My So-Called Life

The following is a glimpse into some of the ways my life has changed since ME became my constant companion.

20131124-114040.jpg
Vitamins, supplements and electrolytes, oh my! The only supplement that passed my lips pre-ME was an Emergen-C every once in a while. Now this. I just started taking B vitamins again after a 3-month pill hiatus. Every once in a while, I just need to get “clean”.

image
My drug stash. I hoard them, but don’t take them. Call it preparedness or call it paranoia, I don’t mind. After winding up in the emergency room a dozen times, I like the security of having meds on hand. What if there’s an earthquake and we need immediate painkillers? Nuff said.

image
This is an example of how I test drugs. That dot in my palm is 1/8 of a Xanax…which had no effect but a hive on my throat…which means I probably won’t try it again.

image

Cramps, spasms, aches, sprains. I never knew you could have muscle pain like this. After bartending three 12-hour shifts in a row or after being on my feet for 15 hours during a restaurant opening, I never came close to the un-ignorable myalgia that exists in this disease.

image

Yes, all these clothes are clean and, yes, they have been in this pile for a month. Folding involves a lot of arm action and I’m not willing to give up, say, loving on my dogs because I used up my arm movement quota to get neat clothes.

image

Thank god we (he) built the walk-in shower when we first moved into this house. It makes it easy to wash 110-pound dogs and it gives a flat surface for a chair for me to sit on. Yes, this is a crappy metal folding chair ~ I ordered the fancy shower stool and it was large, cumbersome and unstable. I toppled off it within two minutes and I’m only wee; I can’t imagine a bigger person having to use one of those things.

image

I took this picture in August. These are my “sun slippers” ~ because, even when it is so hot out that I have to lie in the shade with minimal clothes on, the ice blocks at the end of my legs need to be covered and in the sun.

image

Shocking, isn’t it? Welcome to peaceful sleep. Zeo headband, amber-lensed glasses for blocking the blue light in my phone, cpap nasal mask and tape over my mouth. Haha! No wonder I’m exhausted. 😉

image

Bedroom in the siting room. My husband moved to the basement room last year because he kept waking me up at night, but, this summer our bedroom got too hot for my sensitive system, so we swapped and I went to the basement. But, every teensy squeak of the floor boards above would wake me (and I don’t go back to sleep), so my husband moved to the living room where I couldn’t hear him. Poor guy.

image

BUT, the basement bedroom has no window shades and even the light from the moon wakes me, so, as a temporary measure, we (he) covered the windows with tin foil. My own sensory-deprivation chamber. Luckily, we don’t have many guests. 🙂

imageimage
My crazy numbers: High heart rate because I dared to carry some stuff upstairs and low blood sugar because I dared to eat breakfast (I have reactive hypoglycemia).

photo (1)
What my hair used to look like a few years ago and what it looks like now ~ lank, brown, going grey, unwashed, and always in a ponytail. I miss feeling pretty!

photo (2)
My crazy skin. This makes me look so gnarly! My only constant skin issue is acne (which has been worse than ever since I came off the birth control pill 11 months ago), but, every once in a while, my autoimmune urticaria, sensitivities and rashes rear their ugly heads.

Image-1 (1)
Blood pooling. *No filters were used in the making of these pictures (although they were taken at different times of day and in different seasons). Thanks to Jackie at LethargicSmiles for the blood pooling photo inspiration.

Jobst Relief, Thigh CT,  Small, Beige
Some of the products I’ve purchased in the last year to try to help my IBS, my ANS, my allergies and my insomnia. I really miss the days when I didn’t read the ingredients of mouthwash!

Thanks for taking the tour! And thanks to Patrick at Quixotic for giving me this idea.

Over to you: What has changed in your life since you became sick?

Title Credit

Doctor follow-up: symptoms, sleep, diet.

