Tag Archives: doctor

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Appointments, tests, symptoms

I’m still dizzy. I’ve been dizzy for about 5 or 6 days now. Just unbalanced — things look odd, the world feels like it is slowly drifting to one side. This is different from the acute vertigo attack I had last year at the beginning of this illness and this is different than the “white-out” I’ve experienced my whole life when I stand up because I have low blood pressure. Last night, I woke up with stabbing pains in my stomach. I stayed awake for two hours, deep breathing. I don’t know if it was gas or what. I don’t care — I just want to track it. Other than that, my symptoms are: horrible headache, terrible back spams (mostly lower), my hands ache, neck pain, low-grade fever (99.7 when I took my temperature yesterday), and gritty eyes. But these are more like stone eyes or boulder eyes. Both eyes have what I used to call styes, but, upon deeper Internet exploration, may be something else… They’re not red or inflamed, they are small blisters on the inside lids. My top lip is swollen with some underground cystic acne nastiness. It looks like I was punched in the mouth. I look great, wish I could go out and socialize. But, seriously, I just miss feeling pretty. I miss getting dressed at all, let alone dressed UP. I miss not being in slippers.. a great pair of boots, a belt, jewelry … I miss brushing my hair and putting on mascara. I miss I miss I miss…

My thyroid hormone test results were fine. My liver and cholesterol panels looked fine. My bloodwork looked fine.

My first appointment of the week was acupuncture. He concentrated on harmonizing my shao yang symptoms which, according to Chinese medicine, are the alternating chills and fever I get daily.That night, after acupuncture, my daily headache became excruciating. It woke me up multiple times in the night. I thought it might have increased in severity from the acupuncture, which could have been true, but after the lingering brain cramps this morning, I actually think it might be from the Norco. I realise this is nuts seeing as I only took a quarter, but I can’t take Vicodin because of the headaches they give me and they’re the same ingredients.

I had my follow up with the Good Doctor on Tuesday. She said I seemed very tired and beat down. She thought it wasn’t a bad idea to take a holiday from the supplements if I felt overwhelmed and thought they might be contributing to the headache. But, she said I had to give my brain a holiday, too ~ stop worrying, planning, researching. Easier said than done. She didn’t want me to go off of the supplement and the birth control pill at the same time, which is fine because it’s not possible to go off the pill until I have a decent pain killer option. She had not received the results from the stool sample even though it’s been three weeks. She said once again, I never have these sort of troubles with labs! Stay tuned for the scathing essay I will write one day about medical mistakes. She said narcotics can absolutely give you a headache when you take them and give you a headache when they wear off. All in all, it was a pretty wasted trip. I think she took one look at my face and decided to concentrate on consoling me. Although, she did say she thought I should consider a brain MRI since my headaches are increasing in severity and waking me up at night. I think this disease is an autoimmune problem and/or a deep-seated pathogen that is causing neurological problems on top of all the others. I don’t think I have something that will show up on an MRI.

I also had a therapy appointment that day, too, and, since my chauffeur was also my spouse, I invited him into the session. It was good — for no other reason than they got to meet each other. I cried the whole time, explaining my guilt that he was doing so much and my grief that our lives had disappeared and my regret that we never did X/Y/Z before I got sick. Interestingly and to my relief, my therapist said that everything she has heard from me in the last few weeks is depressive thinking and is brand new. She said this whole year I have had anxiety over my sickness, leaving my career, what the future holds etc. — but that I had been a “trooper”. The depression of the last month is new and situational. I needed to hear that. It helps me say, get your shit together, girl, this isn’t you! When you are consumed by grief, it’s hard to remember what normal feels like. Even normal in sickness.

Today, I talked with an advocate for the M.E. Network with whom my aunt put me in touch (even my extended family has rallied to help me — I am very blessed). She is a nurse and had M.E. and recovered. She is adamantly against psychiatric drugs and she gave me her reasons. I agree with her and it was good to hear a healthcare worker not pushing the meds and talking about how compromised things have become because of pharmaceutical companies and their drug-pushing reps. However, getting a good pain killer and possibly an anti-anxiety or anti-depressant was my next course of action and now I feel hopeless again. Part of me just thought, if I give in and dope myself up, life would feel better even if it wasn’t better. She cautioned that M.E./C.F.S. patients’ brains are already compromised by the disease, so psychiatric drugs can make things much worse. I feel like I’m back to square one. Truly, my Rx is rest, short walks, baths, meditation and time…. while feeling like I’m dying for who knows how long? People have gone through worse. People are going through worse.

