‘RSI’ Archive

8 Octobris 2004

Lemonade

The Damany/Bellis book recommends warming up one’s hands before a typing session with a good long rub with hand cream.

So since I’ve been so dutiful about doing my exercises and watching my behavior and all that stuff (and I really have done my duty), I went and bought myself a super-expensive tub of cocoa hand cream from the local chichi body-stuff place.

Because everyone’s hands should smell like chocolate. Really. When life hands you lemons…

Confirmed the no-weightbearing-flexed-elbow thing on my way home from the hardware store with ten pounds of birdseed clutched in my left arm. Ow. Won’t be doing that again until Ms. Granite Hands and I get the elbow sorted out. I don’t actually think it’s the nerve; maybe (she said grudgingly) the doctor was onto something with that tennis-elbow diagnosis.

5 Octobris 2004

Okay, you win

My copy of Damany and Bellis, It’s Not Carpal Tunnel Syndrome came in yesterday. Recommended without hesitation. It’s friendlier than the Pascarelli books, I think, because it’s from a physical therapist rather than a doctor. More clinical information in Pascarelli; more information about symptoms, signs, and sensations in this book. And lots more exercises.

I could do without some of the rah-rah-Suparna! stuff, myself, but don’t let that stop anyone. If you have an RSI or think you do, this is a fine, fine book. Damany and Bellis have a website; it’s cluttered and needs better information architecture, but it’ll give you an idea what they’re about.

Flipping through the book on the bus this morning, I found that they divide recovery into three phases. The description of the second “ups and downs” phase had me grinning outright:

In this phase you’ll notice distinct peaks and valleys in your reaction to the treatment where sometimes you’ll feel fine, and at other times your symptoms may be just as bad as they were before. This is especially frustrating because you’re so tempted by the episodes of improvement.

Pegged. So pegged. Score one for Damany and Bellis.

I’m going to try to kick the splint again. It’s been helpful the last few days, but I think it needs to go away soon. And I’m going to quit worrying about aches and pains so much; they don’t mean a relapse. Hey, I can rest my left forearm on things again without wincing. Life is good.

4 Octobris 2004

I think I got it

After six hours at work being careful about where I put my hands, my elbow doesn’t hurt any more than it did this morning.

Score one for self-diagnosis. Tomorrow I’ll try it without the wrist brace.

I can feel my shoulders’ unwillingness to, er, shoulder the appropriate load, though. Eh, well, that’s what the exercises are all about.

1 Octobris 2004

Breaking habits

Breaking movement habits is truly astoundingly difficult.

I’ve got the new posture thing down cold. My own mother wouldn’t have a cross word to say about my posture now, seated or standing.

But keeping my left elbow at a 90-degree angle or greater is slowly driving me mad. I have this habit of bringing my left arm to “rest” with the knuckles of my left hand pressing against the keyboard shelf (or my desk, at work; same diff). That, or just cradling the whole forearm against my stomach. Both of these are clearly bad ideas, though I think the hand-against-desk one is worse because it jams up the works.

Darned if I can make myself stop doing it, though. Best I’m managing right now is catching it quickly and giving myself a stern lecture.

The other habit I am trying to break is yanking my keyboard toward me. Need to let it sit further away. This is hard. I think I have that habit because it let me rest my forearms against my body; now they’ve got to carry their own weight while I type, and they’re not happy about it. They’re not unhappy in the sense of getting painful, fortunately; the wrist and fingers are actually doing very well. But they do get tired, despite the daily (twice daily, except when I forget) exercises I am grimly putting them through.

Hm. Maybe putting a speed bump of some sort on my desk would help. Tape down a small dowel, or something. Past Here Keyboarde Passeth Not.

This just better be what was causing the elbow to act up, is all I have to say. If all this retraining is for naught, I shall be eminently displeased.

29 Septembris 2004

More on malingering

I got an email in re: my RSI-malingering post that was so good I have to reproduce it (without permission, so I’ll only attribute it if its author asks me to):

There is another powerful counterargument to those who would have us believe that RSI is psychosomatic. A large class of RSI sufferers received their injuries, not performing unpleasant, mindless, repetitive chores under a soulless organizational taskmaster, but doing something soul-satisfying, fulfilling, ennobling: playing music.

My coworker, who uses accommodative technology that puts your sculpted keyboard to shame, keeps his now-totally-unused violins here at the office, because we have better climate control. I’ve learned not to comment on them because the mere mention nearly brings him to tears. He hangs onto them, I suppose, out of a forlorn hope that one day his hands will improve to the point where he might take them out for a little spin once in a while.

