Mary Langton of Chester has tried to make the best of her chronic-pain situation by writing a book.

Mary Langton offers a different definition of success.

Sixteen years after having the rug literally pulled out from under her life, she is alive, coping, functional and contributing—a major feat in the face of what she's up against.

Yes, she's mourned the loss of her dreams: She will never be a mother or a wife or look toward retirement after decades of teaching.

Instead, survival has been her focus—along with learning how to play the horrible hand she was dealt.

"Life can be a daily struggle," she admits.

In July of 1992, this able-bodied English teacher from Staten Island jumped up to reach for a book on the top shelf.

That's all it took.

When she landed, she slightly sprained her right foot. A week later, she was experiencing a severe burning pain, which migrated to her other leg.

Her X-rays were negative, and her first four doctors were baffled. While they took her seriously, they could not explain her pain's excruciating nature—a pain so bad that she could not return to teaching; pain so bad that to this day, she cannot walk from Sears to Macy's in the Galleria or stand in line at the bank if the tellers are tied up with complicated deposits.

"I'm only comfortable driving in a five-mile radius from Chester," she says. "I'm a regular presence at the Chester Library."

Finally, a diagnosis

It wasn't until she saw a fifth doctor, an orthopedic surgeon from New York University's Hospital for Joint Diseases in Manhattan, that she had an answer: reflex sympathetic dystrophy, or RSD, also known as complex regional pain syndrome (CRPS).

"It took 10 months, which is relatively fast, but not fast enough," she says. "Some people wait years for answers."

However, Langton says it's when a diagnosis is made almost immediately—and critical physical therapy starts promptly—that the best results are achieved.

"Our usual course when we're injured is to rest what hurts," she says. "Today, we know that with RSD, quick intervention by a knowledgeable physical therapist who uses gentle movements and treatments such as hydrotherapy is key to a better outcome "¦

"In 1992, I couldn't get any information."

That fifth doctor instinctively prescribed a year's worth of daily physical therapy — the right course of action, but months too late for pain reversal. "Pain is my constant unwelcome companion," she says. "Although it waxes and wanes, it's always there. "¦ I'm hopeful about some new medications, and I'm about to start one "¦ medications that target neurological pain."

For it seems with RSD that while there is no physical reason for pain, the brain is still being bombarded with pain messages.

And despite a year of physical therapy, eight sympathetic nerve blocks and various medications, the pain is still present. Because cold weather aggravates her symptoms, rather than experiencing winter fun, Langton had to prepare mentally for more pain, knowing that some relief will follow when spring and summer arrive.

"I can get around the house pretty well, but venturing outside can be scary," she says.

'A young woman with other plans'

Langton admits that early on, the reality of RSD was tough for her accept.

"I was a young woman with other plans," she says.

However, she credits her mother and identical-twin sister with pulling her through her darkest days.

"They wouldn't let me quit life," she says.

Langton is a Monroe-Woodbury graduate who subsequently relocated to Staten Island. Pre-RSD, she'd walk an hour a day. Post-RSD, when her twin sister decided to return to the mid-Hudson as a gym teacher, Langton knew that was where she needed to be.

It is because of her sister that Langton also lives in a safe neighborhood in bucolic Orange County. With that safety and strong support network, she gradually learned to look outward.

"I was known as the funniest teacher in the English lounge," she says. "I know I was verbally funny "¦ and I began to think: How can I be funny on paper?"

The voracious reader who's grateful to be alive during the TV era has another endeavor that fills in between those times each day when she has to elevate and cover her painful and terribly cold limbs: She writes.

Langton has been making it a point to spend at least 15-30 minutes each day putting thoughts on paper.

What she pens isn't sob stories or woe-is-me accounts, but witty essays.

"I found comfort and tremendous satisfaction in writing," she says of the humor columns that started to flow, a number of which have been published in a local weekly newspaper.

Then she considered the 150 or so essays that she's written since age 40.

"I'm only 46 now."

Wouldn't the best 80 make a good book?

And perhaps the profits could go to RSD research.

"My sister, again, had a hand in this," Langton says of her self-publishing venture, which required several hundred dollars up front—a near impossibility for someone whose sole income is Social Security disability. "And she offered excellent repayment terms."

A New York Times article gave its stamp of approval to authorhouse.com, through which "Sense and Nonsense" is available. The 274-page paperback is available for $14.10, of which $9.83 goes to the publisher and Langton's share, $4.27, goes entirely to the Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy Syndrome Association to find a cure.

"I've just gotten my first statement, and I sold 28 books. I'm delighted," she says. "I have no idea where they came from."

But these unexpected orders have fueled Langton's desire to continue writing, to contribute to finding a cure for this devastating disease.

"When I dream, I'm walking and running. That may or may not happen," she says. "But at least with this book I can leave something behind that says Mary Langton was here.

"I won't leave a child behind. "¦ My book is my child. And I hope it behaves."

For more information on reflex sympathetic dystrophy, visit www.rsds.org. For information on "Sense and Nonsense," visit www.authorhouse.com.