Feeling trapped with a trapped nerve

I remember this being the point where something shifted, even if I did not fully understand it at the time.

Back then, I just thought I had slept funny.

I woke up on the Thursday with a stiff neck, which is not unusual, but this was different. The pain was sharp, deep, and radiating down my left arm. It was the kind of pain that makes you stop and take notice. The kind that makes you pause before moving because you already know it is going to hurt.

I actually rang the doctor, which says everything really. I have always been the kind of person who avoids making that call unless I absolutely have to. But this felt like something I could not ignore.

The doctor confirmed it was a trapped nerve and prescribed Naproxen and co-codamol. I remember thinking it felt slightly surreal, standing there being handed strong pain relief for something that had appeared overnight. I ended up buying the co-codamol over the counter instead, trying to keep things simple, trying to convince myself it was manageable.

But it was not manageable.

By the weekend, the pain had escalated into something else entirely. On Sunday morning, I woke up in agony. Not discomfort. Not an ache. Proper, all-consuming pain. I could not get comfortable in any position. Sitting, standing, lying down, nothing eased it. I paced the room, waiting for the painkillers to kick in, willing them to work, but they did not touch it.

I rang out-of-hours and got an appointment. By that point, I think I already knew things were getting out of control.

I was prescribed Tramadol and told very clearly that if it did not bring the pain down within four to six hours, I needed to go straight to A&E. I heard the words, but I did not want to accept them. A&E felt like a line I was not ready to cross.

The Tramadol did not work.

Paul was not happy about me staying at home, and looking back, I understand why. But I asked for one more night. I think I was still clinging to the idea that it would pass if I just gave it time. He agreed, reluctantly.

By Monday morning, that illusion had gone.

I woke up in the same intense pain, if not worse. Paul took one look at me and that was it. No discussion this time. We got the kids sorted, dropped them off at my parents, and went straight to A&E. I did not have the energy to argue anymore.

I was dreading the wait more than anything. Sitting upright in a hard chair felt impossible, but somehow I got through it. After about an hour and a half, I was seen. There was no quick fix, no magic solution. Just an honest explanation that all they could do was try to control the pain.

I was prescribed Gabapentin for nerve pain, with the warning that it would take a few days to build up in my system. Alongside that, I was given Oramorph. Liquid morphine. Even now, that still feels like a big moment. I had never taken anything like that before. It felt heavy, serious, and slightly frightening.

I started using heat patches too, just to take the edge off, to feel like I was doing something.

That whole week is a blur of exhaustion. Not just tiredness, but that deep, bone-level exhaustion that comes from being in constant pain. It wears you down in a way that is hard to explain unless you have lived it.

At the time, I was just fed up. Completely and utterly fed up.

Looking back now, I can also see how supported I was. Paul stepped in without hesitation. My family rallied around us. My mum and dad, my in-laws, my sister, everyone just quietly filled the gaps. School runs, childcare, meals, all the things you do not think about until you cannot do them yourself.

I remember feeling guilty about that too.

This was the first time I had ever experienced pain like this. I did not understand where it had come from or why it had hit me so hard. I had never taken so many tablets in my life, and certainly not ones this strong. Each evening, I would feel sick, my body struggling to keep up with everything I was putting into it.

The pain never fully went away, but the medication took the edge off enough for me to breathe through it.

At the time, I kept telling myself this was temporary. That I would recover, get back to normal, and this would just be a strange, difficult week to look back on.

What I did not realise then was that this might have been the beginning of something much bigger.

And I think that is why this memory has stayed with me.

Because sometimes, the start of a long story does not feel like a beginning at all. It just feels like a bad day that does not seem to end.