The House of Broken Bones + Update

That's what it's been around here recently, and it has me fearing for my bones!

On Tuesday my little brother and some of his friends built a catapult at school and were launching gourds. My little brother happened to be looking at the launcher when someone jumped on it, launching a gourd into his face. After some discussion, my mom and sister stayed home while my dad and I went to the ER with my brother. After pushing for an xray, it showed my brother's nose was broken. He's probably going to have an appointment with the ENT soon.

Meanwhile, my mom has had back problems for years. She finally made an appointment with a spine specialist and had her appointment today. Turns out she's had a broken back for years. She'll need surgery soon. So obviously I'm a little worried about who's next!

As for me, I took a pole dancing class yesterday and I have pole burn, bruises, and so many pulled muscles today.

Getting A Wheelchair

Apparently I have hit that bump in the road known as, "Time to get a wheelchair".
I have no idea what i'm in for, so if you have any advice/suggestions/recommendations, let me know.

It scares the fudge outta me :/

Dealing with my SECOND animal crisis this year, or, how owning a Dachshund is EXPENSIVE.

I swear, I'm cursed as far as animals go.

Last Thursday, I took my mini doxie, Oscar, to the vet. I'd found green discarge on his penis, he yelped when touched near his back end, and I worried he had a sheath infection. So off to the vet, who examines him, tries to get a urine sample (no dice) and then informs me that he's got some weakness in his back end. Okay, that was not what I was expecting. She put him on metacam and told me to call back on Monday to talk about how he's doing. Okay.

Cue Friday night. I go out to bring Oscar in (he loves the outdoors, and so he plays in the back yard during the day) and can't find him. I eventually do, hiding in the garage. I try to get him out of his hiding spot, and he starts screaming and biting me. I lost it and started sobbing, partially out of shock, pain, and knowing something is horribly wrong. I bring him inside and set him down. He attempts to go lay down, but his back legs are not cooperating. My mind reels, and I know that this is the start of a bad thing.

I calm myself enough to call the vet's office. It's 7:30pm on a Friday night, but the vet has his personal cell phone number left on the voicemail for emergencies. I call and explain what happened. He reassures me that Oscar will be fine until Monday, continue with his meds, and then tells me to take care of my wounds (Oscar broke the skin in several places when he bit me) fine.

Today comes, and I call the vet's office. I tell them Oscar has deteriorated significantly since Thursday. I ask for the soonest appointment, and it's set for 1pm. The time comes, and I load Oscar into the car, still in his bed. We get there and Dr. Rich examines him. I know what's coming, every Dachshund owner's worst nightmare, the prospect of Intervertebral Disc Disease. I voice my fears to Dr. Rich, and he agrees xrays are in order to see where the problem is.

On a bit of a side note, Dr. Rich knows I want to be a vet, and that I'm currently trying for my Animal Science degree. Because of this, he always keeps me 100% in the loop, and consults with me on care and such. He treats me like not only a customer and pet parent, but also a colleague. I see all test results, and we discuss them together. So when Oscar's xrays came back, we took a look, and though being closer to the brightness of the backlight and having a harder time seeing it originally, the problem was plain as day from my vantage point. A narrowing of the space between the L1 and L2 vertebrae. Classic IVDD.

My world collapsed a little. I knew what this meant. Oscar would need aggressive treatment if he was to regain the function he'd lost. Surgery is the best option, but unfortunately, I don't have $3000 to do that. That left only one option, steroids. We discussed outcomes and quality of life, agreeing that if he was in pain constantly, euthanasia would be the best option, but obviously we'd try what we could first. Dr. Rich said at one point that he'd like to try doing a lamenectomy sometime at their clinic. Obviously he's not a specialist, but he'd assisted on a few in vet school.

So it was that Oscar is now on steroids, in hopes he'll rally and all we'll have to do is modify what he can and cannot do, and he'll live a long, happy doxie life. Second best outcome is he'll only need a cart, and will live paralyzed but pain free. Worst outcome is he'll get worse and be in immense pain, at which point the decision will be to put him to sleep so he doesn't suffer. My mom and I talked about it, and if it comes to that point, we will offer Oscar to Dr. Rich to attempt a lamenectomy on, depending on how much it would cost. Obviously he's no expert, and hasn't ever done one himself, hasn't assisted on one in years, but if there's no other option, we'd at least give him a chance.

