RSD - sudden fall, slow climb back

"How?" I asked myself and whoever was listening as I focused all my powers of concentration on my immobile index finger. The physiotherapist had just told me to wiggle the finger, but I couldn't work out how. After several minutes of tense concentration I saw a little flicker of movement. I had not injured my hand or my finger, but paralysis was creeping outwards from the site of a simple break in my forearm, even though X-rays showed that it was mended. I had RSD.

Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy, also known as Complex Regional Pain Syndrome, affects about five percent of people who suffer fractures to a wrist or ankle. That adds up to a lot of people, so it is surprising how few of us have heard of it. I certainly hadn't, and I soon discovered that it is not properly understood even in the medical profession. It can be diagnosed from its symptoms - burning pain, swelling, redness tending to blue, shiny skin, coarse hair growth on the limb - but its cause is not known and there is no certain cure. This is an affliction where you need to take responsibility for your own healing.Eight weeks previously I had been an active man. I jogged to keep fit, and enjoyed walking through the hills when time allowed. One Sunday early in January I woke up to a Spring-like day in Bristol, with the Sun already dispelling the overnight mist and a blue sky beckoning me to take a walk I had promised myself. I drove to Dartmoor, parking close to Meldon Reservoir, and began trudging up towards Yes Tor and High Willhays. At 619 and 628 metres respectively, they are the highest peaks on Dartmoor; not mountains exactly, but sufficient challenge for a short Sunday outing.

Neither peak was visible from the car park as the overnight mist was still hugging the slopes waiting for the Sun to burn it off. Heading past the reservoir and up the first slope I could not yet see the spot where my life would soon change. The air was cold, but still, and clear pools of ice lay where water had seeped in gaps among the rocks. As an experienced walker I clambered easily to the summit of Yes Tor, where I paused to eat and to enjoy the view through the mist.

When I finished my brief lunch the mist was already clearing, revealing the easy twenty-minute route across the pass to High Willhays, the lesser-known, but higher peak. By the time I mounted the cairn at 628 metres there was a clear view all round, cheering the spirit and making the day seem worthwhile. My two objectives achieved, I could now head back to the car and travel home, satisfied and triumphant. Retracing my steps along the well-laid, almost level, rock path back towards the summit of Yes Tor, I strolled along happy and unhurried, pleased at my luck with the weather at such a time of year. Then I stepped on a rock that still had a covering of frost. My fall was so sudden that I have no memory of those seconds before I found myself, dazed and startled, on the ground.

I have often fallen over and, in such a safe and level place, I felt stupid but not yet hurt. To any observer it would have looked like a trivial accident. But there were no observers. I was alone, and needed to stand up, brush off the mud and get going again just like all those other times when I had slipped harmlessly. However, my left hand was playing no part in the proceedings. It was not available for lifting, pushing, pulling or carrying. What's more, the wrist should not be pointing in that direction. Using my walking pole to ease myself up, I collected the remains of my watch and its broken strap and looked around. A movement on the skyline drew my gaze to a man and a dog at the top of Yes Tor. Help was within reach.