Doctors Told Me There Was Nothing They Could Do for My Chronic Pain. They Were Wrong.

As told to Nicole Audrey Spector

It was a chaotic time. I was 45-years-old and working full-time with two kids — one in high school and the other in elementary school. And being the pastor's wife also had its demands. Both of my sons have hemophilia, a rare bleeding disorder. My youngest was in and out of the hospital. Every day, I was on alert, waiting for a call from his school telling me I’d have to rush over to take him to the ER.

One night, I was taking out the trash. The ground was slippery with ice, and I slipped and fell flat on my back. It happened so fast. One moment I was standing, the next I was looking straight up at a glittering blanket of stars. I was able to get up, but the arm I fell on was badly bruised.

The bruising turned black and blue fast. It looked just like the bruises my sons got. I worried I may have a bleeding disorder too (hemophilia is genetic and carried by the female X chromosome), so the next day I went to the hemophilia treatment center. Fortunately, tests revealed that I didn’t have a disorder. Just a badly bruised arm.

Over the next week or so, the bruising healed, but I started experiencing severe pain in my neck. I went to my primary care doctor, who examined me and found nothing obviously wrong. He thought perhaps I was in pain from constantly carrying my youngest son, who could not walk as a result of a significant knee joint bleed, and from lugging his wheelchair in and out of the car.

It seemed to make sense. But the pain only worsened, and I couldn’t understand why if I fell on my arm, the pain was so bad in my neck.

I did what pretty much any extremely busy and stressed-out mom does, especially those caring for children with chronic illnesses — I kept moving one task at a time. Other caretakers in similar situations get it: You reach a point where it becomes all but impossible to take care of yourself, even when you feel as though you’ve literally broken apart.

2025 (Photo/Rebecca Evans)

I hoped the pain would go away on its own, but two years after my fall, I had to do something. I took time for myself and finally decided to see an interventional pain specialist. The doctor devised a plan to administer steroid injections in my spine. He worked with a partner who specialized in pain medication management. I toggled back and forth between these two specialists, and their treatments helped but not nearly enough. I was always in significant pain.

After six years, my pain doctor looked me in the eye and said, “I don’t think there’s anything more I can do for you.”

I was crushed, confused and angry. I looked at him and thought, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

But what could I say to the expert who had reached the end of his rope with me?

I stayed under the care of medication management and was at the highest permissible dose. I was careful to take the medication as prescribed, but I was dependent on it. I took a pill five times a day in order to function. It was literally clockwork. Come pill time, my alarm would go off. If I were not on this regimen, I could not drive, care for my family, or work outside of the home (even in my part-time position as a pastor).

Cazandra’s ordination, 2024 (Photo/Rev. Craig Cockrell)

I was also traveling the country, doing advocacy work for the bleeding disorder community, when, as I geared up to board yet another plane, I realized I just couldn’t do it anymore. The pain was blinding even with the pills. I had to find an end to this pattern, and I had to get off this medication.

A friend connected me with another pain management specialist who examined me closely and said words that filled my heart with the magic of hope: “I think I can help you.”

I broke down in tears.

For over six years, chronic pain had dictated my life. One doctor had given up on me, and now, finally, a new physician saw my struggle and believed he could help. He saw me.

When the doctor saw the narcotic pain meds I’d been taking for years, his jaw dropped. I didn’t realize the power of this medication. Apparently, you don’t normally see such strong meds prescribed outside of the hospital.

The doctor who had been prescribing me the pain medication gave me no plan to wean off when I asked for one. He mentioned a basic plan, but as an aside. So, I did it myself. My new doctor was shocked that I was able to wean off alone, with little guidance.

Over the years, I’ve worked closely with this pain management specialist and a neurosurgeon to get to the root of my pain. The cause is still a mystery, but my treatment plan has been clear.

I’ve had neck fusions, a spinal decompression, epidurals, ablations and oh so many steroid injections (I still receive those as needed). The spinal decompression surgery was perhaps the hardest to recover from. It led to chronic neuropathy, but the result gave me a quality of life I didn’t think I would ever have again.

It’s been challenging, but I can tell you that now I can finally take a deep breath in a way I never could when I was locked down in pain. I can go horseback riding again. And I can be fully present with family and work full-time without the deafening hum of pain.

To be clear, I am not 100% pain-free, but even on bad days, I’m a 4 on a scale of 1-10. I used to always hover at a 7, even with meds. I still have some neuropathy in my fingers, but you know what? I’ll take that any day over what I went through from being in barely manageable agony 24/7.

Today, I embrace a new career and work as a hospice chaplain. I’m often surrounded by people in serious pain. I feel for them on a level so deep it’s beyond words. And I see them. I see them in a way I couldn’t before. I, too, was in crippling pain. It all feels as though I’ve taken my sunglasses off and can see the vivid colors of life.

I am a woman blessed beyond my imagination. A huge part of this blessedness is because I advocated for myself and fought for health in a system that was perfectly content to keep me a drugged-up problem unable to be solved.

Maybe you’re going through something similar. Maybe you’ve been given up on by folks in white coats. If you have, don’t give up. Find someone who will fight for you. Be brave enough not to just accept any answer, no matter how insignificant, from someone just because they have an “MD” behind their name.

Every day we're given, with every breath we have, is the possibility of being a part of something better. Of getting better. Sometimes a pity party is needed (I often crack out the party hats and confetti), but don’t lose hope. And don’t stop looking for the professionals who will really hear you. They’re out there, and when they look you in the eye and really see you, you’ll see: They have hope, too.

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