I haven’t taken vitamins or supplements in 19 days (except probiotics in the morning, magnesium at night and fish oil here and there). When I wasn’t sleeping, I decided to wash-out everything and, when I saw the Good Doctor last week, she wanted me to hold off on adding them back until I had challenged some foods. So, in the next month, I will be challenging soy and citrus, which I haven’t eaten in a month, and corn, dairy and eggs, which I haven’t eaten in a year. Honestly, I don’t know how I will identify symptoms ~ for no reason, sleep disappears and headaches hit me like a freight train. A few days ago I woke up with all over muscle pain: thick, heavy, stiff, achy, contracted muscles from tip to toe. I started waking up in the night again in a full-body tense stretch, jaw clamped down painfully, neck and back arched. It is coupled with daytime tiredness that stopped me writing, reading, talking… This wasn’t the bricked feeling of ATP running out in my cells, this was pure tired, like I was convalescing. It’s still with me today, but I want to write, so I force myself to sit at the computer.

I hate when old symptoms return. I thought perhaps spine pain and muscle aches were gone for good, but here I am with a new bottle of Tizanidine. I made a list of what could be causing it: Scooter? Adding back legumes? No supplements? Weather? Period? This week has also felt like awfully bad allergies, which shouldn’t be happening at the end of August. I actually had to take my inhaler and I couldn’t wear my cpap last night because my nose was plugged, even after multiple shots of antihistamine nasal spray. My headaches have mostly dissipated, only rearing up when I tweak my neck (which is about every other day; the nighttime muscle contractions don’t help), but I’m left with leaden cotton wool filling my skull and plugging my orifices. It feels like an orange on a toothpick, my neck too weak to hold the bobble head. I’m chalking it up to the weather. Seattle turned into a tropical rain forest this week. The temperature in my room is 74 degrees and the humidity is 74%. I keep saying, “It’s so close!” The only way to describe it.

Some good news: I’ve actually slept relatively well the last 7 nights ~ with only melatonin ~ which is miraculous. I have had a resurgence of mild night sweats for the first time in a very long time. But, we’re going to ignore that and the lack of deep sleep and concentrate on the positives: My current average hours of sleep, average time awake and average time to fall asleep:

An average of 8.5 hours sleep? First time ever in my life!

An average of 8.5 hours sleep? First time ever in my life!

38 mins awake, on average,  when it used to be 2 hours!

38 mins awake, on average, when it used to be 2 hours!

A glorious average of 9 mins to fall asleep! (this was tipped by the unheard-of ONE MINUTE it took me to fall asleep last night!)

A glorious average of 9 mins to fall asleep! (this was tipped by the unheard-of ONE MINUTE it took me to fall asleep last night!)

Other things I talked about with the Good Doc: She doesn’t feel comfortable with prescribing saline IV infusions, she is thinking about digestive enzymes, she wants to get my vitmain D levels between 50 and 80 (they were 30 last March), and she doesn’t want to do a tryptase test to look for Mast Cell Activation Disorder (MCAD).

If anyone is interested in my elimination diet, she said she thought coconut sugar would be okay (I haven’t quit sugar yet; I’m a junkie) and she wanted me to avoid xanthan gum, guar gum and carageenan. This is virtually impossible using dairy-free products, so I’m not taking it too seriously. My husband spent half an hour in Whole Foods reading the labels of nut and coconut milks: if you want to avoid sugar, cane juice and soy lecithin, you won’t be able to avoid carageenan (if anyone has more info, please tell me!). The best bet seems to be Pacific Almond Milk (which has carageenan and “natural flavor”) and Rice Dream, if you don’t mind the calorie and sugar content (I love the taste, but it’s high-glycemic load causes my blood sugar to crash).

She also wanted me to watch the teas I drink, since this is the only thing I drink besides water. You can get all the info about teas from this FoodBabe blog. Basically, I am trying to stick with Numi, Traditional Medicinals, Rishi (which is even more expensive than the other expensive organic teas) and maybe Choice. I splurged and bought this yesterday: Rishi Turmeric Ginger Loose Leaf Tea ~ how good does that sound for what ails me?! (I reckon, in the good ol’ days, I would have spent about that much on one cocktail, including tip, so I deserve it. I ignored the voice that said, Uh, you have no income.)

Lastly, I saw my endocrinologist for my yearly check-up. He increased my Levothyroxine to 37.5mcg five days a week and 25mcg on the weekends and kept my liothyronine at 10mcg/day. He also thought I should see an immunologist. I didn’t even know they existed. Not that I think they could find anything… except maybe help with my MCAD theory (that’ll be another post).

