spoonie

Happy Anniversary

Posted on by akiwifreund

Exactly one year ago today I got on a plane and moved from Phoenix to St. Paul. According to the dust on my shelves, that’s the last time I dusted as well.

The first six months were difficult. I was going from doctor to doctor, trying to find any that wouldn’t turn me away. I couldn’t drive because I lose about 80% of my vision while I’m upright for a long time, so I spent about $500 a month just on cab fare alone; when I wasn’t going to doctor appointments, I simply stayed in my apartment.

It took me a lot to where I am right now: I have at least a primary care doctor, I have had 3 months of physical therapy for the pinched nerves in my shoulder and hips, I have a disability attorney (but probably no hearing until July or later 2017), and I now use the short bus and a cab company that is contracted through medical assistance to get me to appointments. I also have an incredibly supportive boyfriend.

There are still some black holes of missing pieces. One: I still don’t have a diagnosis. Two: I don’t know what in the hell I’m going to do about my shunt.

June 16-19 was the National Hydrocephalus Association conference, and I never would have been able to attend if it wasn’t right here in my back yard. I had decided that I was not going to be shy. I had also decided that although it was nice to meet other patients and commiserate, I really, really wanted to pick the brains of the researchers and doctors and manufacturers of the shunts.

At the very first speaking presentation, a researcher spoke about the work she has been performing regarding shunt occlusions (blockages). I raised my hand and first asked if the study began when the shunt was still in the patient (so they could figure out if the drainage tip was stuck somewhere, like a drinking straw that’s clogged by a large piece of fruit or an extra thick shake) or if the shunts were studied after they were removed, because I tend to immediately make 20 years worth of scar tissue in 2-3 weeks and clog my shunts very quickly. She indicated that she tests the shunts only after they are sent to her post-surgery, and that she was definitely interested in my shunt(s). I got her business card and told her about imaging that has been developed in Scotland that piggybacks off of current MRI and CT scans but is supposed to be much more accurate, and it just so happens that she is supposed to travel to Scotland in two weeks. In another talk she gave much later in the conference, she mentioned autoimmune diseases, and I’ll be seeing a doctor that specializes in mast cell disorders next week; I’m going to speak to him specifically about my issues with the shunts and about contacting her and speaking with her regarding shunt rejection. Not a bad start for networking!

But with the good comes the not so good. Another talk I attended was facilitated by a neurologist and a neurosurgeon who were experts in normal pressure hydrocephalus. That is one of my placeholder diagnoses and they kept talking about enlarged ventricles on MRI and CT scans. I asked if it was possible to get that diagnosis without the enlarged ventricles, and they said no. I talked to them afterwards and quickly covered my symptoms and demonstrated my unusual ability to move the fluid around in my brain. They actually became very condescending and a little pissy, asking if I had considered the Mayo. I thanked them and left the room.

At another session, there was a representative from the Social Security office talking about the process of filing for disability. He opened the session by saying that he actually never handled disability cases where health was involved – I mean, when it’s a health conference, why send someone who is knowledgeable? I raised my hand during this one too and asked two questions: 1) Is it correct that since my request for a hearing was filed in early February of 2016, it’s pretty backed up and I shouldn’t expect a hearing to be set until July or August of 2017? and 2) I was told that even though I can’t see well, that my arms and hands still work, so I should be able to get a job. What criteria is used to determine whether I should be employed when my records indicate I should be laying down for 20-22 hours a day? He said, 1) It’s not unreasonable that the hearing would take that long to be set (and I answered that maybe it’s not unreasonable to him, but it’s unreasonable to me), and 2) It’s not just my inability to see or be upright that’s considered, but also my education and my age, so yes, no matter how impaired I am, I may be “too young” to be disabled. That absolutely floored me – no wonder I have to fend off assholes telling me that every day, because that’s the idiocy that the social security office perpetuates every single day.