For now Oscar is confined to the laundry room, carried outside to go potty, and his activity is kept to a minimum. He's on prednisolone and tramadol, so every eight hours I shove a tramadol down his throat, and twice a day I do the same with the steroids. It's a pain in the ass, but I love him and would therefore do anything for him. All people entering the house are told to, under no circumstances, touch or otherwise engage the dog. Thankfully my mom and step-dad have been helping with potty breaks so that I get a break. All in all, I'm terrified, I can't lose my best buddy, I've already lost one animal that meant a ton to me this year, I don't want to lose another.

And that's been my life recently.
Prayers and healing thoughts would be much appreciated.
I hope things are going better for the rest of you.

An Update, and A Call For Prayers

First, let's talk about me. It's been almost two weeks since I posted about the Cymbalta incident, and I am still feeling the effects of that. Thankfully they are almost non-existent, but every once in a while, I notice.

I went through a very rough period after the Cymbalta incident. It seemed as if all of my medications had stopped working, and the pain was impossible to ignore, and I was not able to cope. I saw my PCP about it, and he went through his ideas for treatment with me. Most of them were medications I had previously tried that had no effect. Then he suggested raising my prednisone dose, which I told him the Mayo Rheumatologist did NOT want happening, so that was out. Finally he suggested that maybe my issues were from lack of sleep, as I hadn't slept well in months. He prescribed Valium to try and help me sleep (I can't do most actual sleep meds) and hoped that would help, otherwise we'd be back at square one.

The first couple of nights didn't work, I was taking the Valium, plus Unisom and Melatonin to try to get sleep. No dice. The third night I discont'd the Melatonin, and switched from Unisom SleepGels (diphenhydramine) to Unisom SleepTabs (doxylamine). That night I slept like a rock, had multiple dreams, and woke up the next day in complete awe of what a good night sleep could do. I hadn't felt that good in YEARS. I had energy, felt like doing things, and though I had some minor aches, they weren't even bad enough to warrant an ibuprofen. I have been feeling pretty good since, and I really hope it continues.


Now for the prayer request.
I've written about my friend Becca a few times, I met her last summer in pain rehab at the Mayo Clinic. She was diagnosed at 4 with Primary Sclerosing Colangitis. She's had two liver transplants, but is currently in need of a third. I went to visit her at the beginning of April. The first day and a half of my visit she was doing okay, and we enjoyed a wonderful warm day out. On my third day, her nausea was so overwhelming that I took her to the hospital. She was admitted, and has basically been in ever since. She was released for a day or so, only to transfer from one hospital to another that has a liver transplant clinic. She is not doing very well. Her nausea is such that she can barely eat, and they are considering putting in a feeding tube. Her quality of life right now is not so great, and I worry about her quite a bit. She is only 23 years old, and one of the most genuinely kind, caring people I have ever met. Even as sick as she is, she makes origami for other patients, and talks with them. So if you could spare a prayer, a thought, or even just some healing vibes and send them her way, that would be great.


Hope you are all well.
-Jess

Missing Meds: The effects doctors don't warn you about.

Cymbalta.
According to Wikipedia, "Duloxetine (sold under the brand names Cymbalta, Ariclaim, Xeristar, Yentreve) is a serotonin-norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor manufactured and marketed by Eli Lilly. It is effective for major depressive disorder and has been shown to be as effective as venlafaxine for generalized anxiety disorder (GAD). Duloxetine alleviates pain associated with diabetic neuropathy and fibromyalgia."


True. Doctors have been pushing Cymbalta on people since it came on the market. I personally ended up on Cymbalta after the councilor I was seeing for some various family and depression issues, suggested I speak with my psychiatrist about changing medications, as he believed my Sertraline (brand name Zoloft) had become ineffective.

So I saw my psychiatrist. She agreed a med switch may make things a little easier, and suggested I go on Cymbalta. I agreed, as I had no reason to doubt her judgement. At that time she also told me she'd like to see me back in three months, but she would be switching clinics. I agreed to follow her to the new clinic.

Fast forward to Friday, April 29th. I was on my last pill of a 3 month supply. I had forgotten to make the appointment with my psychiatrist, and there were no refills on my medication. Drat. Since I'd never previously had any problem skipping a few days of meds, I decided to wait until Monday to call. Friday was also the day I went to the horse expo with my roommate, we walked three miles, and I horribly overdid things. That night I started feeling sick.

By Saturday, my sleep patterns were a bit messed up, and I was having some light dizziness and nausea. I attributed all of that to my time spent at expo. Sunday the dizziness and nausea were worse, and I could not sleep for the life of me. Every muscle felt tense and my brain felt hyperaware of the dizziness. By Monday night, I'd had enough. At 10:30pm my roommate and I took off for the emergency room. At this time I was still attributing things to my overdoing it at expo. They gave me zofran for the nausea, it did nothing. Tramadol for the pain, more nothing. They finally gave me a shot of domperidone, and that took care of the nausea. At this point, I was exhausted, but also felt like every nerve and muscle in my body was on full alert and wide awake. By the time we got home at 2am, I still couldn't sleep.

