Believe it or not, an update!

I have so much to write about, so much to catch people up on and document, but the longer I go without posting, the harder it feels to break the dry spell. Each month, I think, “Write that in a blog post, you’ll want to remember that,” but I never feel like I can “waste” the time. Especially in the last 6 months. If you’re friends with me on Facebook, you know that I have lost all available energy for months to fighting horrific healthcare battles. Energy that could have been put towards conversations with loved ones, time playing with my dogs, reading or writing…

So here’s a recap: From November, 2015 to around August, 2016 I was slowly getting stronger from my immunoglobulin infusions. I estimated that they brought me up from about 15% of normal functioning to about 20%. That 33% increase was miraculous. It didn’t exactly change the way I lived my life (I still had the same symptoms, was still mostly housebound, still had to manage energy carefully), but it changed my control — things became predictable, which reduced fear and let me branch out. Payback was shorter, not as scary, I could do more and knew I wouldn’t make myself permanently worse. That last point was life-changing for me. For 4 years, it felt like anything I did made me worse, I was desperate to hold on to the functioning I had and couldn’t take many chances without being forced down a notch — and I was always so scared that the new lower notch would be forever.

So, last year we went to the Washington coast for 5 days and I didn’t feel terrible. I had two friends visit me at my house and we talked for hours and I was okay. My family came to Seattle for their annual vacation (2 brothers, sister, mother, spouses and 7 nieces and nephews) and I was able to go to their rental house 4 days in a row for extended visits. This was the turning point, though, I think. I left it all on the stage those 4 days with my family. Friends with chronic illness, you know what I mean — it’s such a difficult act to appear normal and, from what I’m told, I gave a great performance that long weekend. Each day I came home and literally crawled on all fours to my bed. I lost 3 pounds in 4 days because between each visit all I could do is lie in bed and hope for a enough recovery to try it again. There wasn’t a moment that the payback wasn’t worth the incredible time I spent with my family. I’ll have to write a whole blog post on it one day. My nieces and nephews are everything you want kids to be — sweet, kind, honest, inquisitive, funny. No bratty-ness, no meltdowns, no selfishness. My brothers are doing something right.

Right after that visit, in August of last year, I started to nosedive. I had an increase in migraines, sore throats, exhaustion, muscle pain, unstable blood pressure. I was trying out (very expensive) hyperbaric oxygen treatments at the time and thought they were either causing or exacerbating my symptoms, so I stopped those, but continued to go downhill. In November, I started the descent into health insurance hell that lasted about 4 months. I’m not going to get into it right now. There’s too much to tell and it’ll make me shake and cry angry tears as I type, which I’m not up for. Suffice it to say it is an evil, vindictive, nonsensical, black hole of a system and nobody has accurate information about anything when it comes to healthcare for people under 65 on disability. And, even if they do have the knowledge, it seems the vast majority of health-related representatives (or is it all humans? I’m guessing it is) are inept, lazy, selfish and genuinely couldn’t care less about helping someone in need. My friend Michael had one of these phone calls where he wound up saying, “How do you sleep at night?” to the representative who was outright lying to him. Essentially, that’s how I spent 4 months — all available energy every day dedicated to battling my brain symptoms so I could continue to micromanage every person who held my health in their hands, taking copious notes and making enemies, as I waded through the morass of phone transfers, misinformation, hours of stuttering hold muzak, false promises about call backs and looming deadlines… While thinking, how do they live with themselves? Not to mention incompetent, petulant doctors that I need so I can’t I leave them.

When my mother came to visit after Christmas, she said it might have been the sickest she had ever seen me. I wasn’t even close to the sickest I’ve been, but it still says something about the severity of my crash (to be fair, I had allowed myself to have one of those total meltdown, let-it-all-out, “I’m so sick of being sick” sob-fests in front of her — the kind that I usually rein in because they can make me more reactive and wipe me out — which can’t be easy for a mother to witness). My strength started to get marginally better in February. I think it might have been helped by an increase in my thyroid medication, but it was kind of a double-edged sword because I also became horribly hyperthyroid for about 3 weeks before I realised what was happening. I had also stopped going to my weekly appointments (physical therapy, myofacial, counselling etc.) and had stopped my immunoglobulin infusions because I lost insurance to cover them, so perhaps the break from obligations and weekly medications helped me gain strength.