One session was put on by the Metropolitan Center for Independent Living right here in Minnesota and a particularly energetic and passionate woman dedicated to helping people find the best and most resources available. Of course I raised my hand and said something to the effect of, “Dude from the SSA yesterday said that even though I am impaired when I’m upright, I can still use my hands and arms and I’m only 42, so of course I’m going to be denied. Does this seem correct to you, and would you deem needing to lay down flat 20-22 hours a day a ‘reasonable accommodation’ to request of a workplace?” (In other words, can I lay on a hospital gurney while I’m ringing people out as a cashier at Target?) She rolled her eyes and said that she was told a while ago that when dealing with the SSA, never to apply logic, because what they do defies common sense. She also said that one guy was told by the SSA that he should be able to find a livable wage somewhere “folding napkins” because that was all he was capable of. I asked if there was ever any communication between the SSA and her office for them to base their findings off of, and she said absolutely not.
While we were waiting to be picked up by the short bus at the hotel in downtown Minneapolis where the conference was taking place, there were plenty of people partying and women wearing the most ridiculous heels and short skirts because the Twins were playing the Yankees at a home game. One drunk hanging with his two very drunk buddies began to loudly read my shirt, and so rather than roll my eyes and be pissed, I invited him to read the other side of my shirt. His immediate demeanor took on the tone that he was going to make fun of me, but after I gave him a brief history, all he could say was that he was sorry, and he doffed his hat to me.

Through all of this, The Saint Paul weathered some really dry presentations, and probably learned more than he ever wanted to. However, when I met his dad and stepmom for the first time on Sunday night and they began to ask me questions about my health, he answered them exactly as I would have. The Saint Paul really takes all of this to heart in addition to reminding me that we are a team and that I no longer have to do everything on my own. I mean, man, he got me paper towels because he noticed I was running low on his own – he didn’t even have to ask, and I didn’t have to tell him! Forget “don’t sweat the small stuff” because it’s the small stuff that counts!

One of the sessions I wanted him to attend (while I was in listening to a much heavier topic) was about caring for the caregiver. All of the men in my immediate family have had to put their own health and happiness on hold because my mom and sisters have had chronic and severe diseases. The Saint Paul believes he can handle whatever happens to me, but I warned him that things can change suddenly and completely and permanently for either he or I, and even with the best of intentions, it’s absolutely possible that he can be so deeply affected by this unnamed change that he’s going to lose his shit. It’s a lot to ask of one person.

So, back to this anniversary: this is also the day a year ago that my sister and her husband brought home their second rescue dog from Secondhand Hounds and renamed her June. Just recently, June has started to mimic her dog brother and put herself on the floor and position herself for belly rubs, something she never would have been relaxed enough to do a year ago. It’s amazing what thousands of dog treats and a loving family will do.
2016-04-12 21.37.08

Can You Describe It To Me?

Posted on by akiwifreund

This week I’m getting ready to attend the 14th National Conference on Hydrocephalus (http://www.hydrocephalusconference.org/conference-information/conference-fees/) that is happening right here in Minneapolis. I’ve got my t-shirts ready. I’ve got my binder of medical history ready. I’ve got my boyfriend ready. I’ve got my transportation ready. I’ve got the hashtag for Twitter ready (#HACON2016). I’m getting mentally prepared to be upright for 9 or 10 hours for three days in a row (only about three hours for the fourth day because everyone is flying home Sunday). It’s going to be really, really tough, physically and emotionally. I just don’t know what to expect but I’m trying to prepare for every variable.

I’m starting the conference by meeting my attorney for the first time because he’s about five blocks away. He doesn’t know that if I detect laziness from him, or a “can’t do” attitude, I will kick him to the curb. At this point, I cannot be the only person fighting for me. I don’t know if actually seeing me and my physical challenges will change his attitude, but he has not been impressive over the phone so far. I keep getting flashes of Boss Hogg a la “Dukes of Hazzard,” all oily, fat fingers and labored breathing. (I realize I’m being very harsh and am one step closer to Hell. Maybe I’ll see you there?)

Then I’ve got to figure out how to be succinct. My t-shirts do half the battle for me. The weather we are having is both a blessing and a curse for me, because if anyone sees me outside, they will witness me at my worst – my face will be almost completely paralyzed, so that means my eyelids will be mostly closed. However, air conditioning helps with temperature, pressure and humidity, so it will take longer for the pressure to build when I’m inside. When it’s bad, I want to die. It’s not an exaggeration. I have trouble explaining it. It’s not a headache. I associate headaches with dull or shooting or throbbing pain; this is more like my brain is being suffocated and crushed by an elephant sitting on it while my head is submerged underwater. But how can I explain that without it sounding like an outrageous exaggeration? It’s not like I keep elephants in my back pockets to demonstrate to others on the spot what is happening with my body for times like these.