I’m grateful I’m not going through worse. This took me three days to write.

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Sick, month 11

E., that last post was for you. A tribute to our youth that has taken on a different meaning now.

I spent the weekend in bed for the most part. Today starts a fortnight of medical appointments every single week day. I’m worried about this. I should probably reschedule some, but they’re all ones I’ve been waiting for: overnight sleep study, neurologist, the Good Doctor follow up, a ten-week group therapy class that allows me to keep seeing my therapist for a little while longer for a much lower price tag, albeit in a group. Eek. I’m not a big public sharer, believe it or not, although maybe it’ll be okay because I am an open book, especially after this illness: I have never cared less what people think of what I say or how I look. That doesn’t mean I don’t care if I offend people or I don’t care if I smell, rather, I have no problem wearing no make-up, crying snottily, and talking about my bowel issues and crushing grief. Why disguise? What is there to hide?

Physically, I think I am worse than I’ve been since I left work. The pain is not as bad as it was in the days after my Big Day Out on the 13th, but, when the debilitating pain eases up, the regular pain, aches, exhaustion and flu-like symptoms are waiting underneath. As I mentioned before, I’ve only left the house 3 times in 11 days (for doc appointments). I haven’t gone to the grocery store, the drug store, the dog park ~ I haven’t done anything and I usually would be feeling a lot better by now. I feel faint, I am clammy, I keep getting a pitter-pattery heart and tight breathing, I am absolutely exhausted, I have a bad headache (this morning, there is an expanding and contracting ice pick in the back of my skull on the left), my muscles are stiff (I’m trying to come up with a better description ~ I walk and bend like the Tin Man, like I have immobile metal braces attached to all limbs), both hands and all fingers are in pain (haven’t had that in a while), and a new one: my leg muscles ACHE. They feel like they need to be moved and stretched, which is probably exactly what it is, but, it hurts. I lay in bed jiggling them, tensing them, punching them, trying to get the throb to ease up. And my brain is mush. I’m excited that I can type this morning because last night I could barely form sentences and not feeling smart is scary. Actually, the worst is not feeling quick anymore. The thing I valued most about my brain was how fast I could interpret, anticipate, respond, reason, argue, predict, accomplish… and I could tackle 10 things at a time. The ultimate multitasker. Gone.

Medicinally, I am taking a quarter of a Norco before bed, as well as my thyroid hormones, antihistamine nasal spray, albuterol inhaler, birth control pill and all the supplements and IBS-helping products. That’s it. I want to start something new this week ~ antibiotics or Lyrica or the Chinese herbs or something. I have an electric blanket on my bed, have changed to flannel sheets (heaven) and I’m trying a sun light box thing, which “is sure to deliver a therapeutic sense of well-being in any setting”, says the leaflet.

Emotionally, as I’ve said, I’m not in a great place. When you really start researching M.E., you realise that people don’t recover very often… hardly ever. So, I’m in this terrible shock-plan-grief cycle.

This can’t be happening. Okay, I’ll try X/Y/Z treatment. But, why? I’m just going to get X/Y/Z side effect.

I can’t believe I’m getting worse, not better. Okay, meditate, stay positive, have hope, keep going. But, there was so much I didn’t do, there was so much I didn’t try, there was so much I didn’t accomplish… Now, it’s all gone.

Wow, based on case studies, this can actually get much worse. Okay, I will concentrate on constant rest, every day. What’s the point? I’ll never have a life back, I’ll never have my health back, I’ll never have happiness.

My husband said, “You had the same problem riding a motorbike. You have to look where you want to go and lean into the curve with your eyes ahead of you. You have to focus on the point you want to get to.” I never looked at the end point; I was always afraid of the lean. I was always looking at where I was ~ scanning the ground for danger, watching my speed, making sure I hadn’t left my turn signal on ~ and not where I was going. Which is ironic since I know I am a future thinker and a constant planner.

For example, I have planned the documentary that I am going to make about M.E. I am going to travel this world and interview patients, doctors, people who have recovered, caregivers. It’s going to be informative and moving and it’s going to make some noise.

