Pain in the Neck

I woke up to a ghost in stilettos tap-dancing on the right side of my neck.

I thought of all the ways that this situation would be more palatable. Dragging a lost hiker out the woods. Lifting burning branches off trapped baby animals. Repetitively bending to pick up all the trash off the beach. You know, hero stuff.

Instead, I was the victim of a nighttime mutiny on the vertebrae in my neck. Evidently, an elevated pillow, cozy blanket, and dark room were a perfectly laid trap for self-sabotage. As soon as I dozed off, an army of my own cells launched a coordinated attack on my slightly rotated neck. My unconscious brain was none the wiser. By the time the morning light snuck its way through my curtains, the damage had already been done.

This is all to say that my neck hurt.

Really hurt. And the culprit was sleeping… Sleeping! You know, the thing that everybody does? The same thing I’ve done every night for the past 30+ years? In fact, I’ve collectively spent more time sleeping than any other single activity in my life. Yet somehow, I managed to hurt myself sleeping. I recall the days that a younger me could sleep curled up in between couch cushions using a t-shirt as a pillow and my jeans as a blanket and still wake up feeling like I’d been dozing weightless in the International Space Station: energized, pain free, joints fully lubricated… Now, if so much as one fake feather in my alternative down pillow is out of place, I wake up feeling like I slept-walked my way through an underground fight club.

As I rolled onto my side, I immediately felt my neck seize up. I let out a (*manly*) half-scream, half-yelp. My wife, already awake, burst in from the other room.

‘What’s wrong? What’s happening?!’

‘Life! Life is happening!’ I uttered through gritted teeth as I catapulted myself into a standing position.

I steadied myself and came to grips with the sensations rushing through my body. Pain. Anger. Confusion. Disappointment. I let out a pitiful squawk of frustration as my neck locked up again and shot me back onto the bed and then the carpet. My fingers grasped at the short curls of the nylon fibers.

As I stared at the ceiling, I knew it was time for the ‘I’ve Just Hurt Myself’ Playbook (30’s Edition).

Phase One: Assess the Situation

Time to check for function. From my sun-dried starfish position, I took a couple of deep breaths and did a full body scan.

I turned my neck left: painful, restricted.

I turned my neck right: cursing.

I looked down at my heaving chest: ok hang on, there might be hope for me yet.

I looked up at my dresser. Nope. No hope. Never hope.

I writhed in pain as another spasm pogosticked its way across my neck. ‘Siri, fix me!’ My phone on the nightstand blinked on and off. I guess we’re not there yet.

I wriggled onto my side with the grace of a sloth with a calcium deficiency. Ignoring its desperate pleas, I told my brain to keep quiet while simultaneously cradling my skull with my hand and powerlifting my head in line with my body as I sat up with a holler. Who knew a head was so heavy? I slowly caught my breath and the pain stabilized.

Fortunately, apart from my neck everything seemed fine. I suppose things could have been worse. I could have been stuck under a road roller or locked inside a Jif factory with a nut allergy.

Phase Two: Self-Help

It felt like my neck needed to ‘Pop.’ As if something just under the surface was a tad out of place. A loose brick in the foundation of my sanity.

I sat up and tried some light neck stretching. When that failed, I tried forcing my way through my go-to neck cracking techniques: the chin-twist and the head/hand press. Because when in doubt, force it, right? A quiet ‘crack’ much lower down my back was a pyrrhic victory as the accompanying neck pain overcame my willpower to keep trying.

‘Ibuprofen!’

More of a statement than a question. But, my wife was on it.

As she left the room, I tried one more desperate tool in my self-help toolkit: positive self-talk and blissful ignorance. I tried convincing myself that this would magically get better on its own after some breakfast and coffee. I took a faltering step forward with the posture and confidence of a ballerina in socks on ice.

‘C’mon champ, this isn’t so bad. One shaky step at a time. Nice job! You’re making all the newborn fawns jealous. Just don’t move your neck, and it’ll all be –’

I clenched my teeth as another neck spasm dropped me to a knee.

This called for backup.

Phase Three: Internet Research

[Start Scene. EMT’s wheeling me in a gurney down hospital hallway. A 50-something, battle-hardened nurse walking briskly alongside. She looks generally unimpressed.]

‘Ok, so you woke up...’

‘Right.’

‘And then you noticed the pain?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘What were you doing yesterday?’

‘Literally, nothing!’

‘So, you weren’t laying concrete for a new homeless shelter or something?’

‘I’m not a hero, doctor!’

‘I’m not a doctor, I’m a nurse. The doctor is coming…’

‘When?!’

[Gurney turns sharply into room.]

‘Right now. Here it is. Hello, Doctor.’

‘It?!’

‘Hello, I’m Dr. Internet.’

‘Uh, hey… Doc?’ I manage through gritted teeth.

