I was quite ready to end it all if I didn’t get some help.

Jean Mathis suffered a painful back injury at work in 1984. She was hospitalized and later had surgery. When the severe pain returned, she declined fusion surgery and opted instead for therapy at the Northridge Hospital Medical Center Pain Control Clinic. Mathis, an ex-nurse, lives in Canoga Park.

When I went in to the pain clinic, I couldn’t walk. The pain was constant. It was excruciating. You lay there in the bed and you’re scared to move, because you know just turning over is going to trigger it off. If I moved, it was like I had a red hot electric wire down my leg. It was ungodly.

Everything you eat and breathe revolves around the pain. It becomes your life. That’s why I didn’t want to live when I went into the clinic. I was quite ready to end it all if I didn’t get some help. I just couldn’t take it any more.

It is not the easiest of programs in the sense that you just go in there and do it. When you start, you are miserable for a while, but they help you through it. There’s always someone there to talk to. But they don’t allow you to talk about the pain.

When I went in, I was very concerned about how much was in my head because you worry. They said, “We don’t care what’s in your head, pain is pain.” Once a week you had a group meeting with all your therapists and with the doctors.

They grade you on how much you’re showing and talking about your pain. If you did an exercise and it hurt, they wrote, “Jean still showing pain 70% of the time.” And then each week, “Jean showing much less pain, only 25% of the time.”

Stress absolutely makes the pain worse. They do biofeedback to show you how to relax the muscles when you have pain. It’s all body mechanics. I’m not allowed to lift anything over 10 pounds.

They give you assertiveness training. That was a joke with me, because I’m as assertive as can be. I’m used to working with doctors, and if you’re a good nurse you have to keep one step ahead of them. That’s one of the reasons why I’m glad I’m not going back into nursing.

There were a lot of days when you think, “Oh my God, it’s not going to work.” That is where they encourage you and they make it absolute. “You’re going to have days like this. Even when you get home you’re going to have days where you can’t do things.” They talk you into not showing the pain. They talk you into controlling it. Psychologically you can’t will the pain away.

The worry and the frustration are like a cycle. That’s what they do. They break the whole circle. They teach you the relaxation principles. They give you physiotherapy, pool therapy, recreational therapy and occupational therapy, which is more on how to manage at home.

The way you get better, you don’t really notice it. The only thing you notice is, “Hey, that’s not as bad as I had it.” Then you find yourself walking across the room to the chair.

When it comes that day when you can go home for good, it’s very frightening. Well, you get home and you function. And it’s hard, it is really hard. And yet they’ve taught you what to do. They’ve taught you to get in and out of bed properly. You had to cook a meal there. All good body mechanics. They showed you how to put your clothes in and out of the washing machine. But nevertheless, when you come home there’s nobody watching you saying, “Now that’s not quite right.” You’re alone, and you hope you’ve listened to everything thoroughly.

It’s been a long, bloody, hard road for me. I mean hard. But as each day goes by, you get a little more sure of yourself. But it doesn’t mean you’re without pain. It only means you’re coping with the pain. And that’s all they want you to do.

I do 90% of my own shopping. I do my own wash. I do a lot myself. And it’s not always easy, and there are some times I don’t feel like doing it. But I do it. And the thing I miss most, I want to get out there in my garden. I want so bad to do my garden. And I can’t.