This spring my husband, dogs and I drove to California for an appointment with Dr. Kaufman at the Open Medicine Clinic and we stayed 6 weeks for a holiday and to test how I felt in a different climate. I will write about those big events in another post. What I really came on here to document is how I’m doing now. I want to keep track of what I can manage and how bad the payback is when I indulge in social time. Last November I went out to brunch (out!) with 4 old friends (you can imagine what it meant to me to be invited). I’m pretty sure I appeared normal throughout the 2-hour meal, but payback was vicious. My calendar notes say: “very bad today, body totally shut down, in bed, shaking, crashing, crying, guts feel swollen and full of bricks, heart, muscles, eyes burning.” It lasted days. In early February, my brother was at our house for 7 hours. I spent his visit relaxed on the couch in my pjs, but we talked and laughed like normal people, animatedly, and I didn’t rest once (unheard of a few years ago). I went to bed that night flying high, so happy from our conversation, so grateful to feel fine… And then, 3 hours later, woke up in the middle of the night feeling poisoned, shaking all over. My calendar says: “severe payback, swollen throat, can barely swallow, hard to breathe, every muscle in pain, bad stiff neck and headache, shooting pain in bowels, nose stuffy and runny.” The worst of it only lasted about one and a half days.

Yesterday, we had family over for brunch to celebrate my birthday. Although the whole shindig lasted 3.5 hours, there were only about 2 hours during which everyone was here — 4 adults and a child, not that many people. My friend Z said I looked great, she was so excited by how different it was from other years. She said, “I know you’ll pay, but today was normal.” This is everything I could hope for, BUT… the big but… But, it was hard. I can power through now, I have the ability to put on an excellent performance. If my neurological symptoms stay away, I can do quite a bit physically (although standing for a long time still causes excruciating pain). So, yesterday I showered, dressed, got out plates and cutlery, made some waffles and chatted with my family. That’s about all I did before things got difficult. There’s this weird thing that happens when you’re ill, but you’re putting on the normal act: You lose time. Or at least I do. Do any of you? For example, I remember everything about the first hour yesterday — when I was chatting with my husband and sister-in-law. Then our friends and their daughter arrived and things are a little fuzzier. I remember the conversations, but they’re not in sharp focus. Then my sister and her dog arrived, right around the time I wanted to make the waffles and apparently that’s when my mind went into … not quite “survival” mode, but “keep it together” mode: I was talking to 2 people in the kitchen while trying to focus on cooking and, although I made good waffles and I’m sure I said the appropriate things at the appropriate times during the conversations, I cant remember any of it clearly and couldn’t tell you what we talked about. Same thing while we ate — I clearly remember how delicious the food was (of course I do), but recalling things that were said is akin to trying to remember conversations I had while drunk, it’s murky, and it worries me that I was rude or unresponsive — to my favourite people, who made the effort to visit us, no less.

When I was saying goodbye to them, I could barely see. My vision was tunneled, I had a wicked headache and my brain was a buzzing scream, but being the fastidious person I am, I couldn’t not load the dishwasher. This tipped me over the edge. I was staggering around the kitchen, using immense effort to coordinate my muscles and concentrate enough to lift and place dishes. My eyes weren’t tracking properly, my heart rate was running high and my legs were burning terribly, but I just wanted to come to an end point… Stupendously stupid stupidity. I slid to the kitchen floor, panting, crying, literally unable to walk out of the room. I slurred: “Nothing is worth this. I was trying so hard to be normal, but no social time is worth this.” My husband said, “Why don’t you just be honest?” and I said, “Because THIS is honest.” On the floor, weeping is honest. He helped me to the couch, I was having a hard time sitting up, it was just utter energy depletion, muscles unable to work. I immediately fell asleep in a sort of emergency power-down. I started to feel a bit better about 5 hours later and today I’m okay besides another bad headache and stiff neck. That’s the difference now — when it hits, it hits hard and scares the bejeesus out of me, but it doesn’t last long. So I take it back, it was worth it. I ate decadent food in the warm sun in our beautiful garden with some of my favourite people on the planet (and to Z’s credit, she tried to stop me from over-exerting myself over and over and I bullheadedly kept telling her, “No, I want to do this! I’m fine!”). But of course it was worth it and I’ll keep trying to make this life have more life in it and repeat to myself during the scary times: this, too, shall pass.

