In one of the book’s early reviews it was pointed out: Revealing just how tenuous relationships can be in such situations, he (me) inadvertently reveals far more about the tenseness of similar nineteenth-century voyages than he likely intended.  A statement that, at the time, I wasn’t quite sure that I understood. I took it as a left-handed compliment. But then I started thinking…

In the past year, I have had seven Lumbar Sympathetic Blocks at the hands of one of the world’s greatest doctors, Dr. Semith Gungor with the Hospital For Special Surgery in New York.  Dr. Gungor is a Pain Specialist, and as such is so dedicated that he and his staff make you feel as though you are their only case and they will have no others.  Through this whole saga I’ve come to respect even more that “medicine” is only half the cure; compassion and understanding are every bit as important in a patient’s well being and Dr. Gungor excels in both of these departments.  The Lumbar Blocks ultimately did no good, as my CRPS had finally been diagnosed as a Stage II, so we went the next step.  As I write this I have a neurostimulator implant in my back which sends electrical pulses to my nerve root and then to my brain.  The rough theory behind this is that these pulses try to block out the nerve pain signals (which at this point are phantom nerve pain as the offending nerves are long gone.).  It’s only been a few days, but so far it seems to be working.  While it doesn’t cure or fix the problem, it does replace the excruciating nerve pain with another sensation of a slight tingling which I can control via an external wireless device.

Six weeks into my personal IV treatment and shunt was removed. One week later the crew and I left Newport, RI bound for Seattle, WA via the Arctic. My fingers and some toes were crossed that the toe issue was behind me.

It wasn’t.

During the next five months the levels of pain that I experienced in that toe and now ankle were second to none.  Twenty four hours a day it felt as though someone with a very blunt 1950s style “church key” can-opener was trying to cut down to my bone from the tip of my little toe up to my ankle.  The pain was nonstop, at times worse than others and it was then that I started being unable to sleep on my left side for any contact with my left foot and my sleeping bag was torturous.

For me it started out with a whimper, barely a blip on the pain scale of one to ten, a simple outpatient surgery by one of New York’s better podiatrists.  It would have me in and out of his office in fifteen minutes.  A procedure so basic and benign, but one that would immediately, and for years to come, throw me into a swamp of odd initials, misdiagnoses, infections and most of all abject pain.  At times it would be so crippling I would start to doubt my own sanity.  If you’ve been here I’m sure my story is basically the same as yours, just the names are different.  If you know of someone with chronic pain, you’ve been witness to the wincing moments of muted rage and fear.  If you’re not familiar with CRPS or RDS, read on.  This story is going to border on the surreal, if not that of science fiction.