I have also planned the business I am going to start to bring services to home-bound patients. It’ll encompass everything: walk/wash/groom/play with your dog, wash your dishes, change your bed clothes and do your laundry, clean your home, mow your grass, cut your hair, take care of your feet, talk to you, listen to you, help with your meds, help you fill out paperwork, help you organise your files/calendar/appointments, bring a mobile library of movies, music and books from which you can borrow for free … I will have subcontractors that bring their services to your home. For example, landscapers, vets, acupuncturists, massage therapists, physical therapists, reiki practitioners, reflexologists, guided meditation helpers… It’s going to be epic and so fulfilling.

I have also planned to get a medical degree and go into research on M.E. Or, even better, doctor education. When I have some letters after my name, I will find a platform in the medical community and make some noise.

I have also planned to become a yoga teacher, a salsa dancer, a chef, a marathon runner, a gymnast, a horse rider, a dog trainer and, of course, a writer. Although, maybe, after years of this, I’ll be like Laura Hillenbrand and just not want to go there ~ Not want to write about M.E./C.F.S. because I live it.

Hope is hurting me, but only because I so desperately want to conquer the world. I am grateful for every minute of every day that my legs hold me up and my brain still works.

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Just an update… not doing well.

Hey everyone,

I’ve taken a turn for the worse. I haven’t really recovered physically from my Big Day Out on the 13th. I’ve only left the house three times in the last week: therapy, acupuncture and the stress test appointment. Eight days without much improvement is unusual for me. That, in turn, has sent my mood into some deep, dark depths. That, in turn, is making my physical symptoms worse. My headache is constant, my back is in very bad pain, I sprained my neck in my sleep and it’s the worst it has been in months, my chest is tight, my concentration and cognitive abilities are shot. I kind of want to (jump, dance, laugh, sing, run) crawl into a hole and come out when they discover a cure for this disease.

I want to go off the birth control pill, but I’m afraid to. I want to take the Lyrica, but I’m afraid to. I want to take the Ambien, but I’m afraid to. I want to take the Chinese herbs, but I’m afraid to. I want to take an anti-depressant, but I’m afraid to. I want to try medicinal marijuana, but I’m afraid to. Yesterday, I wound up taking two quarters of a Norco for the pain, spaced out by about 8 hours and today I feel it ~ a sort of Norco hangover. I know it’s crazy, but my body is that sensitive and I am that sensitive to my body. I feel everything and I don’t want to help my pain, but cause edema or help my mood, but cause chest tightness… or whatever.

More than anything right now, I am mourning the loss of my husband’s old life. He has to do EVERYTHING and I’m not sure how he is holding it together. I am begging to talk about this and cry about this and be counselled about this all the time. He’s like, “What would you like for dinner?” And I say, “My fucking body back. A cure. My pain to go away. My fear to go away. My life to come back.” Only, I am currently unable to say it with a smile. So, I don’t say, “Pain-killers for an appetizer, a winning lotto ticket for the main course and a lobotomy for dessert, please, honey!” Instead, I look at him and start sobbing, “Why would I care about food? I just want to NOT BE SICK ANYMORE, don’t you get it?!”

One of my dearest, oldest friends is coming to see me today as she passes through town. She is vibrant and beautiful and I wish we could catch up without my sadness cloaked around me and my disease stepping on my shoulders. The day before yesterday, summer left. It’s now winter. Just like that. I am grateful for hot water bottles.

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F.E.A.R. … for everything, a reason.

I have so much to say and nothing to say. I have never been so emotional in my life and never been so numb.

Quick recap: while having a “good day” last Thursday, I met with my old bosses, went to a two-hour doctor appointment and walked around the dog park for an hour. For five days afterwards, I was in extraordinary muscle and bone pain, had crushing headaches, could barely move, couldn’t stop crying and have had night sweats every night. Last night I took a quarter of a Norco and it took the edge off the pain. A quarter of a pill! People take, like, ten of those a day. I don’t get it.

