BEFORE 1997
A life in motion.
Before chronic pain became part of my daily life, I worked as a ski instructor and a wildland firefighter. I was studying fire technology and training toward a future as a firefighter and paramedic. I loved teaching, helping people and being active.
Those early years are an important part of my story. CRPS isn't where my identity began—and it isn't the only thing that makes me who I am.
1997
The day everything changed.
While working as a ski instructor, I went after a child from my class who was heading toward the trees. I was able to stop her. I injured both knees in the process, including an injury to my right knee that required surgeries.
I thought of myself as someone who helped other people in an emergency. Suddenly I was the one needing help, and the pain that followed would change my work, my mobility and my family life.
2005–2012
Trying to put a name to the pain.
After moving to Kansas City, I kept looking for answers. My medical journey eventually brought the name reflex sympathetic dystrophy, or complex regional pain syndrome—RSD/CRPS—into my life.
Over the years I tried different treatments and medications. In my original writing I described pain attacks, falls, difficulty focusing, and periods when even being touched was hard. I couldn't keep working a normal full-time job. I continued doing computer and internet marketing work from home, within the limits of what I could manage.
In those years, a thousand steps could be an entire day. It's hard to explain what that means until everyday activities—walking across a room or getting to the store—become serious challenges.
“Imagine you hit your finger with a hammer and consider that pain through your entire body 24/7.”— From my original Living Through the Pain account
2012–2015
One streetlight at a time.
I wrote about a doctor giving me a walker, and how that moment made me think about what I wanted my future to look like. I started challenging myself to walk outside, very short distances at first. It wasn't graceful or easy. Some walks ended in tears.
First it was the streetlight. Later I could go farther down the sidewalk. Then I could walk to a store, sit on a bench, rest, and make my way home. In my original account, those small milestones were enormous.
THE STREETLIGHT / A SMALL DISTANCE THAT MATTERED
One streetlight was enough to begin.
The distance was short. The effort and meaning were not. This represents a milestone I described in the original story.
My experience also involved clinicians, therapy, family support, pacing and a lot of trial and error. There isn't a single treatment I can honestly name as the sole reason that things changed. The progress and setbacks happened alongside many parts of life.
2015–2019
More of life becomes possible.
Google's volunteer community became more than a professional interest. Mapping businesses and taking photographs gave me a reason to get outside and explore the neighborhood. Eventually walking farther became part of the challenge—and I found myself doing things I could barely have imagined in the hardest years.
I was able to attend Google gatherings, return to working full time in an office and, in 2019, take part in a fitness challenge. In my old writing, I celebrated getting back into a gym for the first time since the injury and finding things I enjoyed, including the climbing wall and Pilates.
None of those milestones meant I was cured. They meant that more parts of my life were possible again.
THE STORY CONTINUES
Not a finish line.
Some days are much harder than others. Pain doesn't disappear because I'm working, laughing, fishing, or making plans. Improvement and suffering can exist in the same life.
That's why this site is called Living Through the Pain. I'm not telling anyone to ignore their limitations or follow what worked for me. I'm trying to be honest about the journey, the people beside me, the questions worth asking and the life I want to keep participating in.