I’m also dealing with my left shoulder and right hip giving me loads of trouble. I babysat my nephews Sunday night while my sister and her husband attended a concert, and I had to block a body shot from my 7-year-old nephew, which made me nearly weep with the pain it stirred up in my shoulder. It hasn’t stopped since. I knew my physical therapist would ask for a number to rate it today. I struggle with the pain scale, because as I pointed out to a fellow blogger, my “7” is someone else’s “21.” My PCP thought I was dealing with an inflamed tendon, but since therapy has not been a steady upward improvement, I may in fact be dealing with tears in the tendons and/or ligaments in my shoulder for laying on it for the first three years of shunt surgeries being done on the center and right side of my body. I’ve got an appointment with an orthopedic doc who only specializes in shoulders a week from today.

But even my crying “10” isn’t my real “10.” I would say that my worst pain has been when the CSF has been overdraining – both after my very first surgery, and then for almost all of 2014 when I had a leak in my shunt but my doctor wouldn’t operate because he wanted to find out which parts I was allergic to. Almost every time I got up, I cried. It really did feel like I was being beaten. I know it’s because my brain was coming to rest on my cranial bones. What would be worse? Read my fellow blogger’s description of her “10.” http://www.thehurtblogger.com/post/15492551756/evaluating-the-1-10-pain-scale
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to try to track down a reduced-rate or free dental clinic that will do three crowns for me. I can’t chew on the left side of my face because I’ve been in so much pain that I’ve been clamping down with my jaw in my sleep and I cracked three teeth on my left side.

The Boyfriend Invasion

Posted on by akiwifreund

The Saint Paul and I have been dating for two and a half months now. Our first date was many hours long, so many that we approximated it to be the equivalent of four dates. We’ve had many dates since then where we’ve had up to fourteen hours together until I’m physically holding my eyelids up with my fingers and he’s stumbling into his shoes to go home. We’ve also fallen into the habit of not going more than three days without seeing each other. But we’ve never had a full-on sleep-over; he’s always gone home.

I live in a historic area of St. Paul, Minnesota, and every year on the first Sunday of June there is a celebration called Grand Old Days that includes music, food vendors, a parade, artists and sports/health vendors. Attendance has been anywhere between 170,000 and 270,000, and attendees can even print a bus pass for certain routes to park and ride to this area for free. It has gotten so large that this year they have expanded the festival to the whole weekend instead of just Sunday. My flat just happens to be right next to one of the sound stages – and I’ve checked the lineup, doesn’t look promising.

Healthy me would have been absolutely thrilled. This is the stuff I used to live for, and it’s right at my front door. But the new me has to come to terms with the fact that I can’t walk a couple of miles or stand for hours to listen to live music or spend money on food and pottery. The thought of trying to navigate throngs of people while my brain is being squeezed and my eyes are drooping gives me extra anxiety. If I’m being completely honest I can whine and say that it’s not fair, but then who in the world can I blame that on?

The Saint Paul has opted to come over Friday night so he can score a parking spot and not have to stress about it after that. We might run out to get a few groceries, which will require us planning out meals for two whole days together, and then he’ll head home Sunday night. He’s going to try to borrow a camp chair for the parade, since I have my own already – we have to stake out a place on the sidewalk along the parade route pretty early in the morning Sunday, because it’s going to get gnarly. We’re fully expecting drunks to be trying to get into my building or to be peeing in our planters or every barfing in every doorway. I’ve heard stories. Non-food businesses are now in the habit of shutting down completely for this festival.

Other things take planning too. I’ve suggested that he bring over his favorite pillow to help him sleep better (because we all know that makes a huge difference when sleeping in unfamiliar territory). Sometimes I wake up coughing because of acid reflux, so I kind of have to be ready to move to my couch (five steps from my bed) if I think I can’t get back to sleep right away. And to hear The Saint Paul tell it, he flops around like a fish when he sleeps, which does not bode well for me, the ultimate light sleeper.

Most importantly, 48 hours together guarantees that there is going to be poo involved. Knowing my GI tract means there’s going to be multiple incidents each day. I have a brand new bottle coming that should be arriving just in time for Friday that is ruby red grapefruit-scented that may prolong my relationship with The Saint Paul. I am telling you, every house should have PooPourri because everyone poops, and no one wants to die by Lysol or any other chemical stuff that you spray in the air that makes it smell like you shit out a pine tree. I cannot say enough good things about this product. Buy it. You spritz it in the toilet bowl before you unload your load, and all is right in the world.

