6 years ago, on 6/13/03 I went to my doctor. My doctor who I loooooved. There aren't many doctors I'd say that about, by the way. And after 20 years of battling a rare disease believe me I've seen more than my fair share of doctors. And had good reason to dislike many of them.
At any rate, after having a tendon injury in my arm for almost 3 months, and the regular local doctor saying "hmmmm.." I went to my beloved specialist who said I needed a steroid shot. Into the joint on the inside of my wrist. At this point I should mention I'm *highly* allergic to lidocaine, novicaine and all those other lovely "caine's" they put in shots so that you don't feel the needle go all the way to your bone. So, I agreed, and there I sat, completely awake, no numbing feeling a very large needle go all the way into the joint up against the bone. Both my doctor and father were amazed I did it without flinching. Then the doctor said he couldn't have done it without a shot of whiskey. Well gee if they had offered neither would I! LOL.
An hour later we were driving the long drive home. The pain was getting worse. Exponentially worse. The pain was familiar, and scary. For over a decade I'd felt the unrelenting, burning aching pain in my ankle. I'd lived with the pain that made putting a sheet over my leg unbearable. I'd lived on cat naps because actual sleep was impossible. But for a few years it had been managed, I'd been functional. On that drive home I felt the burning in my wrist. By the time I got home an hour later I had to ask my husband to undress me because I couldn't. By the next morning there was no escaping it. The shot had caused the Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy to spread to my wrist. Life wasn't going to the be same again.