Mid-Week Reading: Shared Experiences and Health Social Networking

It’s that time again! The March Pain-Blog Carnival is now posted at How to Cope with Pain, featuring the month’s best posts about living with chronic pain. New bloggers are always welcome to contribute.

Speaking of sharing insights and experience, I’m sure you’ve come across this New York Times Magazine article called “Practicing Patients.” It discusses PatientsLikeMe, a web community which “seeks to go a mile deeper than health-information sites like WebMD or online support groups like Daily Strength. The members of PatientsLikeMe don’t just share their experiences anecdotally; they quantify them, breaking down their symptoms and treatments into hard data. They note what hurts, where and for how long. They list their drugs and dosages and score how well they alleviate their symptoms. All this gets compiled over time, aggregated and crunched into tidy bar graphs and progress curves by the software behind the site. And it’s all open for comparison and analysis. By telling so much, the members of PatientsLikeMe are creating a rich database of disease treatment and patient experience.”

For patients with diseases like Parkinson’s, MS and AIDS, real-time discussion and analysis of treatment methods, dosages, and relatives success can provide invaluable—and hard to find—information.

This has been a big week in the health social networking world—Healia.com, the health search engine I’ve written about before in conjunction with social networking, just announced the launch of Healia Communities. The site is “a free online health community that enables people to get personal support for their health decisions from peers and experienced health professionals … Healia Communities allows people to share their health knowledge, experiences and favorite resources; provide personal support and connect with people sharing the same health concerns; and get answers to their questions from health experts,” according to the press release.

More than 200 health communities exist right now, and a feature that distinguishes the site from other patient disease sites and groups that connect patients with each other is the additional access to health professionals who can also help answer questions.

What dedicated blog carnivals and online communities like the two mentioned above point to is the ever-increasing influence of technology over the patient experience, a vital exchange of experience and practice with the potential to do much to improve how we manage disease. Check them out and see if they are the right fit for your needs.

Autobiography of a Face (and November Carnival Ready)

Before I get into anything else, let me make the following premise: In no way am I comparing a measly two weeks with a swollen jaw and a liquid/pureed diet to a potentially terminal cancer, removal of one-third of the jaw, and a lifetime of pain and reconstructive surgery.

That story belongs to the late acclaimed poet and writer Lucy Grealy, and it is found in her remarkably candid memoir, Autobiography of a Face. I first read this for a nonfiction book workshop in my MFA program and of all the books I read for the course, this is one of the ones I could never forget.

Grealy writes about truth, sickness, suffering, beauty, perfection, and loneliness. The facial disfigurement she experienced after her tumor was removed and the endless rounds of hospitalizations, surgeries, and unmet expectations that followed are not rendered in strokes of sentimentality or self-pity. As a narrator, Grealy is at once irascible and inspiring, frustrating and courageous, determined yet jaded. She doesn’t hide her flaws, both the physical as well as the emotional.

I’ll be honest, some aspects of the book irritated me—why, for example, does her twin sister only come up once or twice in the whole story?—but even beyond the dramatic events and the soul-churning upheavals, the writing itself is beautiful and lyrical.

I was reminded of this book at several points during the last few weeks. For Lucy, opening her mouth wide was an excruciating ordeal, one made even more awful given how much dental and reconstructive work she needed. Eating was a daily exercise in futility; not only was it hard to open her mouth, but she lost many teeth to her various surgeries and complications. These things paled in comparison with the taunts of her schoolmates and the devastating impact looking different had on her psyche, but they had an impact nonetheless. Simple things like swallowing, chewing, laughing or yawning should not have to be conscious things.

Again, clearly two weeks of chicken broth and liquid food does not give me any rights to claim kinship or understanding. I know that. But if nothing else, recent events have rekindled my respect for a writer who died too young, whose words contain grace and eloquence even when they are baring unflattering truths, and whose perception is unsettling:

“I used to think truth was eternal, that once I knew, once I saw, it would be with me forever, a constant by which everything else could be measured. I know now that this isn’t so, that most truths are inherently unretainable, that we have to work hard all our lives to remember the most basic things. Society is no help. It tells us again and again that we can most be ourselves by acting and looking like someone else, only to leave our original faces behind to turn into ghosts that will inevitably resent and haunt us…It suddenly occurred to me that it is no mistake when sometimes in films and literature the dead know they are dead only after being offered that most irrefutable proof: they can no longer see themselves in the mirror,” (222).

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Since we’re on the subject of pain (excuse the transparent segue here), How to Cope with Pain is now offering a monthly Pain-Blog Carnival during the last week of every month, to include each month’s best posts. New bloggers are always welcome to contribute. Check out November’s edition here. You may just recognize someone here and there…

Anatomy Lesson

Various things I’ve learned recently:

That if someone cannot walk two steps on their toes or heels without trembling or falling, something is seriously wrong with their back. (Seriously.)

That if someone’s spine is crooked, fluid-filled, and riddled with bone spurs and if their disks have slid far enough in the wrong places, the pain can radiate not only down their legs and into their feet, but it can also inch up towards their head. (It’s equal opportunity!)

That when crawling seems like a reasonable option, probably that person’s quality of life could improve. (A modest request, really.)

That it is possible for the body to have learned to tolerate far too much pain for far too long. (And the rest of us are wimps, no matter what we’d like to believe.)

That even if someone takes the right medications, does the right exercises, and makes many accommodations, the body is a sneaky, shifty thing that does not bend to mere wishes. (And MRIs do not lie.)

That when doctors talk about removing parts of someone’s vertebrae and fusing other parts of the spine together, they intend to do so with pieces of that person’s own bone. (Because at first we thought it could be some random person’s bone, and that seemed sort of gross.)

That even though someone can look so small and vulnerable on the exam table and their shoulders might even quiver a bit, their eyes can still be fierce with a strength few people possess. (I mean fierce.)

That watching someone you love in excruciating pain makes you feel incredibly frustrated and completely helpless. (But then you compare your discomfort with their pain, and you realize it isn’t about you.)

Later as you stretch, or when you bend down to pick something up, or walk from the bus on your own two feet, and you don’t feel a tingle, not at ounce of searing pain you know exists for someone else, you cannot help but think, I am lucky.