Tuesday I woke up and felt fine for the first 30 minutes of being awake, and then it all hit me at once. Dizziness, nausea, blurred vision, brain fog, hyperaware nerves, insomnia, tremors, confusion, "zaps", profuse sweating, feeling flushed, vertigo, irritability, aggression, anxiety, headache, lethargy, nightmares, extreme muscle tension. You name the symptom. I had it. I felt like I was dying. It was while looking through my pill bottles for something, ANYTHING that might work, that I came across my empty Cymbalta bottle. It was then that I put two and two together. I googled Cymbalta withdrawal. The things I read were horrific, and yet so familiar. I was never warned about any of it.

My problems did not stop there, however. I could not get my medication refilled until Wednesday, since they would have to call in to the clinic I went to. Wednesday my symptoms had increased yet again, and I was in a constant haze. My mom called me at 7:30pm saying they had my meds, and I drove the forty-five minutes home to get them. I took one at 8pm. I returned to my apartment by 9:30 and decided to have dinner. BAD IDEA. The nausea, which had been just barely tolerable, became impossible to ignore. By 11:30pm I felt so awful that I called my mother in tears, pleading for her to make it stop. After that call, I went back to my bed, across from my soundly sleeping roommate, and spent the next hour trying not to vomit.

Thankfully, at 12:30am, the medication seemed to have entered my system, and the nausea backed off enough for me to fall into a fitful sleep. I woke up at 6am and took all my medications, including a zofran. Now that the day is wearing on, and I have had 60mg of Cymbalta in my system, I am feeling much more human. Still slightly dizzy, a tiny bit nauseous, and I have a headache, but I will take that over everything I had yesterday.

So take this story as a warning, and ask your doctor if any new medications he or she prescribes to you have side effects and or cessation effects. I wish I had know, maybe I wouldn't have had to suffer.

I Survived.

Surgery was complication free, and I was discharged soon after. 

That's right, I didn't have to stay overnight, no crazy crud to deal with. My nose is drippy and gross, and my throat hurts like nobody's business, but I'm alive. 

Thanks for all of the well wishes, they definitely helped :)

Costochondritis...Hurts Like Hell

That was today's diagnosis.

For the past week, it's felt like someone was trying to rip out my sternum. This morning, I went to reach for a med bottle and was basically rendered breathless by a sharp ouchie feeling in my chest. I said enough is enough, and made an appointment at the clinic (the sister clinic of my PCP's office in a neighboring city, and the only one that has weekend hours) and went in. Oddly enough, after I was checked in, someone said hello and my name. It turns out one of the nurses from my PCP's office was having her daughter seen for a sinus infection. Small world.

So I finally see the doc, and he actually knows about EDS and understands. He examined me, even brought in a nurse when he had to check my sternum! I was impressed. He told me what was up, and wrote everything down for me. I basically have to breathe deep, take pain meds so I can, and rest with heat or ice on my chest. I can do that. It's nice to have a solid answer.

And that's my day so far.

Sick again, oh joy!

Wednesday my roommate, myself, and a friend of ours went to the Mall of America. We had a pretty good time, then went to Old Country Buffet for dinner. I went to bed content.

Thursday morning I wake up early to work on a project, and upon waking, I realize I have a sore throat and no voice. Emailed my professor that I couldn't do my speech, then went back to bed. I slept on and off for a good 36 hours.

Friday I missed class, slept more. That night I was feeling super crappy, so I went to my parents' house for the weekend. I was running a fever, totally out of it, with a laundry list of symptoms.

This morning I went to the doc. Verdict? Sinus infection. Since I've only been sick two days, he said it was probably viral, then gave me a list of over the counter crap to take. So far I haven't slept in almost 24 hours due to the fever hot/cold issue, plus my arthritis acting up on top of it all. I'm hoping this goes away soon :/ I'm already super behind on schoolwork, I don't need to get any further behind!

Also, in my previous post I linked to some wishlists. Don't worry, I'm not soliciting anything from anyone, I just thought it'd be fun to put them up, thinking maybe a friend would surprise me with something. Sorry if I offended anyone!