That’s my update. In a few days, my Mother is coming from Ireland for THREE WEEKS to help us out and take a bit of the burden off my husband. One of my brothers is flying across the country to see me at the end of September and my other brother, the pilot, has a layover here the same week. It’s so exciting! Gratitude today, once again, is for my family. They continually help me, encourage me and remember me.

My beautiful niece sent me this card. :)

My beautiful niece sent me this card. 🙂

Hope for a great sea-change

One of the things I never realized about chronic illness is that it is easier to drive than it is to take a shower. If you see someone driving their car to an appointment, you might think they’re doing okay, but that person may have needed help to wash their hair that morning. And, by “morning”, I mean afternoon because it probably took a number of hours to get from waking to bathing.

I can drive myself to nearby appointments and I can talk for the whole time I’m there – half an hour sitting up with a doctor, an hour lying down with the physical therapist – but, if someone witnessed this, would they understand that I couldn’t write a blog post that day, I had to put on clothes in increments over the course of an hour, I had to rest in a dark, silent room immediately before and after the appointment, and, if I had slept poorly, I would have canceled?

My husband has been washing my hair lately. I sit on my seat and he leans awkwardly into the shower while I rest my forearms on my knees and hang my head. He also helps me dry my hair. I sit on the toilet in much the same position as I did in the shower and he stands above me with the hair dryer.

My sister comes over to help me with laundry. It’s been a long time since I’ve expended the energy needed to fold or hang clothes, so there are wrinkled piles of clean, dirty and not-clean-but-not-dirty-enough-to-be-washed items in various rooms. I never thought my husband would be scrubbing my scalp while I sit naked and motionless or my sister would be sorting my underwear while I am supine, watching.

It seems like a new low, especially in light of the fact that I’ve been housebound for a year, I’m walking under 1000 steps a day and it takes about 15 minutes of activity to wear me out. But I don’t think it is a low. I feel hopeful; overall I may feel healthier than a year ago. I’m more debilitated now, but less ILL. More chronic, less flailing, flaring, uncontrollable. A year ago, I was freezing all the time during the day and drenched in night sweats whenever I slept. I was in constant pain and felt fluish every day. I was still going to the dog park and grocery shopping, but I was scared and overwhelmed. Maybe most of the improvements have been mental– now, when the viral symptoms descend, I don’t panic. I understand that this could be lifelong and any progress will always be at a snail’s pace. I understand there may not be progress at all, it may only get worse. I know now there will be spans of no pain and I just need to take one day at a time. In fact, every single night when I go to bed, I am excited at the prospect of another chance in the morning– at the knowledge that a new day may bring a better day.

My husband says, it was a long road down, so it’ll probably be at least as long back up. I try to relax into the ride, do all I can to unburden my organs and facilitate healing. When my inner workaholic and constant student starts to writhe inside this straight jacket, I soothe her: You are working. You are writing, reading, learning about yourself and opening your eyes to suffering. I remind myself that I don’t have to talk to people that annoy me, drive during rush hour, meet deadlines or bow to bosses. When my night owl howls, I tell it nothing fun happens between 9pm and 2am. You’re not missing anything, go to sleep. I try to believe it. I remind myself that I never have to hear an alarm clock. I ease into bed with a solid routine and, when I wake, I lounge for hours. This is healthy, don’t resent it. When cabin fever and loneliness threaten to make my mind come apart at the seams, I pretend I am monastic. I am on a retreat. I am cleansing, enjoying solace. This is a temporary stillness. It is needed. Revel in it. I get to enjoy the garden and the sun. I get to spend every day with my dogs, even if it is lying flat on my back. I promise myself: The world will be there when your body is able to meet it again.

Maybe this low is where the slide stops and it’s all uphill from here. Listen carefully: “Believe in miracle and cures and healing wells.”

So hope for a great sea-change
On the far side of revenge.
Believe that further shore
Is reachable from here.
Believe in miracle
And cures and healing wells.

Call miracle self-healing:
The utter, self-revealing
Double-take of feeling.
If there’s fire on the mountain
Or lightning and storm
And a god speaks from the sky

That means someone is hearing
The outcry and the birth-cry
Of new life at its term.

Seamus Heaney,
The Cure at Troy
R.I.P.

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.