2016 Beach memories: Pictures worth 20,000 words.

Two years ago, I spent a few arduous days in L.A. with my mother and husband so I could have an appointment with Dr. Chia. Last year, we spent a few days on the Washington coast while I was very sick. We picked the closest coastal town to our house, so it was the shortest drive and my husband did all the work — I just had to get myself in and out of the car. I did it for the dogs, to see their joy on the beach, to try to make up for two and a half years of no adventures and lessened activity… but I was not in good shape.

This year, though… This year we took TWO TRIPS TO THE COAST. Again, all I had to do was pack (no easy feat — it takes me days) and get myself in the car. My angel husband, with good spirits, loads everything in and out and in and out of the car, including my mobility scooter, all my food, bedding, towels etc. I even brought my air purifier. I love being so low-maintenance.

Last June, was our longest trip since I got sick. We stayed in the same place in the same coastal town as we had in 2015, but I was feeling better than I had in years so, on the day we were meant to leave to go back to Seattle, we found a different rental and extended our visit for an extra two days. This new house was right on the beach and had a balcony. I had no idea the difference it would make to my experience. The first rental was further inland and had a fenced-in yard and trees enclosing the garden. It never occurred to me that a view might be nice — might even be soul-enlivening — I was just happy to see four different walls. But the simple act of gazing at an expanse of nature, even from inside a house, is everything when you’ve been housebound for a prolonged period. That first night, when I saw the vast black sky punctured with millions of bright stars, I started weeping. When was the last time I really saw the stars? I will never forget that moment. And the next day, sitting on the balcony, watching the waves… It didn’t even matter if I was feeling too ill to get to the beach. The funny thing was, I experienced none of that Oh-I-feel-so-much-better-near-the-ocean “locations effect” that so many people with ME report. If anything, I was taken down a notch by the wind, the marine smell, bonfire smoke at night, trying to manage my temperature fluctuations etc. Plus, there were, of course, a few difficulties for my sensitive system (a house on stilts that shook so violently, I couldn’t sleep, overwhelming bleach smell in the bathroom, strongly chlorinated tap water, too many stairs), but it was definitely worth it.

Over four months ago, I wrote a Love letter to my sons as a preamble to the big post I intended to write about the coast trip and then, of course, never got around to writing it. I’m struggling at the moment (this post has taken me a week to put together), so I’m going to let the photos do the talking.

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Half the house packed in the car, ready to go.

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ROAD TRIP!

This was the first night we arrived. A beautiful crescent moon welcomed us to the coast.

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Some days were overcast…

… with dramatic evenings.

Some days were glorious…

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…with breathtaking sunsets (taken from the balcony).

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The beach is exhausting. 😀

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The couple next door got married on the dune in front of our house. I wound up talking to them the day we left because I wanted to send them the photos I took and, in a bizarre coincidence, it turned out the bride had been suffering with a similar illness as mine, had tried many of the same treatments, knew all the same doctors. We both got tears in our eyes. It was a surprisingly beautiful thing to talk to someone so freely *in person, not on the internet*, without having to explain anything.

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The flag on the left is where they were wed.

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We had no plans to go again this year, but our best friends wound up renting the house next door to the one we had in June, so, at the beginning of this month and at the very last minute, we decided to join them. I’ve gotten worse the past few months, so I knew I wouldn’t be able to participate as much as I would like to (the first night they all played cards and had drinks, while I was in the other house, resting. The second night they had a bonfire on the beach, while I was inside, resting), but there were wonderful moments of normalcy: Z. chatting with me over morning tea, without the time-pressure of a planned visit; my dogs’ excitement when they saw Aunt Z. and Uncle J. on the beach — missed members of our extended pack; watching their family fly kites on the beach; colouring with sweet Anna while she talked my ear off more than she ever has before; eating dinner at a table with a group of friends, with conversation, laughing and music playing in the background (<~ this most of all: just hanging out amid all the normal sounds, feeling part of a group); and the social time my husband got, just hanging with friends he hasn’t seen properly in years.

The only downside was my dogs are showing their age much more now than they were even four months earlier. I couldn’t use my scooter as much as last time because they simply didn’t have the stamina to walk distances and were both limping after our first short excursion. The last — and warmest — day, Bowie didn’t even get out of the car for more than a minute. He was pooped. And Riley just sat next to me like a sentry, wondering why I was lying on the sand. I fear it really might have been the last hurrah on the beach, which makes me even happier that I pushed myself to go and create new memories.

The boys were thrilled to be back!

Our best friends frolicking. 🙂

Bowie and sweet Anna flying a kite.

One day was dark and brooding and that night it stormed with 50 mph winds.

