Spoon Theory and Cerebral Palsy Time

You know how there are dog years and human years? A thirteen-year-old dog is old, but a thirteen-year-old human is not. 

There is also cerebral palsy time. Generally speaking, people with physical disabilities use more energy than their able-bodied peers to do the same tasks. I don’t know for certain how much more energy I use to walk a mile than a nondisabled person. But I’m pretty sure it’s a significant amount. My fitbit says my heart rate is 90 or more, while my husband’s is in the neighborhood of 70.

Spoon Theory was originally coined by Christine Miserandino when she was trying to explain to a friend what it feels like to live with lupus. It’s meant to help someone understand invisible disabilities, or conditions that are disabling but are not immediately visible. It has since been applied to disabilities in general, and some even embrace the term “Spoonie.” I do not, because I do not need any cutesyfication of my life.

Spoon Theory goes something like this. Everyone starts out the day with a certain number of spoons. Various tasks use up various numbers of spoons. When you’re out of spoons for the day, you are done. Let’s say I have twelve spoons. For me, taking a shower uses up two spoons, getting dressed one, putting on shoes, one. Getting to work could be one or two or three, depending on whether I walk or bus and whether I have a seat on the bus or stand. So let’s say I’ve used up six spoons and it’s only 8:30 in the morning. Time to start my day. Able-bodied people maybe use–one or two? So, I don’t shower in the mornings. I conserve those spoons for the work day and shower later. Cooking takes spoons. Standing, chopping, getting chopped food into pot without spilling. Going back and forth for ingredients and utensils. Emptying the dishwasher, as I’ve described before, takes spoons. Laundry. Spoons. If you sleep well, you can replenish your spoons. If you don’t, you may start out the next day with fewer spoons. Chronic pain affects sleep, etc. etc. Some days might be better than others and you seem to use fewer spoons on the same tasks. 

Story time: I stayed with my sister for a week and did the cooking. We picked out some tasty new recipes that were more complex than my usual beans-and-rice fare. Her kitchen is way bigger than mine and I didn’t know where anything was. Sure, new recipe, bigger kitchen, and new layout will take some getting used to. But wait, the stove is in the corner, with no countertops next to it. It’s one of those cool antique gas ones, and I literally cannot touch its surface safely once the burner is going. So I’m supposed to bring a dish of mixed ingredients/liquids over to a bubbling pot and pour it in. Remember, I have trouble stopping my body’s forward motion. Enough with the excruciating minutiae. The meal took many spoons.

Sometimes I feel like I should/could be doing more. I work 23 hours a week (well, I did when school and tutoring were held in person). I know that all of you who work full time and more can hardly imagine the luxury of working part time. So much time to fill with all the things you actually want to be doing! 

But really, when I make it through the day, even if that day ends at “only” 2pm, I feel done. Twenty-three hours in CP time has to be close to forty in able-bodied time. 

Most nights, I call from the bedroom to my husband in the living room, “Did I make it?”

And he’ll respond, “9:02.”

“Yes! Good night.”

Sometimes, it will only be 8:43, and I’ll have to make myself stay awake for seventeen more minutes. 

Functioning takes energy. Fatigue is real. Pain is real. Working part-time is okay. A person’s value is not measured by how many paid hours are in their day. That’s a hard one, American people, but it’s true. 

Not all disabilities are immediately apparent like mine. I’ve had to grow and learn and discover that there are many, many conditions out there that are disabling. What’s more, chronic conditions are loads of unpredictable fun. People can feel okay to walk one day, and need assistive equipment another.

If someone uses disabled seating, or restrooms, or parking–believe them. Remember that you do not know this person or what they live with or what it feels like to inhabit that body and that brain. Let’s all try to be kinder, more empathetic. Let’s all try to imagine others complexly.

Cerebral Palsy and Pain Management: What I’ve Tried

For the various muscle tensions and pain that come with my cerebral palsy, here’s what I’ve tried and my experiences with them.

Moist heat/cold packs: These feel nice in the moment, but offer no lasting effects. Nonetheless, I have a heating pad plugged in next to my bed at all times, and various herb/grain packs in the freezer that I use both heated and chilled. Mostly, they are comforting and make me feel like I’m doing something to take care of myself even though I know it doesn’t really help.

Muscle rubs/sprays: Various brands, most of which give a cooling sensation. Again, they don’t do much. Every once in a while, I think I can feel my neck let go slightly, for a moment. I have also used them in combination with other methods.

Various OTC pain relievers: Don’t you love it when doctors ask, “Have you tried ibuprofen?” Why, yes. Yes I have. “Did it help?” No. No it did not. If it had, I would not have felt compelled to make an appointment and get myself to this office and talk to a doctor for fifteen minutes. The truth is, I’ve never been able to tell if NSAIDs do anything. They might do a little, sometimes? For me to really know, I’d have to do the exact same scenario two ways, one medicated and one not, and directly compare them. But the time space-continuum doesn’t allow for that. Is it really true that people can take ibuprofen and actually feel better? 