IMG_20130806_140241 (1)

There were definitely repercussions from my trip around the cemetery with my pup. We managed to get back there two more times during the week we had the scooter, but the effects ~ good and bad ~ started as soon as we got home that first day.

The Good:

He is a different dog. Just like that. Even my husband commented on the change. He is not completely back to his normal, carefree, waggy self, but he was immediately happier and calmer. He really just needed to see me happy and out and about to know that things are okay. Over the next few days, he spent hours in the back garden with me, lounging in the sun. He would come close to me, say hello, and then find a shady spot. Every time he got up, I expected him to have reached his limit, had the anxiety kick in, and be headed inside, but he didn’t! He would just move from sun spot to shade like the good old days. For those regular readers, you know this is a big deal. He hasn’t really come outside with me since I accidentally hit him in the eye with a tennis ball. He was already stressed by my illness but that incident put him on a different level of depression. Now, he isn’t lying on the couch, staring at the wall as much. He is more interested in what I am doing. He’s playing little games with me again, like trying to catch my hand when I do “here comes the mousey”. 🙂 He even followed me when I drove the scooter around our garden!

Just like I underestimated the effect my phone screen was having on my sleep and my constipation was having on my overall well being, I had underestimated how blue Bowie’s blueness made me. Since our outing, I have had a woeful week symptom-wise (stay tuned) and my mood hasn’t dipped at all. I haven’t felt happiness, relief and hope like this in as long as I can remember. I have to work as hard as possible to not only get better, but remain positive because we can all bounce back from this. Bowie has shown me that.

IMG_20130811_172433-1

The Bad:

He’s a different dog. I’m not the only one who has deconditioned. He does not gallop anymore. He runs in short bursts, looking stiff and out of breath. It seems as if he has aged 5 years this year.

And then there is my body. I woke up the next day feeling like I had been on a rollercoaster. It was very obviously from the jostling of the scooter. My spine hurt from my tailbone up to my skull, my neck was killing me and my head hurt badly ~ a headache that felt like a direct result of neck strain and my brain hitting the inside of my cranium. The pavement around the cemetery was pretty smooth… I thought. It never occurred to me that my body would be so rattled. I wound up taking Tinazidine to help and you know how bad it has to be for me to take a drug.

The Ugly:

Who knows the exact reason, but, after the walk with my dog and taking Tizanidine, my sleep disappeared. I mean, GONE. I went from 7-9 broken, unrefreshing hours to 2-3 broken hours. Here’s a look at a few of my Zeo sleep graphs:

2:45am to 10:45am

2:45am to 10:45am

3:45am to 10:45am

IMG_20130813_075309_318-1

11pm to 6:15am

Melatonin, valerian, magnesium, Tylenol did nothing. More Tizanidine did nothing. My usual dose of Unisom (1/4 pill) did nothing. I finally tried Trazodone! Nothing. Panic. I laid low, didn’t expend any energy, waited for the horrific crash… After the first night, I was in very bad shape ~ stiffness, muscle and bone pain, breathing difficulty, dizziness, higher heart rate, flu-ish ~ but, oddly, as the insomnia streak continued, my symptoms didn’t get worse. I was laughing at tv yesterday, thinking, Why don’t I feel worse?? I stopped all supplements and, last night, I took 1/2 a Unisom pill (double dose!) and didn’t wear the cpap. And slept 8 hours. Oh, thank god. I worry about not wearing the cpap and I certainly needed more than 8 hours, but I am very, very grateful this morning.

Last night. An hour straight of deep sleep! Zzzzz…

Title Credit

NYTimes: When Lyme Disease Lasts and Lasts; Why I Donated My Stool; The Morality of Meditation.

A few New York Times Articles for you while I try to crawl back up from a hellish low (body swollen; heart pounding away for no reason; stiff, achy, sore muscles; headache; dizzy; flu-y; despairing…):

When Lyme Disease Lasts and Lasts

Screenshot_2013-07-08-09-19-33
JULY 8, 2013
By JANE E. BRODY

Chronic Lyme disease is a highly controversial catch-all term for a host of long-lasting symptoms that may or may not stem from prior infection with the bacterium that causes acute Lyme disease. Often misdiagnosed and mistreated, chronic Lyme disease leaves thousands of people physically and mentally debilitated and without a medically established recourse.