Another day was sunny and clear.

 

Small steps with payback… But new memories and happy dogs are everything.

Love letter to my sons.

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After more than 10 months, I got away from the house. Every time I look at the grey in my dogs’ muzzles, I have a panic about time slipping by and the knowledge that Bowie is hurtling towards end of life. He is 9 and Rhodesian ridgebacks typically live 10 to 12 years. Bowie is big — the tallest ridgeback I’ve encountered in the flesh or online — I fear he’s more like a small great dane and they typically live 6 to 8 years… So, I’m bracing myself. Truth be told, I’ve been bracing myself for their ends-of-life since they were kids.

Riley was originally found emaciated to the point that he couldn’t stand up and had already been in two foster homes before coming to us. We were meant to be a foster home, too, but, after he was placed with two more families that didn’t work out (and my emotional meltdown with each goodbye), we knew he was meant to be ours. And, wow, was he meant to be ours. I don’t think any other pack would have worked so perfectly. He almost died from some gastrointestinal awfulness soon after we adopted him. I watched him lie on his side, dead-eyed, weakly vomiting blood while the vet told me he thought he might not make it. Not long after that, Bowie hurt his back at the park and I lifted his 110lbs into the car with some sort of super-human mother strength and raced to the emergency vet. I was healthy then, but, still, that’s more than I weigh.
[NB: Of course I called the clinic to verify his weight at that visit.]
[NB: Of course I made sure they weren’t busy before I bothered them with that question.]

So, losing them has been at the forefront of my mind for most of their lives. It may sound morbid, but it makes me appreciate every day that they’re here and I never take a moment for granted. I will miss this hair one day, I think as I pull it out of every meal I eat. I will miss his drool one day, I say as I almost brain myself slipping in the saliva pool on the kitchen floor. I spend an inordinate amount of time cuddling them, memorising every curve and bump of their bodies, making sure I’m always conscious and grateful for their presence.

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I will never forget the first time I took a mobility scooter to the cemetery for a “walk” with Bowie (at the time, I didn’t trust Riley to stay close off-leash, so he went to doggy daycare instead). We had been visiting the cemetery since Bowie was a puppy, but it had been a year since I was housebound and that first year was the longest and sickest of my illness. He lept like a puppy when we got there and I wept as I watched him. I think it was as important for him to see me out as it was for me to be out. Last year, both of my dogs’ mobility declined sharply. Riley is arthritic and Bowie is an old, creaky man. My number 2 wish (after getting better) is to fill their time with as much fun as possible. If I could, I would take them someplace different every day, wear them out, introduce them to novel smells and new friends (every time I’m flabbergasted or frustrated by my acute sense of smell, I think what the world must be like for a dog whose nose is tens of thousands of times as sensitive as a human’s. While a dog’s brain is only 1/10 the size of a human brain, the part that controls smell is 40 times larger. Can you fathom that even slightly? Whenever I see someone yanking on a dog’s leash, I think, imagine what he is smelling down there! Give him a minute!).

My dogs are my kids, my caretakers, my comedy, my inspiration, my reason for pushing myself, my main source of joy.

So, this is all a big preamble (pre-ramble, more like) to the story of our recent road trip to the coast (in a future post) and why it was so important to me. I can’t fly with my dogs to India or Africa or even to different parks very often, but once a year for the last 3 years, we’ve made it to the seaside. This time was different, though. This time I was stronger, I wasn’t as crushed by poisoned pain and my husband and I were happier, not desperately grappling for handfuls of different memories within the blind freefall of sudden severe illness survival. Because that’s what it has felt like: an initial period of confusion, fear and searching, followed by 3+ light-speed years of gasping for air and kicking like mad to keep our heads above water, learning how to navigate this life. And in all that time, it’s felt like we both had faces bowed down in grimaces of pain or duty, grief or worry, eyes meeting fleetingly, but blinded by our separate burdens. So, I remember those previous journeys to the ocean as a bit desperate, slightly lonely and only partially successful. But this time was different. Not easy, not perfect, but more like real life. Like a life where I’m totally present with my husband and easily walking the beach with my sons. I’ll get there one day.

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Grab that cash with both hands and make a stash.