To call a disease that forcibly tears one away from a beloved talent and passion “malingering” is just out of bounds. If we were to investigate the sources of funding for the RSI skeptics, I am willing to put down a small wager that we would discover them to be in the pockets of industrialists interested in reducing compensation and OSHA-mandated expenses.

I have three recorders, modest boxwood soprano and alto and a Yamaha plastic tenor, that I haven’t played in years. I could have kept up with the soprano longer than I did, but I much prefer the timbre of alto and tenor.

I haven’t felt nearly so much loss as my correspondent’s coworker. For one thing, I was simply never all that good, and for another, I can still sing. Even so. I’ve thought, glancingly, of picking them back up again. I’m afraid to. I know I’d be out of practice; that’s only right.

But with my hold on my own recovery so tenuous, I don’t want to rediscover that I can only play the tenor for ten or fifteen minutes before my left hand hurts so badly I have to put it down. I do not want to know that.

Hey, though. No dissin’ the Kinesis, hear?

Teaching an old hand new tricks

I thought we’d gotten the supination-pronation problem on elbow extension fixed in therapy today, but here it is acting up again mere hours later. Well, now I know; the problem is related to prolonged elbow flexion. We’ll get it next time, and in the meantime I’m going to move my keyboard away from me a bit and see if that helps.

(I may have to give in and wrap my elbow at night to keep from bending it while sleeping. You may ask how I’m actually going to manage to sleep that way. I’ll tell you: I don’t know.)

Quite a bit of work on the wrist and hand today. Neither wrist nor hand is quite sure what to make of it, really, but I do think my thumb is moving in ways it wasn’t able to before. This exchange amused me rather:

Therapist (muttering while working on base of thumb): Haven’t got the right angle… let’s try it this way…

Me: Owww.

Therapist: Found it.

Pain is a signal. A signal. And I’ve never treated it that way. Past time I started.

If we can lick this stubborn elbow thing, though, I’ll be just about ready to call this a fresh start.

28 Septembris 2004

Making it up?

There’s a considerable swath of RSI literature that attempts to establish that no form of RSI is an identifiable physical disorder. (I phrased that very carefully, but I may still have gotten it slightly wrong; don’t think so, though.) To put it rather baldly, people like me are imagining things.

See, for example, this review of an RSI-is-psychosomatic book. (Lucire is a biggish name in that camp, I believe.) The argument goes something like this: RSI symptoms are all over the map; they aren’t easily treatable but are sometimes amenable to placebo effects and job-changing; diagnoses skyrocketed when carpal tunnel syndrome hit the media; diagnosis can lead to paid time off work; and reported cases correlate well with oppressive work environments. Ergo, what’s going on is psychological worker misery or plain old malingering, not physical breakdown.

Never mind that some of my symptoms are measurable, such as grip strength and joint range-of-motion. (Some doctors do nerve-conduction tests and other weirdnesses too, but not on me so far, so I can’t comment.) It’s certainly true that RSI diagnoses are largely based on reported sensation (e.g. numbness, tingling, pain), and people can lie about what they feel.

Nor am I one to deny the power of the brain to make the body miserable. Grad-school anxiety crossed with depression drove me right to dyshidrosis. There really isn’t any other explanation for that pair of outbreaks.

But. Can we possibly step back a bit and take a look at what else might be happening here?

The elephant in the cellar, of course, is sexist, classist, racist dismissal of low-status (usually pink-collar) employees. What I love about the usual line of talk is the notion that it’s easy to get an RSI diagnosis and a filled workman’s comp claim. Two words: one is “get” and the other is “real.” It doesn’t take much hanging out on the SOREHAND list to see the unbelievable barriers between an RSI sufferer and any form of treatment, let alone compensation. The wonder is that anybody gets workman’s comp at all.

I’m also highly dubious about the assumption that because oppressive work environments lead to RSI, the problem is psychosomatic. Aren’t oppressive work environments likely to force employees to work too fast and too hard, deny them needed breaks, offer them crap medical insurance if any at all, and ignore ergonomics? Isn’t this constellation of abuses a likelier avenue of inquiry than employee malingering?

As for wide-ranging diagnoses—come on, people, ordinary doctors simply don’t know what they’re doing with this stuff! That’s not the patients’ fault! I got misdiagnosed twice, and offered one treatment that hurt me worse. I don’t doubt that a lot of RSI studies have been fouled up by medical ignorance and misdiagnosis. That somehow means RSI isn’t real? Please.