After researching the number of cases of M.E. that are significantly worse because of enforced exercise or the patient pushing themselves, I am hanging in this limbo of fear. Fear of unintentionally overexerting myself and setting back my recovery permanently. Can I not go to the dog park? Should I not be talking on the phone? Should I stop people from coming to my house? Because the second I feel better and the pain eases up, I want to do things. And by “things” I mean take a walk, try cooking a meal, fold the laundry, play with the dogs. And what if I try drugs that make me feel better? It’ll be even harder to refrain from activity. God forbid my pain is taken away and I walk upstairs too quickly or laugh too hard. I’m also in fear of losing all muscle mass, all flexibility, all joint movement, and, scariest of all, fear of irreparable damage to my bones. Years ago I was diagnosed with osteopenia in my hips after a bone scan. I think it was 0.1 point off putting me in the osteoporosis range. They told me to take calcium, vitamin D and do weight-bearing exercise. Did I do any of those things? Nope. I started taking vitamin D about 6 months ago, I still don’t take calcium and now I’m not eating dairy and I’m unable to do weight-bearing exercise. Or cardio, obviously, which is sorely needed, since I’ve never done cardio workouts. My job was my exercise ~ running around restaurants ~ and yoga, too, back in the day. I’m also in fear of the drugs that might make me feel better. I don’t want to try 20 antidepressants to find the right one, I don’t want to put on 30 lbs from Lyrica or gabapentin, I don’t want to feel groggy and crazy from sleeping pills, I don’t want to deal with weaning off and withdrawal symptoms… But, most of all, I’m terrified of an allergic reaction. Having experienced anaphylactic shock, swollen tongue, not being able to breathe, syncope, headaches that feel like you might die, low pulse etc… I know how scary it is. And I hope I never have to use my Epipen because I HATE epinephrine. It feels like I’m jacked up on speed and not in a good way. It feels like it stops my heart and then zaps it back at 5 times the normal heart rate ~ I won’t even let them use it at the dentist, I’d rather have a 100 injections in my gums than just one with epinephrine that’ll keep the anesthetic in my body. Finally, despite my 8 commandments, I am in fear of being home-bound (not homeward-bound, big difference. I wish I was…) for the rest of my life and losing my mind. Or, worse, being drugged out of my mind and my husband having to take care of me and losing his mind. Or, worse, getting worse in this disease or another disease or getting a cold or a chest infection or food poisoning or any of the millions of things that could make this so. much. worse. … and not caring anymore whether I even have a mind to lose.

So, my doctor appointment today. I had a physical and a stress test. They told me to fast for blood work, which turned out not to be necessary. I don’t know about you, but, not having my tea and breakfast in the morning messes everything up — and now that includes my supplement schedule — so, I was not functioning. I was shaking and achy and cold. My blood pressure was 84/60, my temperature was 99.4. A doctor finally touched me! He poked and prodded and said my labs looked fine (cholesterol, liver). Shocker. He wanted to do X-rays of my spine but I asked him to hold off because I have had a LOT of radiation lately and in life. He referred me to a neurologist and a rheumatologist (more doctors, yay) and gave me an Rx for Ambian CR and Lyrica.

I said, ” You’re starting me at the lowest dose of Lyrica, right?”
He said, “Yep, 75mg twice a day.”
I said, “If there is anything lower, PLEASE start me lower.”
He said, “Ok, 50mg twice a day.”
I said, “Ok, 50mg once a day.”
“Ok…50mg once a day to start with…at bedtime.”
“No, in the afternoon so I can monitor the effects.”
“Ok, fine…to start with. See me in a week so I can see how you’re doing on the Lyrica.”
“See you a week after I start the Lyrica?”
“Yes, which will be in ONE week because you’re starting it tonight.”
“Don’t count on it.”

That’s the exact conversation. I then went to do the stress test. They hook you up to electrodes and put you on a treadmill. It took about 45 minutes to get to the standing on the treadmill part. For fuck’s sake, I don’t care if you see me take my shirt off, you don’t have to explain everything in minute detail at a snail’s pace, I know what an electrode is, I know what a heart is, I am freezing and hungry and I’ve had no tea and I need to get home and sit down, hurry up! Here’s the sad part, I walked at 1 mile an hour for 2 minutes. It felt fine, like being at the dog park. Then she increased it to 2 miles an hour. This was fast for me. I don’t walk this fast since I got sick. I did it for 2 minutes and then the incline increased. I was fine, but starting to get worried about the repercussions. My thighs started to burn, but I was fine, it actually felt good. Burning muscles! What I would give to work my muscles so hard they burned from the effort and the next day I would be sore and think, “I had a great workout.” But, after the past 5 days, I was so scared of what this atypical movement would do to my body. The fear of tonight, the fear of no tomorrow. At the 6th minute, when the incline went up again and I really wanted to push myself, see how high my heart rate could go and feel my breath quicken, I quit. I felt okay, I felt I could have pushed through. I probably even could have run briefly, but I was too scared of what it would do to my muscles and how it might set back my recovery. The monitor moved and blipped steadily with my heart… But it didn’t show it breaking.

