International

Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy Foundation^©

"Dedicated To Helping RSD Patients Worldwide"

Eric M. Phillips

P.O. Box 1145

Lakeville, Massachusetts 02347 USA

Phone: 508-946-9888  Fax: 508-946-3338

Office Hours

Monday through Friday

9:00 A.M. to 5:00 P.M. EST

RSD Poems

This new section of our website will be dedicated to poems written by RSD patients and their families. So if you have a poem that you would like to share with everyone to read, please e-mail your poem to Utopia33@prodigy.net and I will post it for you.

Thanks!

Eric

This poem was written by Mrs. Jackie McCombs. She had written it in the memory of her husband Henry who suffered from RSD.

RSD? What does it mean?

It causes so much pain I would like to scream.

You wake in the morning and all the day thru.

It’s constant, constant pain and nothing you can do.

In later stages…they say there is no cure.

We Pray they find one. That’s for sure!

It’s hard to deal with all that goes on.

Being in pain from dusk ‘til dawn.

Anger, depression, mood swings, I could go on and on.

Then some doctors think. It’s all a Con.

Drugs, drugs and more drugs …you must take.

Starting from the moment, we awake. No one really understands what we have.

Too bad there’s not a magic salve.

So to all of you, who know how I feel, The ones who KNOW the Pain is real.

We’ll stick together through thick and thin.

Hopefully someday in the end we will win.

Guess we just have to wait and see and pray they find a CURE for YOU and ME!

It’s not in our heads. The Pain is there.

Please Doc, show consideration, show YOU care.

Until there’s a cure, we all must cope.

So DOCTORS….PLEASE LISTEN TO US, IT'S NOT FOR THE DOPE!!!!!

This poem was written by: Mrs. Jackie McCombs

I hope you who read this know that I will keep you in my prayers. My Husband was a wonderful man who passed away Sept 15^th 2001 from bladder cancer. I wrote this after visiting a doctor who acted like his pain was imaginary, I was so angry that I just put what I felt on paper. This is in Memory of Henry McCombs. My wonderful husband who was the greatest thing that ever happened to me. We have 3 sons who have also suffered because of this horrible disease. But they have all stood behind me and have stepped in to help their Mom. Take care all . GOD BLESS YOU.

If you would care to write to me please do. Please just put RSD in the subject box. jmccombs26@aol.com

I WOULD REALLY LIKE TO GIVE THANKS TO ERIC FOR THE WORK HE DOES AND FOR THE OPPORTUNITY TO HIM TO SHARE MY POEM ON HIS WEB SITE. THANK YOU ERIC. MAY GOD BLESS YOU AND KEEP YOU WELL!

Jackie McCombs

This poem was written by Heather Quinn. Heather is an RSD Patient.

Dear Family:

I’ve cut my losses and the ties; for this is the end of those of you that don’t understand.

This pain and heartache that it’s given to me is the path to the rest of my recovery.

There is nothing left to say or do, but take the next step.

Don’t talk to me, call me or look my way.

I’m as invisible to you as you are to me everyday.

As the world turns, I suffer.

Suffering equals my darkness and despair.

 
No ending and no beginning.

There I am stuck in the middle.

You’ll never see my pain.

You’ll never see my suffering.

I feel like I’m dying.

I feel like there is no reason to breathe.

There is no reason to love you.

There is no reason to think of you.

There is no reason to act or react.

Why for all that brings is heartache.

The world continues to turn as I suffer in my darkness and despair.

I see no ending, no light, but a new beginning.

I’m in the middle.

Sadness, anger, betrayal, loneliness and emptiness are how I feel.

Pain, hurt and sorrow is how I deal.

You’ll never see my pain and suffering.

All dreams, plans and hopes are gone in the blink of an eye.

Now that I’m alone, you’ll never see me cry.

I’m hurting so much and deep that I cannot sleep.

Lying there in bed, gazing into the air, wondering will I ever heal?

Free me, please free me from this pain.