Lastly, most of my lounging and sleeping when I am solo in my flat is done sans hair. My wigs are just not at all comfortable, and wearing them in bed actually wrecks the fibers. So The Saint Paul is going to get a full dose of me au natural, and I have warned him that once I have taken them off in his presence, I will probably lose all motivation to wear them all of the time. I like how I look in them, but they are so damned scratchy and uncomfortable, plus wearing them less will also help me to be able to keep them longer since I have no money coming in. So for your viewing pleasure, here is (a very dirty) Mr. Clean taking your day to a whole different level:

Just The Tip

Posted on by akiwifreund

For the life of me, I cannot remember who worked this joke into their standup (though I could have sworn it was Eddie Murphy or someone else who was quite popular in the mid-80’s). The premise is something along the lines about said comic complaining about how when it came time for him to get a blow job, his dates were less than enthusiastic. They grabbed his penis like a microphone, gave the tip a lick or two like a lollipop, and then looked at him with expectation and asked, “You good now? That okay?” That counted as oral sex in their minds. Their mouths came in close contact with the comic’s junk, so good enough. I mean, there’s nothing more intimate than having your face in someone else’s parts and getting a close-up inspection, is there? He should have just been thankful that he got a couple of licks because that’s all he was gonna get.

I bring this up because this routine is always what goes through my mind whenever I interact with a friend or family member who checks on my status:

Friend: How are you?
Me: I’m still having health problems.
Friend: So you’re better now?
Me: No, I’m actually worse now.
Friend: Oh, but you’re better now, right?
Me: Not at all.
Friend: Okay, we good now? Stay positive!

So, are we good? Well, no, actually. Especially since I have this conversation multiple times a day with people who don’t have any connection to each other, and I am at a loss as to why this keeps repeating. When I try to get to the bottom of how they could have possibly come to that conclusion that I’m okay, I realize that it has to do with lip service every time. They want to brag that they went down on me without actually having done it.

Since I’ve vowed to live an authentic life and not fake my orgasms, I am being truthful when people are asking me about my current status. It’s making them uncomfortable but I’ve decided not to apologize for it. As we enter the summer months and the air pressure, humidity and temperature jump around hourly and the pressure in my head goes haywire, I will struggle more. No amount of wishing for rainbows and puppy dogs will change it.

Rare + Rare = Still Rare

Posted on by akiwifreund

Yesterday was generally a non-productive doctoring day for me. I went to see a neurologist in a different medical system outside of the ones that I have tried just to see if I could at least get an acknowledgment that what I’m dealing with is not that idiotic label “facial weakness” that the U of MN doctor put in my file. Besides trying to work towards a diagnosis, I’m also trying to build my case for disability, and I keep hearing my attorney’s voice in the back of my head saying, “If you don’t get a diagnosis by the time you are sitting in front of the judge, you’re screwed.”

The neurologist was very friendly and open, and definitely had the approach of working with me as part of a collaboration rather than dictating to me. However, we still had a breakdown in communication. She could not wrap her brain around the concept about why I have a shunt in the first place (and indeed is the same barrier for 99% of the doctors I talk to even though I explain to them that the shunts were placed because my symptoms improved temporarily after receiving lumbar punctures 12 hours apart). Almost all doctors incorrectly jump to the conclusion that my face is drooping because I’m overdraining – as if the fluid is pulling my face down with it, like I am living out a Salvador Dali painting. It’s easier for me to explain the shunts and the failures and the symptoms to people who have absolutely no experience with this world because they have no expectations and no preconceived notions (except for the asshole armchair “experts” who don’t know shit but think that watching a few episodes of “House” have made them suddenly intellectually superior).

Because this doctor had wonderful bedside manner, I made sure I took the time to assure her that her inability to give me a diagnosis or a direction was not her fault or a failure on her part as a physician. As a matter of fact, she was doctor #50 in six years, and I told her that too. The combined look of horror and chagrin was a bit comical. I gladly accepted her recommendations for a pediatric neurosurgeon (because sometimes they take the most complicated adults) as well as a rheumatologist she thought would have the best bedside manner, so all was not wasted on that visit. I also explained to her that I would be attending the national hydrocephalus conference June 16-19 being held here in Minneapolis and that I had t-shirts printed:

This week another one of our relatives passed away. His niece happened to contact me through 23 & Me, where I have an account set up after getting my genes tested last July; I wanted the cheapest way possible to get them set up in a database while I tried to figure out what is going on with my body and just how rare it really is. It turns out that this relative of mine has a daughter who is also super rare, truly one in seven billion! It’s so rare that they actually had to formally name it: Hemolytic Anemia Medicine Lake. The “Medicine Lake” portion of the name refers to the area that I and a large portion of my extended family grew up and lived in in the western Minneapolis area. Unfortunately it’s not in any way similar to what my problem is so I can’t go to the NIH and tell them to link our cases, but we definitely hit the rare disease lottery in this family.