An update on life, and how you can find friends in odd places - like pain rehab

Pain Rehab kicked my butt. It chewed me up, spit me out, and had me not quite sure which way was up...But I survived, and gained some things. Obviously I gained knowledge of how to deal with the pain. I gained strength from PT. The best part, however, was the fact that I gained a friend. She's 23, and basically me...With a few differences. It was so great just to have someone my age to talk to, who wholly understands the pain issues, and is also living with the same, and wanting some of the same things, mainly some semblance of normality. She doesn't live near here, but the wonders of the internet let me keep in contact with her, and for this I am grateful.

My first activity post-rehab was the Warped Tour. For those of you unfamiliar with this event, it's a summer concert tour, of mostly rock, pop-rock, screamo, electronica, punk, and ska music. It's outdoors, and has upwards of 50 bands playing on about 6 different stages. I've been going every year since 2004. A friend of mine, who also went, told me she was glad that I came, because July was a very difficult month for me, and I needed something fun. Oh, and it was fun! Despite the 90+ degree weather, I met up with and hung out with friends, saw my little cousin enjoying her very first Warped Tour, and saw/heard some amazing bands. It really did start August on a high note.

August 3 I had surgery to remove the plate in my left leg. My surgeon, whom we'd begun to dislike following my first surgery after he took over for my previous surgeon, proved that his ego is more developed than his bedside manner. After beginning to backtrack on plans we'd made months prior about this surgery while I was in pre-surg, I knew this was going to suck. Post-op in the PACU, they could not get the pain under control. They started with Dilaudid, 5mg doses, every 5 minutes, with a max of 500mg. They maxed me out, and I was still extremely uncomfortable. So, again, 5mg, every 5 minutes, with a max of 500mg. When they finally got the pain under control, I had received a FULL GRAM of Dilaudid. Keep in mind that I am a 144 pound female with no history of drug use/abuse. My surgeon then didn't decide for several hours whether or not to admit me (it was supposed to be a same-day surgery, but it never is for me, because I have complications). When I finally was admitted, it was 6:30pm, and the hospital kitchen was CLOSED. I couldn't get anything more than a turkey sandwich, and when you haven't eaten since 12am, a sandwich isn't gonna cut it. Thankfully, me being a resourceful college student, who attended school in the area last year, I knew of a good order online Chinese/Cambodian place, and we got food from there. The rest of my stay in the hospital included talking with many of the nurses who remembered me from my previous surgeries, and getting increasingly angry with my surgeon. He doesn't know it, but at my 6week follow-up appointment. He's getting fired. If I ever have to see a doc at that hospital again, it will not be him.

Anyways, I'm still healing, and my body likes to shoot my temp up to 99° and sap my energy, so it's off to bed with me. Hope you're all well!

Being hit at 35+ mph is a terrifying and painful experience.

It was Thursday, July 1st. I was on my way to my orthodontist to pick up my retainers. I was literally blocks away. I was making a left turn, the light was green. I checked and rechecked for oncoming traffic - Nothing. I started to turn, and out of nowhere, I was hit. The main and side curtain airbags deployed. It took a second for the pain to hit. The car was full of smoke, the horn was blaring. The minute my airbags deployed, my car began contacting OnStar (thank you, GM). The crash had happened directly in front of a police cruiser. He turned on his lights and called for backup. The OnStar call went through. Was I okay? No. Did I need an ambulance? Yes. At that time, the officer opened my door. Was I okay? No. Did I know what happened? Sort of. I asked if I could call my mom. Did I have a phone? Yes. Could I reach it? Yes. I called my mother, hysterical. I told her I was in a crash. She asked if I was okay. I said no. Then I had to hang up. OnStar woman said she would contact police and rescue. Officer told her they were already there. He asked for my ID if I could get it. I shakily removed my wallet from my pocket and handed it to him. I told him about my EDS. He told me to stay calm, but people would be coming and asking the same questions. Told me not to move my head.

The next few minutes are hazy. Fire rescue inspected my car for fire, shut off the horn. Began scattering cat litter to absorb the fluids draining from my engine. A fireman came and asked the same questions as the police officer. Officer came back and asked where my insurance info was. Glove box. He said he'd get it. Then the medics arrived. Asked me my name. Suddenly someone was behind me, and they put a C-collar around my neck. They asked me what hurt. Neck, head, back, shoulder, chest, arm. I had been reflexively cradling my arm since just after the impact. Was I trapped? No. Did I think I could walk? Maybe. The police officer and a medic helped me out of the car. I made the dazed walk to the ambulance.