‘Hold on, closing Facebook… now… Ok, now… Allriigghhhtt, now… Sooo, anyways, did you come to see the news?’

‘What? No, it’s my neck!’

‘Hmm. I’m going to prescribe you a pillow ad.’

‘Ok. Wait, no, I need to know what to do!’

‘Do you have poor sleep hygiene? I know the Top 10 reasons your bad sleep hygiene may be sabotaging your day.’

‘What? Just tell me what’s going on!’

‘Neck pain is a pretty common condition, you know. Computer use, phone use, poor posture. Even heavy necklaces. These are all things that can contribute.’

‘Are you serious, Doc? I’m in pain right now!’

‘Well, it could be a muscle strain. Haven’t been building homes in under-resourced communities, by chance?’

‘No!’

‘I figured as much. I’m putting down a question mark next to muscle strain. How bad is your pain?’

‘Is amputation an option?’

‘I see. You know, in rare cases, severe neck pain can be caused by meningitis or cancer.’

‘I really didn’t need to know that! Just tell me what to do about it!’

‘Wait, are you sure you don’t want to see this pillow ad?’

‘This isn’t helping, Doc!’

‘I see. Sounds like you might want to call your doctor.’

‘You know what? Forget it.’

[Closes laptop.]

Phase Four: Ask a Professional

I debated making the phone call. Once the wheels were in motion, there was no turning back. But I was on the brink of asking my wife to drive me to urgent care. This was the time. I dialed the number.

‘G’morning, bud! How ya doin'?’

‘Hey, dad. Not – ,’ I dropped the phone as I seized in pain from the spasm triggered by holding it to my ear. I managed to tap the speakerphone button with my toe in a big win for evolution. ‘Not great, actually.’

My parents are physicians, which has its pluses and minuses. On one hand, I’m spoiled to have ‘free’ telemedicine on demand. Although I live far away from them, I’ve dodged countless urgent care trips by verbally filtering apparently minor medical ailments through my parents. On the other hand, this ‘free’ medical advice comes with some downsides. For example, most of my personal medical history is shared family knowledge. This is fine for basic knee pain and back pain inquiries. More of a mixed bag for mystery rashes and painful bathroom runs.

Also, their diagnoses also tend to be hyperspecific, involving highly detailed explanations of the likely problem. While beneficial from a ‘knowledge is power’ perspective, this can also reduce my pain to a scientifically matter-of-fact conclusion that dissolves any hope I might have for a spontaneous resolution.

Treatment plans also tend to trod down the same few well-worn paths:

• ‘Have someone take a look at that right now!’
• ‘Take some ibuprofen, rest, ice/heat, and give it a couple weeks.’
• ‘Yes, I know that’s what the bottle says, but do what I’m telling you to do.’
• ‘Find dirt. Apply directly to affected area. Repeat as necessary.’

In this case, advice quickly veered into minutia as my father thought out loud.

‘Neck pain, huh? One-sided?’

‘Yes.’

‘Any pain in the arms or back?’

‘No.’

‘Any numbness or tingling?’

‘No.’

‘Were you handing out free piggy back rides at the orphanage, or something?’

‘No!’ I squeezed the bridge of my nose with my fingers.

‘Right, you’ve probably got something going on with one of the facet joints.’

‘What?’

‘Also called your zygapophyseal joints, these connect your …’ Zyga, what? I tuned out as my neck throbbed.

‘Great, so what should I do?’

‘Take some ibuprofen, rest, and give it a couple weeks.’

Treatment plan #2… ‘Anything else I can do?’

‘Try to move your head around as much as tolerated.’

‘Ok, thanks.’

‘Your mom says hi.’

‘Hi, hon!’ My mom yelled through the speakerphone from across the room.

‘Hi, mom. I’m going now. Love you.’

I hung up the phone. Unsatisfying, but reassuring. My wife came back and I gulped down the medicine.

Phase Five: Next Stepts and Reflection

After the fire burns itself out, it’s time to assess the damage. A steady regimen of rest, OTC meds, and gentle movements seemed to resolve things. Aside from the occasional rogue sneeze, my neck isn’t actively sending me into fits.

When healing from pain, injury, and loss, I try to find gratitude. This is usually easier said than done. For example, I take it for granted that I can usually sleep without pain and I’m thankful that neck spasms aren’t my norm. I’m thankful that I have a neck. I’m amazed at how much my head weighs, and appreciative that my neck usually supports it all without complaining. I’m thankful that I have loving and supportive parents that are there to answer my calls.

These experiences also remind me of what it means to be living in the moment. When I was writhing from acute neck cramps, the only thing that mattered was getting the pain to stop. No worries, no regrets. Just wishing there was a magic pill to instantly make the pain go away.

And this is life in my 30’s.

Cheers to all the spontaneous aches and pains that lie ahead.