Mary Rasenberger, 51, a New York lawyer, experienced “a series of ailments going back 10 years.” She was finally given a diagnosis of chronic Lyme disease last summer after having been told that she had multiple sclerosis.

Her long-term symptoms were “aching joints, headaches and indescribable fatigue” that made her miserable and unable to exercise. In the last few years, two additional symptoms developed: neuropathy in her limbs and face, and vision problems. In an interview, she said she “woke up every day feeling sick”; if she became overheated, she felt as if she had the flu.

Yet a test for Lyme disease came back negative. Desperate, she finally consulted a Lyme “specialist,” one of a number of doctors who treat patients with symptoms like Ms. Rasenberger’s with long-term antibiotics, despite the fact that such a regimen has shown no significant or lasting benefit in controlled clinical trials. These trials involved randomly assigning patients to the antibiotic Rocephin (often administered intravenously) or a placebo, with neither patients nor those evaluating their symptoms aware of who got what.

Still, after several months on antibiotics Ms. Rasenberger, like many similar patients, said she felt “completely healthy for the first time in years.” Each time she tries to stop the medication, her debilitating symptoms return.

Reports like Ms. Rasenberger’s are hardly unusual, and experts now realize that some people who get Lyme disease go on to develop a chronic illness even if their initial infection was promptly diagnosed and correctly treated. Approximately 10 percent to 15 percent of people who are treated for medically documented Lyme disease develop persistent or recurrent symptoms of fatigue, musculoskeletal pain and cognitive complaints.

The condition is known as post-treatment Lyme disease syndrome, or PTLDS. “It is a real disorder, although nobody really knows what’s happening,” Dr. John N. Aucott, an infectious disease specialist in Lutherville, Md., said in an interview.

“A lot of patients have been told they’re not really sick, just tired or depressed,” he added. “But this is not normal fatigue, and it’s not caused by depression” — although depression certainly can result from the patient’s seriously diminished quality of life.

Antibiotic therapy for PTLDS is based on disputed reports that these patients may harbor hidden reservoirs of the spirochete causing Lyme disease, Borrelia burgdorferi, long after their initial treatment. But researchers who have studied the therapy have found it of little or no benefit, and many say the regimen is fraught with hazards that could be even worse than the illness.

Risks include the development of an antibiotic-resistant infection, intractable diarrhea, kidney or liver damage and, as happened to a 30-year-old woman treated with an antibiotic through a catheter, death from a systemic infection called sepsis.

People with PTLDS are not hypochondriacs seeking attention or sluggards wanting to avoid work or chores, Dr. Aucott said, though they may benefit from psychotherapy that helps them cope better with their symptoms.

“These are high-functioning people — couch potatoes don’t get Lyme disease,” he said. “They are not crazy, and the doctors who treat them are not evil. These are desperate people trying to get better, and well-intentioned doctors who are trying to help them.”

But until the causes of PTLDS are discerned, it will be difficult for researchers to find effective therapies. Among the possible causes of the syndrome are prolonged post-infection fatigue and an autoimmune reaction to the infecting organism, according to a recent book by Dr. Adriana Marques of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases.

As for why some people with PTLDS seem to benefit from intensive antibiotic therapy, at least temporarily, Dr. Aucott suggested a few theories. The antibiotics may have an anti-inflammatory effect that relieves pain and swelling. Alternatively, patients may have a low-level, persistent infection that is temporarily suppressed by antibiotics — but not killed by them. Or it may be that some PTLDS patients experience a placebo effect, improving because they believe the treatment will help and because someone is finally taking their symptoms seriously.

Complicating the picture is the fact that some people with PTLDS symptoms apparently never had Lyme disease in the first place, Dr. Marques said in an interview. There are other infectious organisms — Epstein-Barr virus, for example — that can produce similar symptoms and may be the real culprits.

But experts cannot rule out Lyme spirochete as a cause, either. Many, if not most, people who are infected with it never know they have been bitten by the tiny deer tick that spreads the bacterium from animals to people. They may never develop or notice the red rash that can result. Even when a rash occurs, only one in five is the characteristic bull’s-eye associated with Lyme disease. Most are solid red and round or oval.