Naturally, by way of bias disclosure, I find the idea that I am a punk malingerer highly offensive. Nonetheless, I think my history a pretty clear counterexample to the anti-RSI thesis. Of my three worst RSI breakouts, two happened on account of volunteer projects—senior wills for the high-school newspaper, and my undergraduate honors thesis. The third occurred in the course of my present job, in which I’ve been happier than in either of my previous several jobs. I was happy to do the things that injured me, in other words—yet when I was genuinely miserable at work or in grad school, nothing RSI-related happened.

What did these three RSI-causing situations have in common? Extremely heavy typing load, the first two attacks under much less than properly ergonomic conditions. Not to post hoc ergo propter hoc you smart folks, but sheesh, find me another correlation that explains things as well.

Malingering. Pfui.

20 Septembris 2004

Steps

Yesterday was a one-step-back day for the arm. Elbow hurt like a hurty thing by the time I went to bed. I’ve figured out that when it feels like hurting, supination and pronation really make it yelp; I’ll take that up with the physical therapist next time I go.

It felt decent when I woke up this morning, but just at present it’s giving warning signals. I expect by the time I hit class it will be very, very unhappy with me. (Happy Marathon Monday, I guess. Six hours of work, six hours of class make for a long day.)

I started the big-five exercise sets from Pascarelli’s book this weekend, and now I have pretty good proof of what he means when he says this all comes down to weakened muscles. Lie on your side with a weight in your hand, hold out your arm in front of you, raise arm perpendicular to the floor, lower it until palm meets floor (or other hand), repeat. Easy, right? Is for my right arm. Left arm trembles appallingly on the way down. How did I let myself get this way?

Eh, well. The thing is to not be this way any more. I’ll get there. It’s not as if I didn’t know there were going to be bad days for a considerable while yet. I just wish that made them more comfortable (and less discouraging) when they happen.

15 Septembris 2004

No pain, plenty of gain

“Is it oh-dark-early?” my husband asked muzzily as I reached to turn off the alarm this morning. Another 6:30 am physical therapy appointment.

“Sure is,” I said.

“It’s sure… dark,” he commented, as he turned over preparatory to going back to sleep.

First thing we did this morning was try the usual stress tests. I did a Junior Birdman first thing, and what’s more, it didn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt. Did I mention that it didn’t hurt?

On PT days I always leave my hair loose save for a headband so as not to have to lie on a hair accessory. The wind was picking up as I headed for the bus stop afterwards; I reached up with my left hand to tweak my headband back into place, ready for the usual twinge of pain from my elbow…

… which didn’t twinge.

Er? I tried it again. Nothing but the tiniest whisper of vague discomfort, when the usual reaction from it when I try to do something like that is a yell of “HEY! Woman, cut that out!”

Well, damn, if this keeps up I may actually have a functioning arm again.

Elbow still doesn’t like full extension, but it’ll bend without complaint for the first time in months. The ulnar nerve feels a little iffy at the wrist just now, but that may be the effects of treatment; Things Were Done to my wrist and hand.

I’m getting there. I can actually imagine completely pain-free days in the not-so-faraway future. This isn’t, of course, a license to go screw myself up again; a pain-free arm still isn’t a normal arm. I’ve still got an exercise program to put together and stick with, posture precautions to follow (though, funny thing about that, I used to notice when I was sitting up straight; now I notice when I’m not, and correct it almost immediately), and data-entry jobs to avoid like the plague. I think I may also try to find a freelance massage therapist locally who knows her radial nerve from her elbow (any recommendations, locals?); I may even invest in one of these gizmos.

But right now? I’m so thrilled and relieved I could almost cry. It’s just amazing, when something that always hurts suddenly doesn’t.

9 Septembris 2004

The uses of splints

If you read much about RSI treatments, you quickly find that opinions are very divided about whether splinting and bracing are good things. I lean toward the anti-brace camp myself (especially after that painfully disastrous interaction with the elbow brace), but I’m dutifully following directions and wearing mine part-time.

I tend to wear it to SLIS, too, even though I don’t do much typing there. It’s a signifier; it says “hey, injury here; don’t mess with it, please and thank you.” It usually works as intended, which is more than can be said for many clinical applications of the damnable things. (Okay, okay, enough with the editorializing.)

I do rather wish today hadn’t been the day it failed, though. English student whizzing out of classroom at approximately eighty miles per, whack right into my arm, which is still sore in several spots from yesterday’s mauling. Ow.

But, yeah, I’m getting better. A couple months ago I would have yelped like a puppy, stopped dead in my tracks to investigate the damage, and walked around cradling the arm protectively for the next several hours. Today I just frowned a bit and moved on.