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Message to the doubters (warning: strong language).

I’m happy to be alive today. I’m happy to not be in a hospital today. I’m happy to have the will to pull myself upright after about 24 hours of being horizontal and get this off my chest.

To anyone who thinks myalgic encephalomyelitis doesn’t exist because the TESTS don’t show anything wrong or some asshole somewhere couldn’t figure out what to call the thing that was happening to histrionic overworked ladies who couldn’t handle the pressures of modern society and decided it should be coined chronic fatigue syndrome, which would for evermore stigmatize the patients…. Fuck you.

Until you have what I have and until you go through what I go through, how dare you pass judgement or think you know better. What I have is killing me. It is ruining all quality of life and taking my family down with it. I’m not tired, I’m not in pain, I’m not depressed… I don’t have the words to describe this disease. I can say, with no emotion and complete clarity of mind, that I don’t want to live like this. That I’d rather die. Does that mean that I’m clinically depressed and suicidal? I don’t think so. It simply means that there might come a time in the future when I have to decide that I am either okay living this new way ~ very little moving, very few activities, very little interaction with people, probably not leaving my house much, probably never having a job that isn’t from home with flexible hours ~ and be happy with it, or decide that I can’t do it.

I was once very full of life. I was once energetic to the point of being annoying. I made my living in a very physical career with a dizzying amount of multitasking, responsibility, and challenge. So, how do I accept my new role? I don’t want to accept it if it means constant pain and management of symptoms. That’s not what I’m here for. I don’t know how to get there.

I have 100 symptoms, you’d laugh if I listed them, but, out of all of them, there is one problem that is very distinct, completely life-altering, and only seems to be talked about in the context of myalgic encephalomyelitis. If I have a “good” day and forget that I am sick and must strictly manage my energy and activity levels, I pay for it the next day with what feels like death. This is so real, so dire, so misunderstood.

Yesterday, as the day progressed, I became more and more incapacitated, immobile, had crushing pain and felt completely unstable. I am not exaggerating when I say my body felt like I had been in a terrible car crash. I was in pain from head to toe. Muscles I didn’t know existed were in pain. Internal muscles were in pain. My diaphragm was in pain, making my breathing heavy. I could barely turn my neck. This isn’t normal pain, though. This is inflamed, swollen, tender, red, throbbing pain. As if every muscle is infected. You touch me and I wince; I move and I groan. There were silent tears running down my face all day. My headache couldn’t be touched by over-the-counter pain meds, I continuously felt dizzy and feverish and faint. I checked my blood sugar and my blood pressure. I told my husband, I don’t know what’s going on, but we may have to go to a hospital this time. I hate hospitals, so that’s saying a lot. Every time I stood up, my heart raced. That’s a scary feeling so I google “tachycardia upon standing” and it comes up with “Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome” (POTS) and, lo and behold, it is related to and often found in conjunction with chronic fatigue syndrome.

So the pain is fibromyalgia and the dizzines is low blood pressure and hypovolemia and the fainting is vasovagal syncope and the racing heart is POTS… I have reactive hypoglycemia, low blood pressure, autoimmune angioedema, anaphylaxis that nobody could ever find the cause of, asthma, constant sore throat, temperature problems (understatement of the century), no steel-trap brain anymore, IBS issues, hellish sleep problems and sweats….. AND NOBODY CAN GIVE ME A FUCKING DIAGNOSIS? Just based on the blood pressure/volume drops and the syncope that has landed me in the ER, somebody should be looking at an autonomic nervous system problem. Right?? Who does that? Cardiologist? Neurologist? I don’t even know.

But, you know what they’ll tell me? Eat salt, drink water, stand up slowly. I know because I can’t find a single doctor that wants to get to the root cause. And, honestly, I’m way more concerned that my body won’t allow me to go to the doctor and the dog park or else I’ll spend at least a day or two in crushing, indescribable, terrifying, paralysing pain.

Gratitude? I’m grateful that I’m alive and angry right now. The alternatives are no fun.