Voltaren: prescription topical gel (designed for arthritis) on my knees. Nada.

Flexeril (cyclobenzaprine): This is a muscle relaxant I was prescribed for my neck, only meant to be taken for two to three weeks. I was uncomfortable with the idea of being on prescription drugs. Because it can cause drowsiness, my doctor told me to take it before bed. I did that once or twice and felt no different in the morning, so I put them in the back of the medicine cabinet. Months later, when I was having a rough neck-pain day, I decided to take one. I promptly spilled the remaining pills into the (wet and not particularly clean) bathroom sink, and that was the end of that experiment. 

Physical Therapy (childhood and adult): I had PT as a young child, and again for rehabilitation after surgery. Since my CP gives me muscles that are both tight and weak, PT focuses on stretching and strengthening, especially my hips (and hamstrings and adductors and etc.). As an adult, I’ve been referred for my SI joint, knees, and neck. None of my pain has been an acute onset as a result of injury. My pain just happens. All the issues I’ve ever gone to physical therapy for are still there. That would lead me to the conclusion that physical therapy does not work. But it’s not that simple. A physical therapist’s job is to set you up with a program you do at home, supposedly multiple times a day (ha!). Sometimes I do the program consistently for a stretch of time, and sometimes I don’t. Most often, I get home and try to replicate what we did and find that I’m straining something else in the process. Then I go back the next time and adapt it, etc. If a therapist could visit my home every morning and evening, maybe there’d be progress…? Even when I do succeed, like in stretching and strengthening my traps, that has not resulted in any noticeable decrease in my overall neck pain. While that’s extremely disheartening, I can also say that PT is probably not making anything worse overall, so I might as well keep trying it. At least I feel like I have someone who is trying to help me. And it’s my cheapest in-person option.

Ultrasound: I’ve had ultrasound done on my neck and shoulders a couple times as part of a PT session. It is meant to give a deep heat to the muscles and increase circulation. It was lovely to lie on my stomach, with the headrest set at just the right angle, and have some prewarmed goo gently massaged into my neck. Sure, the deep heat was relaxing. Maybe if it were for an hour instead of ten minutes, and I could fall immediately to sleep afterward? No lasting effects.

Pilates: I attended private pilates sessions for a number of years, even going twice a week at times. Did it help? I couldn’t tell you. I do know that I enjoyed having one-on-one time with an extremely knowledgeable and empathetic professional in a nonmedical setting. I can tell you that I became ever so slightly stronger and more flexible. But it was also during these years that the knee pain and neck pain appeared. I’m not blaming the pilates at all, just pointing out that it’s hard to measure improvement on the pain scale when new issues present themselves. I enjoyed being able to lie down while another person grabbed all the pillows and props I needed to be supported just so. I enjoyed being able to focus on a particular movement or muscle group. I enjoyed trying to apply various verbal cues to my body (“Imagine your pelvis is full of sand…”) and being cheered on: “Yesss! Yesyesyes!” As though, sometimes, I was able to do something well.

Massage: I’ve had several massages. I really enjoy the massage while it’s happening. I like that attention is paid to the palm of my hand and to my eyebrows, to muscles large and small. I like the quiet and the dark. However, I lament the whole process. Taking off my shoes and clothes, climbing onto the table, getting settled under the sheet. Having to turn from my front to my back in the middle of the session, on something raised high off the floor and narrower than a bed. And then, when I’m nicely relaxed, having to climb down off the table, put on my clothes and shoes, walk to the bus stop, stand and wait, climb into the bus, and get seated. Is any of the relaxation left by then? Not really. 

Acupuncture: I only did four sessions of acupuncture. During the first one, I found it so stressful that I was supposed to stay still with needles in me that I could not relax. In fact, I think the effort it took not to move made my muscles tighten more. The next session I did better at deep breathing and tried to relax. But I felt no difference. Repeat the whole process with clothes and table and bus from above. After two more tries, that was enough.  

Feldenkrais / Anat Baniel Method: I heard about Feldenkrais from another person with CP who was enthusiastic about its benefits. It’s about movement, biomechanics, neuroplasticity. I gave it a good try–ten sessions. The woman I worked with had never had a client with CP before. I lay on a table and she moved my body and/or I followed her instructions. I felt heavier/more relaxed into the table when we were finished, but it never lasted. If it were actually affordable, it’s something I wouldn’t be against continuing. I think mindful movement can only be a good thing. Anat Baniel is a holistic “neuromovement” method that branched off from Feldenkrais, and I did one session. Intriguing. Expensive.