By the way, universe, I’d like to win the LOTTERY lottery.

And I won’t be going back to this neurologist, as nice as she was, because she described herself as a “neighborhood neurologist.” She said that she was a step or two down from the facilities where I had been trying my luck, and this was way over her head.

Would You Like Some Abject Poverty With That?

Posted on by akiwifreund

I left a message yesterday with my apartment manager regarding my lease, which is ending on May 31st. I had signed a notice and turned it in on March 17th indicating that I wished to stay another year when my lease expired, but I haven’t heard anything since then, and we don’t have many days left until the end of this month. I have a certain amount of money in my bank account from the sale of my car that I have been using for living expenses but I figured that if I was going to sign another lease, the apartment manager wanted to see proof of income or a certain amount of reserves in the bank, so I decided to call the administrators of my 401k to pull all of the funds and close it out.

The simple act of getting on the phone causes me anxiety. In all of the jobs I’ve held over the years, I used to field anywhere between 50-100 calls a day, so just know that that’s highly unusual for me to dread picking up the phone and try to figure out what to say without fumbling.

It’s also unusual for me to not have one or two or three jobs simultaneously. The 401k is my last lifeline and the only thing standing between me and homelessness. Right now I have to operate under the assumption that I will never have any money coming in ever again because I have no idea what the outcome of my disability hearing will be in 2017.

The call to the 401k plan administrators only took a few minutes. The first representative couldn’t confirm or deny which penalties I would be subject to, even though my CPA said that I could probably avoid a 25% and 10% early withdrawal penalties because of my indefinite disability status. A second rep – presumably the guy who did the calculations and released the funds – advised me that he had to take out a minimum of 20% for taxes and that I should set aside an additional 10% for penalties, all in a blaring and bored voice, as if he heard this stuff all the time, as if it wasn’t a big deal for me to have no other choice.
I have a few big purchases coming up. First, I have to take care of a crown and root canal completely out of pocket because medical assistance won’t pay for any of it. Second, I need a new bed; this one started to sag about five months after I purchased it last year because I spent so much time in it, but the store wouldn’t cover it under warranty because I moved out of state and the manufacturer would only cover a small percentage (this time around I’m going for the bargain Sleep Number C2 – no inner springs and it costs the same as a traditional inner spring bed). Third, I want to buy a different a/c window unit because the one that was provided with the apartment is gross and inefficient.

After those purchases, I will have to live off of the same amount of money slightly more than what workers make at minimum wage in the U.S. I don’t know how people do it. I don’t know how I’m going to do it. It’s not like I can go out and get more jobs, or a better job.

This is the song of our people. Poverty. Desperation as our bodies shut down, especially in my case (and others out there) when I don’t have a name to attach to it or a prognosis to go by. My counselor has told me not to think a year ahead and allow myself to be swallowed up by the fear of what comes after the money runs out, but how can I not think about that? My life is already so different than it was even just a year ago; I can’t even whisper the words, “How much more can I lose?” That’s like setting up a new dare to the universe.

Hanging up with the Merrill Lynch rep, he wrapped up the call with the requisite, “Is there anything else I can help you with?” The old, working me would have awarded him 10 points for asking the question. The new, disabled me wanted to tell him to suck my ass.

Waiting For The Mother Ship

Posted on by akiwifreund

Last Wednesday I went in for a procedure that was new to me, and quite frankly, I didn’t hold out much hope for as far as its success rate went. It was a transabdominal plane (TAP) block. My pain doc, who is fairly close to me in age, very serious, sober, and I suspect severely depressed, hoped this TAP would stop the nerve pain that I get as a result from the allergic reaction to the drainage catheter that winds around my abdominal area. He thought my pain was from my abdomen being cut so many times from all of my surgeries. I indulged him because quite frankly, I’ve got nothing better to do.

When I arrived at the outpatient surgical area, I changed into the ugliest shit brown gym shorts ever, and got a matching pair of shit brown hospital socks with rubber grips for fall prevention. No way would anyone willingly steal these digs (with the exception of one lovely elderly lady who declared them exceedingly comfortable, I was told). I had three nurses ranging in age between 50 and 68 (I’m guessing), all slightly fussy and calling me honey, and addressing me in a loud volume with small words as all surgical nurses are accustomed to doing when coaxing patients out of anesthesia. I was awake and responsive the whole time, but it’s hard to break a habit that takes decades to build.

