come from? And in the absence of readily accessible and “memeific” information, where do people go to learn about pain?

Secondly, it’s not the virus itself that’s causing the majority of trouble for people – except for the small percentage for whom the virus is deadly, mainly because of comorbidity, and health vulnerability. People who are older, already have immune compromise, and who are not able to access good healthcare are most at risk. The rest of us are experiencing the fallout of containment measures, economic insecurity, and lack of toilet paper. Sorry, couldn’t resist that last one. Seriously, most of us are being affected by the cancellation of meetings, by the need to self-isolate, by travel restrictions, by people having less money to spend because suddenly their jobs are less secure – watching my savings melt day by day…

Sounds quite similar to the experiences of people with persistent pain: often it’s not the pain itself that’s so awful, but the effects of losing contact with people you love, of having to take medications to reduce pain that leave you feeling dreadful, of not being able to play sports or do work – the loss of income security, access to healthcare, connection with people who matter. These are amongst the most debilitating aspects of living with persistent pain, let along the pain…

If you’ve found it hard to think of anything else but COVID19. If you’ve had trouble taking your mind off how you’re going to get by if patients can’t come to see you because they’re worried about giving you COVID19, or of catching it from you – that’s rumination, or brooding on it.

If you’ve caught yourself heading to the supermarket to get some extra pantry staples “just in case”. If you’ve found yourself checking in to see what your local health authorities are recommending. If you’ve been wondering if you should shut your business down for a while – and then been wondering what you’re going to do for a income if you do that. If you’ve looked up your bank balance and wondered what you’re going to do if your kids are off school for the next month, while you’re meant to be at work and there’s no-one to look after them…. you’re magnifying, or estimating that the demands of this situation might well exceed your current resources to deal with it.

If it all feels a bit overwhelming and you’re not really sure what to do next. If you’re feeling pretty stuck and getting a bit panicky. If this feels just way too much to handle – that’s hopelessness, or feeling really overloaded.

And each of these three clusters of cognitions, emotions and behaviours are part of the catastrophising construct.

Do they feel normal to you? Do you think you’re exaggerating? Do you think your reaction is over the top? No? Well you’d be (generally) quite right (except maybe the toilet paper hoarding… that’s just weird). Thinking the worst is normal in the face of uncertainty. Some commentators and researchers believe it’s one way we learn to convey our need for social support (Bailey, McWilliams & Dick, 2012; Lackner & Gurtman, 2004; Thorn, Keefe & Anderson, 2004).

At the same time, I want to take a pragmatic and contextual look at catastrophising.

From a pragmatic perspective, right now it’s completely appropriate to be a bit discombobulated by COVID19. And many of us have a lot of things to consider over the next few days/weeks as the situation changes on a daily and even hourly basis. The things we’re doing right now to plan for the worst are largely useful. That’s the point of being able to catastrophise – in the right context, in a rapidly evolving health and economic crisis, being able to consider the various futures and put plans in place to deal with them is probably a good thing. That’s the action part of the catastrophising construct.

The difficulty NOT checking your news media feed, and feeling a bit overwhelmed by it all seems to be a fairly reasonable response to an unreasonable situation. Logic, right?

So, from a pragmatic perspective right now, in the face of uncertainty, most of us are doing exactly what has got humans out of trouble many times in our history.

Now, what if we shift the context to 24 months in the future. COVID19 has now been largely contained, a vaccine is available, the virus hasn’t evolved, and while the economy is slowed, it is gradually picking up. What if, at that time, we have a friend who is still nervously scanning the headlines for the latest information on the virus? What if that friend is still stockpiling pasta and toilet paper and hand cleanser? What if that friend is still feeling like there’s not much they can do except hunker down and hide?

Now, my guess is that many of us would think this is being a bit extreme. Maybe even a bit OTT. Especially given that there’s likely to have been a LOT of media coverage of the COVID19 vaccine, and most economic activity will be returning. We might begin suggesting (gently) to the person doing the stockpiling that maybe it’s not necessary to keep on doing so. We’d think it’s a good idea to give them the new information about COVID19. We’d probably suggest that although they’re freaking out, maybe it’s time to reconsider the threat.

Context matters – catastrophising can be useful right now. In 24 months: not so much. New information will likely help us take a more realistic look at what’s going on with COVID19. It’s not that individual people won’t be personally affected if they get sick, but probably the crisis that’s happening right now will be over.

What about the validity of the person’s emotional response to their feared situation? Would we be dismissive? I hope not – because anyone who is still freaking out about COVID19 in 24 months time is still in distress! But we might be more willing to share the good news about recovery with them, so they don’t continue feeling overwhelmed and distressed. We’d not be likely to let them carry on thinking the worst, and we certainly wouldn’t be telling them their response is perfectly valid and appropriate for the threat.

What of the person experiencing pain and thinking the worst, feeling pretty awful and hopeless? Would we support them to stay in that highly distressed state? Would we say “there, there, you’re really feeling bad, aren’t you, here’s a tissue” – and walk away? Would we hesitate to suggest that perhaps they’re magnifying the problem and that they might have some other options?
Think about it. Catastrophising is a well-validated and studied construct. Hundreds of studies have shown that catastrophising is associated with poorer outcomes in so many situations – childbirth, knee replacements, hip replacements, multi-trauma orthopaedics, discomfort during internal atrial cardioversion, length of hospital stay after knee replacement, use of medications – on and on and on.

Catastrophising gets a bad rap. And woe betide anyone who TELLS someone “you’re catastrophising” because you seriously deserve a slap. Sheesh! But take a moment to consider the adverse impact on the person of thinking the worst… sleepless nights, endlessly checking their body, feeling overwhelmed and overloaded, having trouble thinking of anything else, perhaps anxious and depressed… this is not a recipe for recovery.

Call it what you will – over-estimating the threat of something, and under-estimating your resources can act as a galvaniser for preparation and action in the short term and in the context of uncertainty. When there are ways to move forward, and the threat is maybe not so great as you thought, and maybe you can do something to help yourself – then it’s probably time for us to show strong compassion. That’s compassion that cares enough to have difficult conversations, that helps another person consider their response in light of new information, and is willing to be there to help the person re-evaluate their next best steps.

Keep safe. Keep your social distance. Wash your hands. Don’t go out if you’re sick. Be sensible with the toilet paper.

Bailey, S. J., McWilliams, L. A., & Dick, B. D. (2012). Expanding the social communication model of pain: are adult attachment characteristics associated with observers’ pain-related evaluations? Rehabil Psychol, 57(1), 27-34. doi: 10.1037/a0026237

Lackner, Jeffrey M., & Gurtman, Michael B. (2004). Pain catastrophizing and interpersonal problems: a circumplex analysis of the communal coping model. Pain, 110(3), 597-604. doi: 10.1016/j.pain.2004.04.011

Thorn, Beverly E., Keefe, Francis J., & Anderson, Timothy. (2004). The communal coping model and interpersonal context: Problems or process? Pain, 110(3), 505-507.