Feldenkrais

Anat Baniel Method

TENS unit: I have only tried this one time. I didn’t feel comfortable using it on my neck, even though that is currently where I want relief the most. I did not like putting the sticky pads on my neck, nor the pulsing vibrations, so it did not get a fair trial. I did not feel any benefits during or after the one time I tried it.

Supplements: Curcumin with black pepper, magnesium taurate. Curcumin, from turmeric, is an anti-inflammatory and black pepper aids in absorption. Took one bottle faithfully. No difference. Magnesium is supposed to help muscle cramps. Took one (or two?) bottles faithfully. Some people with CP take supplements and do seem to notice a difference. I did not. 

Weighted Blanket: Weighted blankets have become a much-beloved item for people on the autism spectrum, and for those with anxiety. And really anyone. They are calming and comforting and help people relax and sleep better. I’ve tried two, after much searching for blankets that are not polyester and do not contain plastic beads. I faced a conundrum when choosing the weight of the blanket (based on my size and weight). Would I need a heavier one because my muscles are extra tight? Or would I need a lighter one because my muscles are weak? For me, going lighter than the recommended weight would have been better because it’s already hard enough to change positions while sleeping. With added weight, it’s a true struggle. As far as results, I get too hot while sleeping to appreciate the blanket for most of the year. When I’ve tried it, I haven’t felt more relaxed or slept better. I do enjoy it for sitting and reading or watching a movie, after the work of getting situated under something heavy–but only in winter.

CBD oil: I tried one liquid from Green Mountain (hemp), and I couldn’t tell any difference. When a new dispensary opened downtown, I went in and tried their recommendation (they rolled their eyes at Green Mountain). It was Papa and Barkley capsules. Honestly, I don’t remember if it had a bit of THC with it or not. No noticeable difference. Then I tried Charlotte’s Web, the fancy famous one helping people with seizures, pain, and all sorts of conditions. You’re supposed to take it twice a day regularly, not just as needed. So I did. No noticeable difference.

CBD lotion: No difference.

Cannabis: THC reacts on the body’s cannabinoid receptors which produces an anti-inflammatory effect. The only incarnation of cannabis I’ve tried so far is cannabis-infused dark chocolate, which contained 10mg of THC. Although I cannot say I was completely comfortable with the effects on my mental state, physically it was quite something. My limbs felt heavy and relaxed and I don’t think I felt pain. I wasn’t aware of my SI joint anymore. I carefully put myself into a hip/adductor stretch, and my knee just kept going outward (stretching more than it ever does). I could turn my head from side to side without pain and it just kept going. My thoughts went thus, “I feel a lack of spasticity. Is this what people without spasticity feel like all the time? Everyone with spasticity should be able to feel this.” One second I felt totally out of it: “Ugh, I don’t want to do this again,” and the next moment: “This is amazing. I’m so glad I have the ability to do this again.” I lay down and my husband used our electric muscle massager on my legs. I was awed by the result. My muscles were so deeply relaxed they felt heavy/not quite there. Almost like a layer of separation between me and my body. My muscles felt like they were melting at the touch of the massager. I didn’t feel a single involuntary tensing of the muscles; it’s like they were incapable of tensing. My eyeballs felt relaxed. My brain felt relaxed. “Is this what people without anxiety feel like? Or just high people?” My body weight felt like it was so deep into the bed. Like nothing was being held back in tension. Nothing was tense–all was given over. That feeling lasted a couple hours before I started to come out of it. It’s like I could feel my right hip rematerializing inside my body. I felt woozy. Sleep wasn’t magically good, but I felt more relaxed the next day than is usual, and when I stretched I could feel my muscles actually let go. It even lasted a couple days. This may have been psychological in part–the knowledge that something finally did affect me, the knowledge that relaxation is possible. It lightened my mental/emotional load. I was interested to keep trying cannabis, to see if I could have some of the physical effects without the mental ones (this is supposedly what CBD can do).

I tried a half dose. It didn’t really work. I felt a bit out of it and woozy, without the positive part. I tried taking it right before I went to bed, so that I could sleep through being high but still get the relaxation. Didn’t really work. When I took a full dose again on a bad pain day, it didn’t have the same effect either. Some pain relief without the full-body letting go feeling, but with effects I didn’t really like. I’ve tried taking nibbles of the chocolate over a longer period to simulate something more like smoking. And I’ve never again had the experience of the first time. I don’t particularly enjoy the high nor the wooziness I feel coming off of it, so it remains an enigma that I’m not fully comfortable with.

Meditation: I don’t know where my incorrect idea of meditation came from. I always had this idea that you were supposed to sit there and clear your mind. Not think about anything. Well, I knew I couldn’t do that, so I never gave meditation serious thought. I did always enjoy the Final Relaxation Pose (savasana) at the end of my Yoga for the Rest of Us DVD. The guided body scan from head to toe, a gentle voice telling me to imagine soothing comfort flowing to each muscle group. Was I in less pain? No. Was it nice? Yeah. I’ve continued to try other guided meditations, both body scans and guided imagery. I’ve learned that no one expects you to maintain a blank mind. Your mind will wander and come back. That’s okay. That’s expected. Mindfulness is about being in the moment without judgment. The great thing about guided meditation is that someone is there telling you what to think about; your mind isn’t blank, but focused instead. 