We discussed all of the yellow on my chart – meaning all of my allergies. We settled on a chlorhexadine scrub rather than a betadine solution to prep my abdomen because of my allergy to shellfish. I watched as my doctor put a long sleeve on the ultrasound paddle that would help guide the needle that would deliver the meds, as he rolled it down and secured it with a rubber band, and I asked, “Oh, is that an elephant condom?” The nurses twittered and the doctor chuckled. Then the nurses got in on the game and tried naming a few other animals with especially big penises. Then we got serious again because it was time to stab me.

The doctor applied some ultrasound gel and pressed the paddle to my abdomen. The nurse at my head put her hand on my shoulder and I closed my eyes. My doc warned me that I would feel the poke and burn. I focused on my heartbeat and forcing it to beat slower, and as if from far away, I heard the nurse say close to my ear that I could squeeze her hand if I needed to. I whispered “No” and refocused again on my breathing. I could hear my heart on the monitor slow down. The doctor said something about enlarging the picture, then needing more “puffs,” and then he finally said he was done and he was going to withdraw the needle. I opened my eyes and my heartbeat increased again, and I saw him pull out a needle that was about four inches long that was attached to a wire.

We did it all over again on the other side: gel, paddle, breathe, focus, heart rate down, needle, pain, puffs, out. I had to have paper tape with gauze over the insertion points because I would have been allergic to what they usually use for gauze pads. The doctor told me afterwards that he had never seen anyone’s heart rate go down as he was inserting the needle and the meds – usually the opposite happened. I told him that I learned a few things from meditation.

I didn’t pay it much mind, but almost immediately, I had developed hives at my insertion sites. I was supposed to keep the gauze on for 24 hours so I didn’t see the hives until the next day. As far as pain relief goes, I didn’t feel any by the time I received a call at noon, but I noticed I had some at about 5:30 that night. However, by Saturday I was laid low by pain again. I emailed my doctor and his nurse to let him know about the hives as well as the ineffectiveness of the block. The hives did not appear across the entire area that they prepped so I know it’s not a reaction to the chlorhexidine – at least I still have that as an option.

If my doctor is depressed, I can understand why. I would feel the same way if I had patients like me.

And whatever this new allergy is, it’s really just another sign that I’m not a native to Earth and that I need to send a signal flare up to the mother ship to scoop me up.

Sleep and Counting Sheep

Posted on by akiwifreund

What are the two most common symptoms of just about any chronic disease under the sun? Pain and fatigue. Sometimes pain interferes with my sleep, leading to even more fatigue. It’s a never-ending cycle. I jumped on the opportunity to try this product from ProHealth called FibroSleep, because let’s face it – even the best bubble baths, candles, teas and essential oils can’t fix everything every time. Specifically, I was given this product as part of a product review opportunity through the Chronic Illness Network. This item was a gift and I have been encouraged to give an honest opinion and review without any influence by the company. If you have read anything else I’ve written, you know I don’t hold back.

One of the problems that I run into with my additional strange, undiagnosed rare disease is that because of the increased pressure in my cranium, I get anxiety. Sometimes it feels like it comes out of nowhere. Sometimes I can blame it on specific events – like doctors who tell me that I am imagining my symptoms, or that my cluster of symptoms are actually unrelated to each other (even though the majority occur in my brain), or that there’s nothing that can be done and to never come back, etc. About every ten days I will have an entire night pass where my anxiety simply rules my entire body and I cannot fall asleep.

I received this product just in time for a particularly bad run of insomnia thanks to some discouraging appointments:
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I always, always check labels to see what’s going to be invading my body, so here’s the ingredients:
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This particular beef has come up for me before with me and labeling, but I would like to point out that if you have a camera on your phone that has a high pixel setting and can adequately blow up a picture so that you can read tiny writing, you may not see this as a problem. However, if you don’t, and you don’t carry a magnifying glass, you will not be able to read this label and figure out the ingredients. I’ve been told before that it’s a space issue – they simply don’t have enough – but here’s some blank space that’s not being used:
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The size of the capsules are pretty standard:
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I tried the capsules for three nights in a row and nearly gave up completely. I have had previous experience with 5-HTP and melatonin (both included in this product) and figured that it would be a slam-dunk, but anxiety that was prompted by doctors with big egos and closed minds completely overruled any compounds I was consuming, so I got zero sleep. I didn’t even get a weird, loopy feeling that I sometimes get with those two ingredients the morning after.