Free me to know that I will never hurt again.

Free me to be myself and never lose site of that.

I’m important.

Me, me, and me, that’s all I want to see.

No one else matters to me, accept those that understand my disease.

To accomplish this, I’m forced to keep my heart under lock and key.
 

This poem was written by: Heather Quinn

If you like you to contact Heather the author of this poem you can e-mail her at: nopainever@yahoo.com

This poem was written by T.L. Tobac.  T.L. is an RSD Patient.

ROLLER COASTER - RSD

Oh twisted roller coaster
I have been propelled
to live upon

destined to this
contorted fate
not of my own volition
nor deservedly

no fun ride
this roller coaster RSD

Reflex

attacking at will
deceiving my psyche
into thinking
though drug induced
recovery may dwell upon the horizon
and that one day
we will stop at the station
where I will depart
at last
to grab my shiny prize...
remission

Sympathetic

chugging chain
to the crest
the sound tortures my brain
as it abandons me
on the opposite side
to another day of pain

Dystrophy

Destined to remain
forever strapped
to this wicked ride
praying for
moments of peace

I am
a prisoner
of it's clutches

comfort may
come at any time
and just as quickly fade
to be replaced
by searing pain
spreading
and flashes of insane heat
damp sweat
spasms
leg burning
arms aching

and yet it starts again
could it be at last?
this time on the
up side of the
Roller Coaster RSD

Reflex

sunny day
happy ride
pain subside
drugs are working
just for today
I anticipate a visit with
my former self
(the one who doesn't ride the coaster)

Sympathetic

hope wells up within
this is it (excitedly)
could healing come at last?
Does the shiny prize (remission)
at last arrive into
my hand?

Dystrophy

dash it all to hell
the chugging chain begins
back at the wretched drop point

for that fleeting moment
I thought I held the prize
but alas my palm lay empty

for this ride RSD never ends

hope ever remaining
some shiny dangling object
whizzing by it with each lap
teasing me
well out of reach
passing it over and over
with each twist and spiral
of the Roller Coaster

God
if this be your will
that I am destined to ride
I know you will be at my side
and one day I pray
You will take me to the station.

T.L. Tobac
5/4/07

This poem was written by Darlene Brownell.  Darlene is an RSD Patient.

Who Am I

You can’t see me, you can’t hear me. I'm the one inside of you, making you go crazy. All the doctors you have seen, they still don't know me, that's funny to me. And it’s been over 100 years. And they still can’t find me, those tests they take and pictures, there just wasting there time. I told you before they won’t find me no matter how hard they try. Indeed I'm the one that makes you hurt all day long. I am the one responsible for your terrible burning pain. I love burning you with my flames, keep complaining no one hears you, no one cares. They can’t see me they cant feel me. I'm the only one who knows what you’re feeling because your body belongs to me now, and I have the power to make your pain spread. So don't try to stop me, because you no what they will say, it’s all in your head and how many pain meds have you taken today. Wow! There still saying that now, that’s insane. I will leave you with nothing, no family and friends. I will keep torturing each and ever day till the bitter end because people can’t see your pain and that makes my day. I’m going to take my flames and burn you in the worse possible way, I enjoy those shooting pains I give you threw out the day. HA- HA don't you wish you were dead, because that's my intent. If your doctor keeps giving you those meds it’s going to affect you and mess with your head. That's ok he’s doing my job, the more suffering you have makes me want to stay. I’m not leaving so stop praying; wipe your tears this nightmare is just beginning. Yes your really are a wake, I find that quite funny you thought it was a dream, It sucks to be you since no one understands. So do me a favor and do yourself in. Ok, I will tell you who and what I am. My name is called RSD isn't that a nice name. It stands for Rapid Spreading Disease. So tell that to all the morons you see. And maybe one day they will try and stop me. Bye the way would you please stop changing my name.

If you like you to contact Darlene the author of this poem you can e-mail her at: darlenebrownell@yahoo.com