Such people may never receive treatment for the infection in its early stages and end up weeks, months, even years later with the kinds of symptoms that have plagued Ms. Rasenberger. Symptoms may develop gradually, as they did in my dog, which had minimal effects from a Lyme-carrying tick until nine months later, when he collapsed, unable to eat or drink on his own.

Both Dr. Aucott and Dr. Marques said more research is desperately needed if people are to get the help they need. “This is a huge disease that’s only going to get bigger, yet it receives only a tiny fraction of the N.I.H. budget,” Dr. Aucott said, referring to the National Institutes of Health.

Given the uncertainties about chronic Lyme disease, prevention is more important than ever. Avoid walking through brush and high grass. When hiking in the woods, camping, gardening or mowing the lawn, wear long, light-colored clothing and tuck pant legs into tightfitting socks. Spray exposed skin with a 20-percent DEET insect repellent and clothing with permethrin. Remove clothes before coming back indoors, and wash and dry them separately.

Shower as soon as possible after being outdoors, using a washcloth or loofah, and check your body carefully, especially in skin folds, for attached ticks. They should be carefully removed with a tweezer without crushing them by pulling gently and steadily near the mouth. Then apply an antiseptic to the site.

 

Why I Donated My Stool

Screenshot_2013-07-08-09-38-39

July 6, 2013
By MARIE MYUNG-OK LEE

The microbiome of the digestive system is particularly important. At least a thousand strains of bacteria coexist in a healthy human bowel, and beneficial bacteria are involved in vitamin production, digestion and keeping “bad” bacteria in check. Thus, changes to the gut microbiome can precipitate disease. For instance, taking a powerful antibiotic wipes out both good and bad gut flora, which can lead to opportunistic bacteria taking over and causing infection.

Many people who suffer from clostridium difficile, a dangerous strain of bacteria that is becoming epidemic in hospitals and nursing homes, got it this way. The idea behind fecal transfers is that restoring colonies of healthy bacteria can either dilute or crowd out these harmful strains. And it seems to work: in January, The New England Journal of Medicine reported that the first randomized clinical trial of F.M.T.’s for clostridium difficile had been halted because the treatment worked so well that it was unethical to withhold it from the control group.

The causes of ulcerative colitis are more mysterious than those of clostridium difficile (doctors in Gene’s case did not hazard a guess), but there is some speculation that the condition can also be traced to pathogenic bacteria. A small study of children with ulcerative colitis, published this spring in The Journal of Pediatric Gastroenterology and Nutrition, found that 78 percent had a reduction in symptoms within a week of being treated with fecal transfers.

The idea of using stool as medicine is not new. In the 16th century, during the Ming dynasty, fermented fecal concoctions, euphemistically named “yellow soup,” were used for digestive problems. In the 17th century, Christian Franz Paullini, a German physician, compiled a stool recipe book for treating dysentery and other digestive ailments. In the United States, fecal transplants have long been used on sick horses, and in 1958, Dr. Ben Eiseman pioneered the concept in humans, writing about the use of a fecal enema as a last-ditch effort for a patient with clostridium difficile.

Today, around 3,000 F.M.T.’s have been performed worldwide. No significant adverse reactions have been definitively attributed to the procedure (though there have been two F.M.T.’s that may have led to the transmission of the norovirus stomach bug, both of which cleared on their own within days).

CONVINCED that the potential benefits outweighed the risks, Gene decided, early this year, to try F.M.T. However, this turned out to be harder than he’d expected. There are only about 16 centers in the country that even offer the treatment. Gene finally secured an appointment with Dr. Lawrence Brandt, one of the most experienced F.M.T. practitioners, only to find out, just before his visit, that Dr. Brandt was suspending his F.M.T. practice for ulcerative colitis on the advice of the hospital’s lawyers, in order to comply with a new Food and Drug Administration decision. In April, the F.D.A. decided to classify human stool that is used therapeutically as a drug, and thus approved for use only within an F.D.A.-approved clinical study.

Gene tried tracking down other doctors, but found to his frustration that almost all of them had stopped doing F.M.T.’s as a result of the agency’s somewhat ambiguous restrictions. He found one remaining gastroenterologist, R. David Shepard, who had an excellent record of treating ulcerative colitis with fecal transfers and was still doing them. But Dr. Shepard was in Florida, and Gene was now too sick to travel.

