I use a combination of norco and medical marijuana . . . but it still doesn't always handle my pain. Like right now, my feet are firing on all cylinders, alternating between cramping, stiffness, heat, and stabbing-shooting pains. I alternate between Dansko's, with their great support, and Keens, which are flatter and allow more foot flex . . . and use insoles in my athletic shoes. But like you, at the end of a day on my feet I am in pure torture. I can't sit still, have to pace, and have to use so much "med" to get comfortable to sleep that waking can be tough. I also have developed a type of yoga-style breathing to help me when it gets intense.

I am with a pain clinic and the doctor there likes patients to read "Full Catastrophe Living" which teaches mindfullness to reduce stress and pain. The idea is to not resist pain when it arrives, but acknowledge it and pay attention to it.

I don't know about you, but I regularly talk to my feet. I used to do some pretty strenuous backpacking and hiking, and some mountaineering . .. my feet have carried me to some of the most heavenly places on Earth! I am very sad that those days are behind me, and no matter what others say to encourage me, I know I will never see a glacier up close and personal again! I will never again feel the hollow give of the rain-forest floor built of years of fallen trees, needles, leaves, and decay . .. or feel the moment that my crampons grab the ice to keep me from slipping. I took great care with my feet, inpsecting them for blisters and callouses, and learning to pad them with moleskin, tape and even second skin if I did have a blister. But I always kept going. I miss it terribly, and even mourn the places I wanted to, but will never see . . . and I talk to my feet about it . . .

My last trip to the beach was horrible. I slipped off my shoes and headed out onto the sand to feel the pounding surf . . . and ow! I was in agony! I had to put my shoes back on . . . forgoing the most wonderful experience we can have . . . our bare feel on sun-warmed sand, and the feel of the surf wshing over them. I was in tears from the pain, and the pain of not being able to enjoy what had been for years, the most relaxing and wonderful sensation on Earth.

So I am working on finding a way to endure/live with/accommodate my pain. I, too, have an auto-immune illness, Crohn's, and between the two life has become a great challenge. I hear you! I recommend that you find several things that might work alone and together . . . and not all of them requiring a prescription. I am trying to wean down to the bare minimum of prescriptions I must take: they are both expensive and very taxing on the liver. And I hate pain-killers. I hate how they make me feel, and I hate the way we often have to beg for them.

I do a LOT of controlled breathing. I found music that I can let my breath rise and fall with, concentrating on a strong exhale and letting my body force the inhale. But it is allowing smooth breathing, instead of the breath-holding, jerky, panicky stuff we do when the pain hits, that usually allows me to get above my pain.

That, and the conversation with my feet . . . reminding them of our good times, telling them I will take good care of them and continue to love them . . .and asking them to let me still eke out some fun in my days here on Earth.

This is a self-portrait I did in colored pencil of me coming down after my attempt to summit Mt. Rainier almost 15 years ago. Now, since I no longer can work, I have returned to art to keep me feeling productive. but even that suffers when I am in great pain . . .