Which brings me to an important point: with both 5-HTP and melatonin, you will give yourself the best chance at getting good sleep if you cut out ALL light because light messes with your REM patterns. Look around your sleeping area and address all sources of light, including your phone, your laptop/tablet, your router/modem and your TV. Okay, so I just named off everything in my sleeping area – because it’s my bedroom and also my living room since I have a studio apartment. Even my sun therapy lamp has a bright red light that glows when I turn off my room light at night that would otherwise mess with my sleep if I didn’t somehow cover it up (I used black electrical tape).

I put FibroSleep in a drawer for a week and a half and resigned myself to terrible nights (and days) while I struggled with the politics of navigating the good ol’ boys’ club of male doctors. When I felt like I had put enough space between them and me, I tried again. Boy, did I sleep – like a rock. I did have some funky dreams because apparently my brain had a lot to work out. Also, each night I took the FibroSleep I dreamed that I was physically going through the motions of going to the bathroom, which I have learned over the years that that is my own personal signal to wake up pronto because my bladder is full and no joke, IT’S TIME TO GO. It conked me out so fast that I forgot to use the facilities before falling asleep. Most of the times I woke up to use the bathroom I also could not fall back asleep, so I only clocked about 4-5 hours of sleep total. On those nights I was loopy. This is definitely not the fault of FibroSleep. I have always had a hard time falling asleep after waking up to do things like running to the bathroom, so I broke the cardinal rule of not interrupting the sleep so that I could reap the benefits fully. I have always envied those people who can easily go right back to where they left off.

I have had fibromyalgia for about 18 years, and sleep is always a big challenge. Even if you don’t have fibromyalgia but you are like about 70% of the adult population at any given time and you are going through an especially extended and rough patch of chronic insomnia, FibroSleep may be worth checking out. Currently (May 2016) they are offering a 20% discount on FibroSleep orders here: https://www.prohealth.com/shop/product.cfm?product__code=PH311FB&B1=BLGGPH311

Also, if you are interested, they are giving you the opportunity to enter in a chance to win on their giveaway: http://fibrosleep-giveaway-bloggers.instapage.com/

Lastly, ProHealth offers a number of products. They actually have done something quite handy with their site and divided it up by conditions and topics, so you can read articles and shop for products specific to your condition: http://www.ProHealth.com

I’m Just The Patient

Posted on by akiwifreund

Today was my big appointment with the movement disorder neurologist at the U of Minnesota, and it was decidedly anti-climactic. My first impression was that he was a young version of Derek Jacobi, pictured here:
Derek Jacobi
All of the doctors seemed to be excited that I was scheduled to see this particular one and told me repeatedly how thorough he was. In fact, I was supposed to see him over a month ago, but he looked over my file a few days before I was due in and instead insisted I get my face tased (with an EMG) before seeing me, which pushed my appointment back so that he could rule out myasthenia gravis (a second time). I knew I didn’t have it as of 2010 and I still don’t.

This doctor was short on bedside manner, so I immediately shortened my answers and didn’t elaborate on anything. We went over my family’s extensive history of autoimmune diseases. He made me walk and do things with my eyes closed to deliberately make me fall (which made me sweat and because I was under so much stress, the tremors started up almost immediately). He shook my shoulders, sending white hot pain through my left shoulder that I’ve been going through PT for but am going to get an MRI for after next Friday because I’m not healing – I spent three years laying on that shoulder because all of my surgeries were done on the right side for that length of time, and the pressure really messed up the tendons and ligaments.

After all of that, the doctor told me that his nurse gave me the website in December that I should have checked out on movement disorders. He must have seen my eyes glaze over and the stubborn set in my chin because he left the room and returned with screenshots of the website. I politely folded them into squares and stuffed them into a pocket in my purse. He said that a doctor from July of 2015 believed that I have a facial movement disorder. I told him it was news to me, since the only thing that was said to my face was that I wasn’t a good candidate to have surgery to relieve the pressure on my optic nerves. This doctor said that the other doctor may have chosen not to tell me that I have a movement disorder because there’s “nothing that can be done about it anyway.”

This entire conversation is deeply flawed. First, I don’t have a facial movement disorder. I have a problem with CSF pooling in my cranium while I’m upright and it presses on some of the nerves leading to my face as well as my cerebellum; as soon as I lay flat, the fluid moves away from the area and I get full functionality back. Second, I have plenty of issues in which “nothing can be done” for them – including alopecia universalis, though he was quick to point out that someone was doing a study. I told him that it was low on my list of priorities. Third, I’m the motherfucking patient. Doesn’t it stand to reason that if this is one or more of the thought process of the doctors that it should be discussed with me?