This is a hard one to talk about. It’ll be more of a rant. And I’d like to preface it with all of the obvious about how grateful I am that we were in the economic position we were in when this illness started, how grateful I am that I had a few years of good earnings and decent savings, how grateful I am that my family is healthy and has never been bankrupted by health woes. I am, I truly am, and I think about–probably too much–what must happen to others with a severe chronic illness (that has no knowledgeable doctors and no decent treatment) who are in worse financial shape than we are, without our resources, who are in countries steeped in poverty, refugees fleeing wars… on and on… I do know how lucky I am. But, I’m scared. Mostly because I don’t know what treatment to spend money on and what to reject.

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Recently, after 6 months of immunoglobulin infusions, I got a slew of bills that I didn’t anticipate. It turns out that for my itsy bitsy dose of 5 grams each week, I pay $164 after insurance. Out-of-pocket. That’s $655 per month. If I had known this before starting, would I have done it? I don’t know. But now that this is the only treatment that has helped me, how can I stop? And I’m in this tricky spot. I have private health insurance because I was too scared Medicare wouldn’t cover these treatments (also because Medicare won’t cover acupuncture, nutritionists or physical/myofascial/craniosacral/massage therapy — some of the only things that have made a difference in my pain levels). After being told IVIG was not an option by so many doctors, knowing that I didn’t have a history of bacterial infections and a vaccine challenge is usually required for approval, and having Coram (the infusion service) tell me that Medicare hardly ever covers treatment, I was just too scared to give up the private health insurance that had already approved my treatment for the whole year. Of course, I have since heard from others that Medicare covers their IVIG or SCIG at 100%, but … how could I risk changing coverage now when my IgG levels have come up and that alone might disqualify me from continued treatment? I’ll have to revisit this next January when I’m eligible for Medicare enrollment again, but, if I’m still improving with my infusions, I don’t know how I’d take that leap of faith.

An aside for those in other countries or for those that don’t know this fucked up aspect of our healthcare system here in the U.S.: Medicare (government health coverage) isn’t free. You pay each month just as you do with private health insurance. It’s usually cheaper, but not always. It can range from $105-$771 a month, depending on your situation (the higher end is reserved for people who have not worked enough in their lifetimes to qualify. So, if you are struck down with a chronic illness as a young adult and you haven’t worked the requisite 30 quarters in a tax-paying job, you’re not married and you undoubtedly have little savings, then you get to pay the highest premium for our national health coverage– oh, but only if you’re lucky enough to be granted full disability, which very few ME/CFS/Lyme sufferers are). And don’t think that Medicare actually covers your healthcare in full, though. You will still have a deductible each year and co-insurance (the patient pays 20%, typically), you’re prescription medications aren’t paid for unless you get extra coverage and hospital stays can still leave you in horrendous debt. You can stay in a hospital for a few months for the low, low price of $1,260 (although skilled nursing facilities will be more because that price doesn’t cover people to care for you), but let’s take a pretty terrible example: 150 days in the hospital. In 2015, that would have cost you $47,565 out-of-pocket. If you had to stay any longer, all additional costs are your problem. The government washes its hands of you. But wait, there’s more! If you choose not to enroll in Medicare when you become eligible, your monthly payment when you do enroll will be higher–forever–usually 10% higher for each year you could have signed up but didn’t. In my case, if I’m covered by Medicare next year, I will be paying an extra $300/year because I didn’t enroll when I first became eligible. If I wait until 2018, I’ll pay a penalty of at least $440 that year, plus more each year as the premiums continue to rise over my lifetime. Lovely.

SO… Last month I finished up weeks of financial slog for our 2015 taxes and was happy to see our (and by our, I mean my because my husband’s medical expenses are only about a quarter of our total and that is solely health insurance premiums because he never needs a doctor, knock on wood, toba toba) out-of-pocket medical costs had come down slightly.

2012: $14,480
2013: $19,032
2014: $19,564
2015: $17,912

That doesn’t allay the fear, however. After utilities (sewer, water, garbage, recycling, gas, electricity) and mortgage payments, we’re left with about $20K a year to live on and medical expenses have been almost $20K a year since I got sick. That means most everything else–food, clothes, toiletries, dogs, phone, internet, gas for cars– comes out of our savings. I’m trying to be healthier, place fewer burdens on my system and subdue my chemical sensitivities by eating organic food, pastured meat and buying less toxic products. All of these things are more expensive. For the last year and a half, I’ve been paying $200/month for compounded medications instead of the cheap, generic, filler-filled ones. It hardly costs anything to get sick, but the system is rigged to bankrupt those that are.