Dr. Shepard, however, had a solution: he would help Gene with the mechanics of performing a do-it-yourself F.M.T., something he’d done successfully with a handful of other patients. Gene just had to find a donor.

The donor question was a tricky one. The donor has to be healthy (and will be screened, via stool and blood, for transmissible diseases like H.I.V., as well as for pathogens and parasites); has to avoid any foods the patient might be allergic to; and has to be nearby, as freshness is an issue: the bacteria mix may begin to change once the stool leaves the body.

THIS is where I enter the story. My friends know me as being somewhat evangelical about eating fresh fruits and vegetables. I also eat a lot of naturally fermented vegetables, which contain beneficial bacteria as well as the kind of fiber that nourishes good bacteria in the gut, and I follow a gluten-free diet (Gene had found that his colitis did better off gluten). Finally, I’m regular, which is also important. In the end, it was kind of inevitable that he ask me.

After the initial weirdness of the request wore off, I told him I’d be happy to do it.

The screening took one visit to the lab. The procedure is, of course, messy and odoriferous, but it’s also simplicity itself. Gene’s marching orders were to procure a dedicated blender and sieve, enema tubing and syringe, and lots and lots of newspaper. F.M.T. basically consists of blending stool with saline, straining it, and reintroducing it into the colon via enema.

I delivered my first donation, in Tupperware, and Gene took it into the privacy of his bathroom. I stayed, just in case I was needed, and after about half an hour, he came out and told me, with a look of wonder, that he was feeling better already. Already? We checked with Dr. Shepard, who told us that, indeed, one can feel the effects that quickly.

However, a few hours later, the cramps returned. The good bacteria appeared to be doing something, but hadn’t gained a foothold in Gene’s gut. We would need to keep doing the transfers — first twice a day, then just once a day.

By early May, Gene felt well enough to get on a plane to Dr. Shepard’s center in Florida, where he received a colonoscopic F.M.T. The doctor confirmed that instead of the multiple ulcers Gene once had, there’s only a single small one remaining.

He can’t declare his ulcerative colitis “cured,” because it could still return. However, for now, the diarrhea, bleeding and mental misery are in the past.

Of course, his experience is only one story, hardly a double-blind clinical trial. And there could be risks we don’t know about: could moving the genetic material of one person to another also transfer unwanted characteristics, like a propensity toward diabetes or cancer? More studies are needed. But at the same time, the F.D.A. needs to fast-track research into this field, though it is neither glamorous nor capable of promising a blockbuster drug payoff for some corporation.

Thankfully, just two weeks ago, the agency announced that it was easing some of the restrictions it imposed in April on the use of F.M.T. for clostridium difficile. But this does not apply to ulcerative colitis. Gene had been lucky to have received one of Dr. Shepard’s last F.M.T.’s.

Gene was also lucky (or desperate enough) to find a donor. Some patients have resorted to Craigslist. There is the possibility of creating synthetic stool, but given that there are thousands of unknown species of bacteria in human stool, there’s no way to know if it would be effective. In an ideal future, a universal screening panel will be put in place so that healthy people can donate their microbiota, the way you can with blood.

The upside for patients would be huge. In a maelstrom of skyrocketing health care costs, think of what we could save, in terms of quality of life and money, with this procedure. Clostridium difficile infections alone kill about 30,000 a year and cost billions of dollars. The prescription drugs for Gene’s ulcerative colitis, let alone the doctor visits and one hospitalization, ran into the tens of thousands of dollars. The F.M.T. was basically the cost of the blender and the enema materials.

Gene gained back much of the weight he’d lost and recently returned to work. He was feeling so good that, last month, he gave a party. He’d kept his illness very private and thus most people hadn’t seen him at his sickest — to them he probably just looked like himself. But I remembered how skeletal and hollow-eyed he looked and the incredible journey he took just to fight his way back to normal. Now, thanks to some doctors who are promoting the curative powers of what we once used to think of as “waste,” Gene has a new medicine, one that’s replenishable and has no co-pay.

As for me, in a normal world, I would prefer not to discuss my stool in a public forum. But seeing my friend restored to health has made me change my attitude. Every morning (like I said, I am very regular), I find myself with a new appreciation for this bacterial world that we share.