When it was time to go home, the cab driver that got the dispatch to take me home pretended to come and pick me up but then acted like I didn’t show up – even though I was outside sitting on a bench in between approaching every cab that rolled up asking if they were there to pick me up, so it took me an extra hour to get home after I had to call dispatch to bitch.

I really could have just stayed home.

In fact, I would have benefited from a day in bed. I predicted that I would be laid out for a good week after last Saturday, but I think that it was an accurate call. Now that I have an honest to goodness boyfriend, we’ve been trying to do activities that I can actually handle for a few hours. There was a flea market/antiques expo at the state fairgrounds and I thought we could just take the bus because it stops right outside my building and seemed to spit us out right at the fairgrounds gate. I was not a good planner for this trip and we ended up doing a lot more walking than we thought – and it wasn’t like we had a choice, no one could do the walking for us. My phone tracks my walking automatically and I wasn’t surprised when I saw 2.5 miles for the day rather than my usual high of 0.5 miles. By the time I climbed the steps to my building, I was visibly shaking and was fighting fatigue tears.

But damn, this boyfriend rocks. The Saint Paul is loving and affectionate, and goes on food runs and lets me stay behind so I don’t have to get out of bed. I have begun meeting his family and friends, and he is in the process of meeting my people.

Most importantly, we have said the “L” word, and meant it, and will continue to say it. When someone great comes along, you absolutely can’t take for granted that they just automatically know how much they mean to you or how much you appreciate them. I’m infinitely grateful to the universe for nudging me in his direction.

And then there were two.

Grief and Acceptance

Posted on by akiwifreund

Every other week I am in my counselor’s office, and there seems to be something new that brings me to tears, which drives me crazy. I can’t figure out why I am crying so much. I mean yeah, I have experienced loss on a major scale in the last nine months – my sister, my friend, my uncle, moving states, losing my job, losing all of my doctors, losing my option for more surgeries – but I keep thinking that I should be adjusted by now. But reading this post by my fellow blogger reminds me that I keep experiencing loss and that I still have a sense of instability. Since my U of MN doctors insist that I don’t have Lyme, I have to go through the long process of getting set up through the NIH rare diseases unit and make arrangements through Vanderbilt University to be studied there, as they have locations designated throughout the country for patients to be screened. In the meantime, I have to continue with my treatments with my naturopath, even though I have NO IDEA if it’s the right thing to do.

In addition, I’ve been given the option of getting a TAP block in my abdomen with the hope that it will relieve some of the nerve pain that I’m having from being allergic to the drainage catheter from the shunt. The doc is going to numb nerves on both sides of my abdomen leading to my lower belly. The kicker? I have no idea if it’s going to affect my sexual functionality. And I’ve got a brand new boyfriend. And I really like said new boyfriend and I want to jump him every time I see him. And I don’t think it will be fair to lose what little functionality I do have, because who knows how much longer these good years of responsiveness are going to last? It’s asking a lot of a new boyfriend to possibly give up intimacy for an unknown period of time (forever???); I mean, I call him The Saint Paul, but Jesus H…I don’t know, is there something that is a step above sainthood? If I lose my ability to orgasm, that’s gonna take a LOT of mourning. Maybe some booze and mood stabilizers. I’m already stressed out about possibly taking out the shunt permanently because it’s clogged and I’m allergic to all of the shunts, which means that I may be stuck laying down forever and can’t be up for even an hour.

In closing: Send kittens and puppies and rainbows.

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Wendy's avatarPicnic with Ants

When people think of grief they often think of death, they don’t think about grieving over other significant losses.  Those of us who have had major losses due to chronic illness know all too well that we grieve those losses.

The five stages of normal grief that were first proposed by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in her 1969 book “On Death and Dying” are: Denial, Bargaining, Depression, Anger, and Acceptance.  Kübler-Ross describes these stages as being progressive, you needed to resolve one stage before moving on to the next.  This is no longer thought to be true.  It is accepted that most people who have loss go through states of grief but it is not linear nor is it finite.

The The British Journal of Psychiatry Nov 2008, published a study on grief and acceptance.  The authors note that “disbelief, yearning, anger and sadness may represent aspects of a single underlying psychological construct – grief.”…

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