I feel very fortunate that we had saved money before this happened, but it will run out eventually and I don’t want to make all the wrong decisions now because I’m frozen in fear of the future. Our day-to-day living is all-encompassing, so time slips by in survival mode and the big decisions never get discussed. I’m happy that we didn’t sell the house when I first got sick because we’re finally not under water and it might actually be worth what we owe again. But when do we sell? And do I switch back to generic meds? Do I stop supplements (around $100/month)? Do I stop seeing my doctor who doesn’t take health insurance? Do I not try human growth hormone or hyperbaric oxygen or nutritional IVs? Do I stop my immunoglobulin infusions?? Last year, I thought a time would come when we just moved somewhere very small and affordable, maybe a foreign country, and I stopped all medical visits and we tried to exist on pittance and make our money last as long as possible… But now that I’ve found a treatment that helps my functioning, I have renewed hope. Maybe I’ll be able to earn a living again if I keep making progress. How can I give up on that? Or should I accept the fact that this is as good as it’s going to get, income-wise? My husband will get older, he’ll be able to work his manual-labour job less and less and I won’t ever recover to the point of being able to hold a job… I think that’s the reality. I know a lot of people with this illness and many have made improvements, but I’m not sure if I know any that have gone back to full-time work.

So, we beat on, boats against the current, cut costs where we can, shop the deals online, grow some veggies, sell some stuff, and pray that in ten years time, the tides have changed for the better.

Title Credit

International Awareness Day for Myalgic Encephalomyelitis

Posted on Facebook:

Today is International Awareness Day for Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (ME/CFS) and this is my small effort to educate and contribute to a larger understanding of this disease. Like I said last year, there’s not much point in continuously sharing information within the patient community, since we know the hardships all too well, so I’m asking my healthy friends to take a minute to learn a bit more about this debilitating neuroimmune condition. Only with awareness can the tides change.

Like many illnesses, there is a large range of disability. Some people can hold jobs, while the severe end of the spectrum is horrific incapacitation*. Unlike other illnesses, however, there is virtually no budget for research (male pattern baldness has 6 times the funds devoted to discovering treatments, according to Dr. Klimas).

274c75c7-e926-442c-947c-68e020e95d2b-1-1In my own case, I have made a lot of improvement since starting immunoglobulin infusions 7 months ago. Facebook reminds me that this time last year I was bedbound, in pain, with flu-like symptoms, which still happens, but with much less frequency. Things are more stable, payback isn’t as vicious. I still use a mobility scooter in the dog park, but I have more than doubled my daily steps and I’m able to do more. Today I went to the bank. 🙂

More information:

Jen Brea on TED Blog
Occupy CFS: Very Very Aware
Learning to Live With ME/CFS: Today is International ME/CFS Awareness Day

How you can help:

On May 26th, MEAction has organised the #MillionsMissing project, which will take place in multiple cities across the world, with a coordinated campaign of demonstrations and demands. Learn how you can support it here.

Sign this petition to increase funding to find a cure.

There is very little funding for research for treatments, so, if you have the inclination and means, donations are sorely needed:

U.S: Open Medicine Foundation
U.K: Invest in ME

In the U.S:
Tell Congress to Increase Funding for ME Research.
Send your congressional rep Llewellyn King’s article on The Hill’s “Congress Blog”.
Buy a “Congressional pack“.

*More info on severe M.E.:
Severe M.E. and Invisible Illness Video
JK Rowbory: All the things that you never wanted to know about my life with an acute chronic illness

Migraine Help From Headache Neurologist

Last year I was taking an Uber (taxi service) to an appointment and, thankfully, the car wasn’t smelly with cleaning products or dangling air fresheners, but the driver had the radio on and I’ve found background noise difficult since I got sick. I asked him if he would mind turning it down because I had a migraine, which wasn’t exactly true in that moment, but I do get migraines and that’s usually a good excuse for the taxi conversation about scents and noise and why you have your sunglasses on and the window down when it’s gloomy and raining. Turns out, this man had to leave his 9 to 5 job because of crippling migraines and was really suffering until he saw a local neurologist. He said he was having a hard time with migraine meds and she put him on this mitochondrial supplement and a natural regimen that helped tremendously (my ears perked up at a random stranger talking about mitochondrial deficits causing migraines, so I bought the supplement right away, but haven’t gotten around to taking it in the last eight months). Of course, I wrote the specialist’s info down and, when I saw my therapist, I mentioned this doctor to him (my therapist sees lots of people with complex illnesses like mine and has a network of good doctors that he recommends based on feedback from patients). “Oh yes, I’ve heard great things about Dr. Murinova,” said my therapist, so that sealed the deal, I wanted to see her. “But she stopped taking new patients.” Somehow, though, I managed to slip in and get an appointment and, it was true, when I tried to reschedule it, she had nothing else open for the rest of the year, so I felt fortunate (and kept the appointment).

