Defining Trauma?
When I was in my Master’s program for social work (this is not a flex, I only got through half of the degree), we talked a lot about trauma in my Abnormal Psychology class. I don’t know if it’s because I’m a generally good student or because I was absolutely in love with this professor, but I remember the specifics of some of these conversations verbatim and they’ve significantly impacted the way I define my own “trauma”- or my lack thereof. According to the DSM 5 (which yes, I know, is fraught with its own set of issues), trauma is caused by “disaster, violence, accident, or other physically life-threatening situation.” In one of our lectures, our professor gave an example of a woman with severe PTSD-like symptoms, including flashbacks, night terrors, and physical reactions to stress, as a result of her recent divorce. She made the point that this woman would not qualify for a diagnosis of PTSD because there was no actual “trauma,” according to the definition above, to serve as the initial stressor.
If you spend any time on the internet, you’ll know that this doesn’t line up with the colloquial use of the word. One of the Oxford Dictionary definitions defines trauma as “a very frightening or upsetting experience.” Obviously, this is a significantly broader term and encapsulates many more experiences than the DSM definition, which is pretty narrow. My intention here isn’t to make a point about which definition is “better.” I’m not an expert, I only have half of a master’s degree! Maybe it’s because of my love of academia (or again, because of my very deep love for that professor), but I’ve always personally operated under the DSM definition. And by that definition, limited as it may be, I’ve never experienced trauma. I’ve never experienced anything life-threatening; I’ve never had any major fear for my bodily safety.
If I operated under the colloquial definition, however, I would have space to talk about medical trauma. The DSM definition would limit this to scenarios like women almost dying during childbirth or people waking up from anesthesia in the middle of surgery. My experiences were certainly not this brutal, but I definitely carry some long-term emotional baggage as a result of a few medical procedures gone awry.
In early 2020, I had a spinal cord stimulator trial done to help with my rapidly-worsening back and ribcage pain. Basically, the way this works is a wire is embedded into your spine and connected to an external device that controls electric pulses. In theory, this should block the pain signals from reaching your brain. The doctors do a trial of this for about 3-5 days to see if it works, and it’s considered a pretty minor procedure. It’s usually done under local anesthetic (my first one was done under general anesthesia, though) and my nurse told me a story of a guy who biked 10 miles the day after having it done. My expectations for it working were relatively low (because of that whole “hope is a terrible thing” you may have read about in one of my previous posts). Low key, though, my mom and I both had the same idea- having a camera ready as soon as I woke up from sedation to capture my first “pain-free moments” once the device was turned on. Once I woke up, though, no one was turning on any cameras. What I had expected to be a virtually painless procedure immediately became a nightmare. No one has ever offered me a reasonable explanation for why this happened, but something about the device took my pain, which was already unbearable on a daily basis, to a 10. I couldn’t move a single muscle without screaming and crying hysterically; if you know me, you have probably never seen me physically express pain in any way no matter how severe it is, so this was significant. I was given no pain meds and sent home without even seeing the surgeon afterwards, and everyone expected that things would just get better. They didn’t. Without going into too much detail, this was certainly the worst experience of my life. And then, because I’m either insane or just really fucking stupid, I had a SECOND spinal cord stimulator trial done less than a year later- and while it was mildly less awful, it was still a truly unbearable experience and I wished for death for every minute of it. I’m finding it really difficult to write about those weeks because they absolutely destroyed me, both mentally and physically. When you’re experiencing pain that severe, pain that makes you think that you’d rather die than experience even another second of it, you become a different person.
Next week, I’m having a pretty intense surgery, an intrathecal pain pump (NOT another spinal cord stimulator this time), and I’m constantly ruminating on the question: “what if it goes as badly as the last two?” This surgery involves a catheter in my spine (sort of similar to the spinal cord stimulator), so there’s a not-insignificant chance that my recovery will be incredibly difficult. It may likely be much worse than anything I’ve ever experienced before. In the entirety of the month leading up to surgery, I’ve been drowning in anxiety, just absolutely terrified to relive those experiences that were so truly horrific. When I think about this surgery, I can’t breathe. Maybe this is normal, considering I’m about to allow someone to slice into my spine and abdomen and do a lot of pretty wild things in there, but I can’t help but wonder how I might feel if I hadn’t had such bad experiences in the past. Maybe the excitement, which I also certainly feel, would take a front-seat. Regardless, whether I classify my experiences as medical trauma or not, I’m deeply affected by them.
Hopefully next time I check in on here, I’ll be fully recovered and in much, much less pain than I am right now (I’m currently tapering off all my oral pain meds pre-op, which has been pretty unpleasant). As my surgery day gets closer and closer, the anxiety continues to intensify but I can remind myself of one thing I know- I’ve survived 100% of my worst days so far, so I’m sure I’ll get through this too, one way or another.
See you on the other side,
Soon-to-be-cyborg Bry
