‘I Can Do It With a Broken Body’: How I Learned to Live with Chronic Pain

By Crystal Lindell

I can still remember the exact day when everything I thought I knew about physical pain was destroyed.

It was 2013, and I had just started to have chronic pain in my ribs a few months prior. Although it would eventually be diagnosed as intercostal neuralgia, and then years later as Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, at the time nobody seemed to know what was going on. 

The pain was debilitating and I had no idea how to cope with it. Every doctor I saw told me that my imaging and labs were “normal” so there was nothing they could do. They just repeatedly upped my dose of gabapentin and sent me on my way – wash, rinse, repeat as the gabapentin failed to help. 

I had spent another sleepless night tossing and turning in agony as the pain on my right side wrapped around my torso like a spiked metal snake tightening its hold on me. I was stuck in that impossible cycle where the less I slept, the more pain I felt – and the more pain I felt, the less I slept. 

At the time, I didn’t even know the term "chronic pain” yet, and I was struggling to find anyone else who seemed to understand what I was going through. Pain that never goes away was not supposed to happen – especially if there was no underlying injury that could be fixed with surgery. So it had not occurred to me to add "chronic" to my pain.

After being awake most of the night, I got up, dressed and drove myself to immediate care, hoping for a miracle. 

The miracle never came. 

I felt like I was going to die and thought that such a pain level would warrant some sort of response from a doctor – some sort of urgency. But instead, I was dismissed. Actually, worse than that, I was chastised for coming in again when they had already seen me a few weeks prior. 

After waiting over two hours to be seen, the doctor walked into the small exam room, looked up at me, recognized me from previous visits and scolded me, saying, “You still haven’t gotten this figured out?” 

As if I was the one who refused to figure it out. As if the doctors who all refused to help me couldn’t be held responsible because I was the one who was not doing my part. 

The only problem was, I had no idea what my part was even supposed to be. And more than a decade later, I’m still not always sure.

The doctor then quickly told me there was nothing they could do, and that I would need to follow up with my primary care physician. Then she told me to check out at the front desk. 

They did nothing to help me. Nothing at all. And the pain had only gotten more intense during all this. I went to my car feeling hopeless. And then I realized that my day was going to get worse. 

I had been dealing with this pain for multiple months at this point, which means I had already missed weeks worth of work. I suddenly realized that I was going to have to go to the office for the day. 

In pain. 

After spending all morning in immediate care. 

I was going to have to go to work. 

It’s a situation that would have seemed impossible to my healthy body just a few months before.. 

Up until that point, a trip to immediate care would have easily warranted a sick day from work. But even though it was only spring, I had already used up all my sick days for the year and then some. I couldn’t afford to miss a day for a health issue that was now as normal for me as it was horrific. 

After all, normal things require normal days. The pain was normal. So I had to go about my normal day and go to work. 

I sobbed in my car. It was the first time I truly understood that I was going to have to live my regular life in what was now regular pain. Prior to that moment, I would have assumed that the level of pain I was enduring was more than enough to make the world stop – or at least to make my world stop. 

I often think of the lyrics from the Taylor Swift song, “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart.” 

In the song, she laments having to go about her life with a smile after a bad romantic breakup left her feeling depressed, singing:

I was grinnin' like I'm winnin'

I was hittin' my marks

'Cause I can do it with a broken heart

For me, and millions of other people living with chronic pain, the title is slightly different: “I can do it with a broken body.”

Because that’s the thing about chronic pain, it seeps out into every aspect of your life like an oil spill, and you just have to live around it. I still have to work, feed my cats, feed myself, shower, pay bills, and see my family. 

It’s just that most days I have to do all that while also living with horrible pain. 

After more than a decade of living this way, I am relieved to report that I have found some coping strategies. I also moved and found new doctors, who took my pain more seriously, despite the lack of proof on MRI scans and blood work. 

I also meticulously scaled back my life over the years, peeling away things that I now understood were unnecessary. I live a quiet, low-commitment life, so that there is room to breathe while pain takes up all my oxygen. 

Things are not as bad as they were that day back in 2013. My pain is well managed, and my daily life is much more accommodating. 

And yet, the pain persists. It remains chronic. So I still spend most days “doing it with a broken body.”  Or as Taylor Swift put it:

Lights, camera, bitch, smile.

Even when you wanna die

Except for chronic pain patients, there are no lights and no camera. Just a life in pain.