There are some not-so-glowing online reviews of Dr. M, but most seem to center on her brusque demeanor. She’s Eastern European and has that sort of no nonsense approach, which doesn’t bother me at all. I quite like it, in fact. At one point, I told her it would be really difficult to wake up early enough to see the morning sun and she looked at me hard and said, “Do you want to get better or not?” Gulp. Yes, I want to get better! She said there was no point in eating good food and enough protein if you aren’t getting up in the morning because the blue light signals the pineal gland to convert protein to serotonin and melatonin (see her handout below). Her bluntness was effective. I haven’t managed to change my sleep schedule, but I certainly started taking it more seriously.
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imageShe diagnosed me with: “Chronic intractable migraine, with status migrainosus and occipital neuralgia.” She also gave me a physical exam and then diagnosed me with fibromyalgia before we’d even talked about my primary illness. Believe it or not, that was the first proper hands-on work-up I’ve had for fibromyalgia since being sick — even during those early years of excruciating body pain. She said migraines are tied to mitochondrial insufficiency, IBS, fibromyalgia etc. and that low available energy kicks off the trigeminal nerve alarm which causes pain. My genetic predisposition (my father has a long history of cluster headaches) coupled with central sensitization and not enough energy to power the thalamus properly = migraines. I thought she was very thorough and obviously extremely knowledgeable. I especially liked that she had a natural protocol and a medication protocol depending on patients’ needs.

Below is the plan she gave me. I can’t say it is definitely her advice that has helped (I started immunoglobulin infusions right after seeing Dr. M), but my headaches have been much better in the last six months.

  • Change my posture (shoulders back and scapula close together). She said it will feel unnatural, but bring the shoulder blades together as much as possible. I’ve been doing this.
  • Yoga might help neck issues. Haven’t tried this yet.
  • Aerobic exercise and build muscle to feed mitochondria. My goal.
  • Good nutrition and enough protein. Try ish.
  • Deep breathing, relaxation and other parasympathetic nervous system activities. I do these daily.
  • Sleep better, but wake yourself up early for outside light from 7-9am to build serotonin (that time is very important for short wave light that feeds your brain; you need it to cross the retinas, but not through a window. She felt this was non-negotiable). I haven’t managed this, of course.
  • No more Tylenol (more than one a week will perpetuate headaches). Now I only take it once a week for my immunoglobulin infusions and on the rare occasion of a bad headache.
  • Drink up to 3 cups a day of feverfew tea (she thought this was most important. She has weaned patients off migraine meds with this tea). I drink it daily.
  • Consider SAMe (200mg/day), yarrow formula, magnesium, coq10, riboflavin (I already take the last three), other B vitamins (B12 shots are a possibility for a boost).
  • A device called Cefaly, which works on the trigeminal nerve to break the feedback loop and is proven to greatly reduce migraines. $300 out of Costco in Canada.
  • Instead of Tylenol, consider low-dose Lyrica as bridge drug, not a permanent therapy.
  • Book: Chronic Pain and Fibromyalgia by Stephen Stahl.
  • The study she gave me is great reading. It also suggested acupuncture, oxygen, capsaicin and butterbur, but she didn’t specifically mention those.
  • She also gave me the following handout, which you can hopefully enlarge to read:
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Superstition Ain’t The Way

Agh, I can’t stand it, I can’t just leave you sitting with that bad. I tried in earnest to let my last post hang out here in the e-niverse, sullying the e-tmosphere, because that’s my reality and it is uncomfortable and why shouldn’t it fester there on my blog’s home page for all a few to see? But it’s like a little lead weight in the back of my brain, so superstition be damned: I want to shout about what a good week I had. I can’t believe such a baby dose of immunoglobulins is making a difference, but it seems to be. This is so exciting. Here’s my week:

Last Thursday I was in rough shape. My period was due and I hadn’t slept as per usej, but I drove to my myofacial therapy appointment, which is 4+ miles away. That is twice as far as anywhere I have driven in the last 3.5 years. I credit my friend Jak for this because I was thinking about how she has to drive everywhere where she lives and it gave me a little push. I also have been doing our finances for tax season and saw that I spent $650 on Ubers (taxi service) in 2015–solely to get to/from healthcare appointments–so that gave me another incentive to drive myself (truthfully, I probably shouldn’t have driven. I wasn’t all there–not quite present enough–and doubt my reaction times were optimal, plus I got a bit lost, but I’m proud of myself for pushing my envelope). Oh, and I stopped by a grocery store on the way home! Very briefly–to buy chocolate Easter eggs–but still!