One meditation I found on youtube talks about the intention of kindness and compassion toward your body and yourself, wherever you are. “And it’s okay if you don’t feel it. We’re just practicing.” You see, we’re just practicing. I can do that. Another one I love has a guy who says my body will relax in its own time, and in its own way. More than once, I’ve just started to cry. And once or twice, I’ve felt it. A little bit of floating. It’s actually a little alarming, except that I know everything is okay. I can sit here, now, and relax one side of my face and then the other. My eye socket, my jaw. I can feel my cheek droop. I didn’t know how to do that before. If I could apply that ability to my trapezius in any kind of lasting way, my quality of life would be much improved. I have not achieved a daily meditation practice yet, but it really seems to be my best option. It’s free. I can do it lying on my bed. And it takes as little or as much time as I want, whenever I want.

Note: I have looked into, but have not tried, both Botox and Baclofen. Both of these are commonly used by children and adults with CP, though I think more in the moderate to profound range. They don’t seem like a good fit for me right now.

Further Note: Most of these one-on-one sessions with any kind of practitioner are not covered by insurance and the cost would be prohibitive for the vast majority of Americans. If cost were not an issue and I could be teleported with no effort, I would have daily pilates and massage sessions.

Counting Down (Again): Cerebral Palsy and ExoSyms

We are in week…ten?…of state/county sheltering in place because of COVID-19. My March 30th trip to the Hanger Clinic was postponed. I can now say (again) that next month I get my ExoSyms. I am excited and nervous, exhausted and frustrated.

Remember back in December when I finally started making myself use trekking poles so that I could be used to them when I got my ExoSyms? It turned out I really liked using them, and I was walking more and feeling really good about it.

Middle of March comes around, and I realize that my right thumb and wrist are really bothered. The soreness even travels up my forearm. I had injured my hand last September/October by repeatedly lifting a heavy bin off a shelf one-handed, thumb stretched up over the lip of the bin. When I recognized this was causing a problem, I rearranged things and figured out how to use two hands without tipping myself out of my chair. But the pain lingered and showed itself in daily life. I had trouble opening jars. I love opening jars. I’m good at opening jars. It makes me feel strong and capable. Not being able to do it is scary because it’s tangible evidence that there’s really a problem.

So, I was used to my thumb hurting when I did something strenuous, but now it was hurting when I did nothing. And…my left hand hurt too. The backs of my hands ached as I fell asleep and the inside of my wrists hurt when I woke up in the morning. It had to be the poles. My unaligned posture and muscle weakness must be causing me to put extra strain on my hands and arms as I grip the poles, try as I might to use a light touch. 

With sadness, I put the poles away to give my hands a rest. I used ice and heat and muscle rub and NSAIDs. I even bought a wrist brace with thumb support, knowing that it wouldn’t “fix” things, but that it would help me really go easy on my right hand. I knew I had to use the brace consistently for 4-6 weeks to expect any changes. It did seem to help with the pain sometimes. 

I’m going to be honest. I left off writing the post at this juncture three weeks ago. I didn’t feel like recording the minutiae of my body and its pain anymore. But here we are, and it’s almost June so I’d better just acknowledge how things stand and be done with it.

I’ll say this: don’t google “burning forearms.” Doing so will make you worry that you might have MS. I don’t think I actually have MS, but I do probably have tendonitis in both arms. I have not made a video chat appointment with my doctor, and by now I could probably make an in-person one. I just kept waiting and hoping it would get better. Instead, both arms hurt about the same now, rather than the right being worse. And the pain has traveled up the forearms into the biceps and armpit. So, you know, I used to think I had rough days, and now I don’t have a single limb that I can trust to function properly and not hurt. It’s a lot to take mentally and emotionally. Pain is draining. New pain draining and unsettling. My nose feels good. My chin too.

I don’t know how the tendonitis will affect my use of trekking poles and learning to walk with ExoSyms. I don’t know how using trekking poles will affect my efforts to heal the tendonitis.

I would like this particular journey not to have been affected by first, a pandemic, and second, new and heretofore unknowable physical ailments. I would have liked to be able to go into my week at the Hanger Clinic energized, excited, in good shape, and in as little pain as is reasonably possible.

Instead, I am here. Tired, out of it, unfocused, sad. My eyeballs want to fall into my skull. 

So, I am adjusting my hopes for the whole experience. The important thing now, I tell myself, is just to get the braces and get the training. We will work on all the rest as we can.