 

The Morality of Meditation

Screenshot_2013-07-08-09-44-13

July 5, 2013
By DAVID DeSTENO

MEDITATION is fast becoming a fashionable tool for improving your mind. With mounting scientific evidence that the practice can enhance creativity, memory and scores on standardized intelligence tests, interest in its practical benefits is growing. A number of “mindfulness” training programs, like that developed by the engineer Chade-Meng Tan at Google, and conferences like Wisdom 2.0 for business and tech leaders, promise attendees insight into how meditation can be used to augment individual performance, leadership and productivity.

This is all well and good, but if you stop to think about it, there’s a bit of a disconnect between the (perfectly commendable) pursuit of these benefits and the purpose for which meditation was originally intended. Gaining competitive advantage on exams and increasing creativity in business weren’t of the utmost concern to Buddha and other early meditation teachers. As Buddha himself said, “I teach one thing and one only: that is, suffering and the end of suffering.” For Buddha, as for many modern spiritual leaders, the goal of meditation was as simple as that. The heightened control of the mind that meditation offers was supposed to help its practitioners see the world in a new and more compassionate way, allowing them to break free from the categorizations (us/them, self/other) that commonly divide people from one another.

But does meditation work as promised? Is its originally intended effect — the reduction of suffering — empirically demonstrable?

To put the question to the test, my lab, led in this work by the psychologist Paul Condon, joined with the neuroscientist Gaëlle Desbordes and the Buddhist lama Willa Miller to conduct an experiment whose publication is forthcoming in the journal Psychological Science. We recruited 39 people from the Boston area who were willing to take part in an eight-week course on meditation (and who had never taken any such course before). We then randomly assigned 20 of them to take part in weekly meditation classes, which also required them to practice at home using guided recordings. The remaining 19 were told that they had been placed on a waiting list for a future course.

After the eight-week period of instruction, we invited the participants to the lab for an experiment that purported to examine their memory, attention and related cognitive abilities. But as you might anticipate, what actually interested us was whether those who had been meditating would exhibit greater compassion in the face of suffering. To find out, we staged a situation designed to test the participants’ behavior before they were aware that the experiment had begun.

WHEN a participant entered the waiting area for our lab, he (or she) found three chairs, two of which were already occupied. Naturally, he sat in the remaining chair. As he waited, a fourth person, using crutches and wearing a boot for a broken foot, entered the room and audibly sighed in pain as she leaned uncomfortably against a wall. The other two people in the room — who, like the woman on crutches, secretly worked for us — ignored the woman, thus confronting the participant with a moral quandary. Would he act compassionately, giving up his chair for her, or selfishly ignore her plight?

The results were striking. Although only 16 percent of the nonmeditators gave up their seats — an admittedly disheartening fact — the proportion rose to 50 percent among those who had meditated. This increase is impressive not solely because it occurred after only eight weeks of meditation, but also because it did so within the context of a situation known to inhibit considerate behavior: witnessing others ignoring a person in distress — what psychologists call the bystander effect — reduces the odds that any single individual will help. Nonetheless, the meditation increased the compassionate response threefold.

Although we don’t yet know why meditation has this effect, one of two explanations seems likely. The first rests on meditation’s documented ability to enhance attention, which might in turn increase the odds of noticing someone in pain (as opposed to being lost in one’s own thoughts). My favored explanation, though, derives from a different aspect of meditation: its ability to foster a view that all beings are interconnected. The psychologist Piercarlo Valdesolo and I have found that any marker of affiliation between two people, even something as subtle as tapping their hands together in synchrony, causes them to feel more compassion for each other when distressed. The increased compassion of meditators, then, might stem directly from meditation’s ability to dissolve the artificial social distinctions — ethnicity, religion, ideology and the like — that divide us.

Supporting this view, recent findings by the neuroscientists Helen Weng, Richard Davidson and colleagues confirm that even relatively brief training in meditative techniques can alter neural functioning in brain areas associated with empathic understanding of others’ distress — areas whose responsiveness is also modulated by a person’s degree of felt associations with others.

So take heart. The next time you meditate, know that you’re not just benefiting yourself, you’re also benefiting your neighbors, community members and as-yet-unknown strangers by increasing the odds that you’ll feel their pain when the time comes, and act to lessen it as well.