I had three complicated things I needed to mail, so, Friday, I drove to the post office for the first time in almost 4 years and spent quite a bit of time standing at the counter, talking to the postal woman, boxing, taping, addressing etc.

Family love at the cemetery.

Family love at the cemetery.

Saturday, even though my period had just started, I was still able to go to the cemetery on my scooter with the boys and husband. I want to take a moment here to remember the first few times I went to the cemetery on a mobility scooter in 2013, a year after being housebound. I wept looking at the trees and feeling that freedom, then I almost passed out from the exertion of a 2-sentence conversation with some people we ran into and then I went home and paid for the jostling of my bones with days of pain. On this very day in 2014, I was struggling through the aftershocks of a cemetery trip that were worse than anything I deal with now: 

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Easter Sunday I wasn’t doing too well, but I still managed to put together a treasure hunt for my husband (with the aforementioned chocolate eggs), which involved walking all around the house and up and down stairs, planting clues. I did a “Find It” treasure hunt for the dogs, too. Easter isn’t just for kids.

Monday, I did laundry (no folding or putting away, but still…), talked to my friend for 1.5 hours (he did most of the talking, which is good because, although I’m not drained as much by prolonged conversations, it still definitely hits me hard) and then I drove to the dog park with the boys… by myself… and actually walked a little bit… *Pause for gasps of shock and awe.* I’m going to take another minute to remember the first time I made it to the dog park after those long horrible months, years: My husband drove, of course, and I walked excruciatingly slowly to the gate, feeling winded, heart rate through the roof. I made it inside and then sat on the ground just inside the gate. When somebody I knew tried to talk to me, I nodded and smiled feebly and then looked at my husband imploringly until he deflected the conversation away from me. The memory of that effort–and the fear of the repercussions–brings tears to my eyes.

Tuesday, I had my infusion and, Wednesday, I drove to an appointment (close by)–on the day after my infusion, mind you.

Getting fluids in the garden.

Getting fluids in the garden.

We’ve had gorgeous weather this week and, although it certainly helps because I’ve been sitting in the garden for hours every day, I don’t think I can say it is the cause of my good week because the uptick started days before the sun shone. Thursday, we took advantage of the weather and went to the biggest, bestest dog park in Seattle, which is a ways away on the East side. I haven’t been there since my birthday last year in May and it was such a treat to see Riley swim (while Bowie stood in the shade, panting and looking miserably hot, as if he wasn’t a short-haired breed that came from Africa). We spent an hour and a half there (I had my scooter, so didn’t walk) and, when we got home, I started cooking lunch. I didn’t even feel the need to rest. I better add these: !!!!

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“Ducks, ducks, ducks, gotta get the ducks.”

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“Don’t make me go out in that sun, Mama.”

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“Seriously? Another photo? Hurry up, there’s hardly any shade here.”

I’ve been dragging again the last few days: headache for the first time in a while, very stiff neck, muscles feeling heavy and painful, slightly sore throat, sensitive to sound etc. Probably because Friday I started to write this post about having a good week and the gods’ ears perked up. BUT, I’m dressed, I’m sitting outside, I’ll cook something in a bit, I’m cheerful. I’m not in bed, sick, poisoned, despairing. I’m functioning. I’m even writing.

So, there. KNOCK ON WOOD, TOBA TOBA, BAD HARVEST, PATUEEY OVER THE SHOULDERJust let this be. My bowels are a nightmare, my sleep is horrific, my brain packs it in on a regular basis and my stamina, energy and strength are still about 1/4 of what they used to be. But 1/4 is better than 1/10. I’ll take it, gratefully.

Title Credit <— click on it, go on, it’ll make your day better. 😊

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Mount Rainier (taken from the car window while speeding down the highway).

P.S: Dear friends, please forgive my ridiculous shiteness at answering your comments here on my blog. I appreciate each and every one of them and I’m humbled that you read my rantings at all, let alone take the time to comment. It really means a lot and I’ll try to do better. Thank you! X