More questions, from medics and the officer. I was sobbing, pain, fear, terror, they all contributed. I was laid on a backboard. Buckled in. The ambulance moved to a parking lot to let traffic flow again. They started an IV. More questions. Poking and prodding. Does this hurt? Yes. An ice pack was put on my arm. Morphine was given. I made sure they had gotten my glasses and iPod from my car. I carefully removed my EDS info card and handed it to her. Informed her that I metabolize morphine very quickly. She game me more as it wore off. Made sure I was comfortable. Pulse ox, BP cuff. What hospital was I to be transported to? I gave her the name of the one connected to my orthopedist's hospital. We were en route.

Time passed, hazy for me. Dizzy, confused, in pain. We arrived. I was brought in to the ER, transferred over to a bed. More questions. My family had arrived before me, and they were brought in. I was relieved. More medications, Dilauded, Valium, things I can't remember. Blankets, a new ice pack. Then they threatened to cut off my clothing. Regardless of my current state, I refused. I loved the shirt I was wearing. The nurse agreed to attempt to remove it sans scissors. It worked. X-rays. Nothing broken. C-collar and backboard removed. Finally allowed a glass of water. Percocet given. A second gown to cover my back, and a trip to the bathroom before leaving. The morphine had caused urinary retention (I've dealt with this many times before) so I asked to be cathed before leaving. That done, I was finally free to go, prescriptions for percocet and valium in hand, right arm in a sling.

Final diagnoses? Whiplash, concussion, severe bone bruising over collarbone and sternum. Bruises on chest, hips, legs. muscle strain/injury in shoulders, right being more severe. wrist sprain. And what I considered one of the worst injuries? a 4" second degree burn from the deploying airbag on my right arm.

It's been 3 days, I am still in considerable pain and can't do much at all. I get to endure daily bandage changes on my burned arm. I can't sleep at night due to my chest bruises/pain. I get dizzy and nauseated if I am up for too long/move too much due to my concussion. My muscles are extremely tense, and I have to wear a sling and wrist brace if I am going to be doing anything where I can't keep my arm and shoulder relaxed and supported.

As for my car? She was a 2010 Pontiac Vibe, gorgeous black with a sunroof and amazing sound system. She is now a partially twisted pile of metal in a towing yard. We think she may be totaled, but that is for the insurance adjuster to decide.

I am also terrified to drive now, and have been very panicky as a passenger in cars. I know it could've been worse, and I should be thankful, but it still kills me inside.

Results, storms, and the possibility of warmth.

So I went to the doc on Tuesday. The test results were as follows:
-Cholesterol is still high (307 total, Triglycerides 209, LDL 166, HDL 99)
-Vitamin D is still low despite 400IU/day supplementation. Upped to 800IU/day.
-Blood inflammation levels above normal but not high enough to be worrisome.
-Holter was inconclusive.
-MRI results aren't back yet (MRI was Wednesday)

So that was my Tuesday/Wednesday. Then on Wednesday night we had our first Thunderstorm of the season, and I was in a world of pain. I haven't slept more than 5 hours out of the last 36. As for the possibility of warmth, I may be going to Nevada to visit some family friends for a week or so. I love NV because it can be 105 degrees and be perfectly comfortable, because unlike the weather here, the heat there is dry. Last time I was in Nevada I felt amazing and had energy to spare. Hoping I get to go!

It's almost like a medical miracle.

Today I took my first dose of Lyrica.
Within two hours, I started to feel...Different.
 I haven't been this mobile and at this (very low) level of pain since I was about 8!

I actually started tearing up at one point, because for the first time since I remember, I felt normal.
My hope now is that this medication continues to help me, because so far, the change in my pain and attitude towards my life has been drastic.

To those of you who have yet to find a treatment that helps, keep your head up, you never know what's around that next corner. 

Doctors: Throwing every test they have at me, and seeing what sticks.

My day was, to say the least, eventful. Even though it was a normal visit to my primary care doc, some of the things that have been going on with me recently concerned him enough to bring in the big guns.

He agreed with the diagnosis the Mayo Clinic doctor made of Fibromyalgia. This was a diagnosis that sort of sneaked up on me. I knew it was probable, but I really didn't want to hear it confirmed. However, that's what happened. Thankfully, because of this, he agreed to switch my pain meds from Gabapentin to Lyrica, which I am excited to try.

We addressed my current new symptoms, and they could possibly have several origins. We also discussed my random occurrences of tachycardia, and I am wearing a Holter monitor for the next 24 hours. Hopefully that sheds some light on those issues.

The rest was an EKG, blood tests (cholesterol, liver enzymes, thyroid, inflammation levels, CBC, vitamin D, potassium, and anything else he wanted), making me set up an appointment for the brain MRI I've been avoiding, and x-rays for the toe I ran over with the bathroom door.

Just another day in my life.

Tomorrow I get the Holter monitor taken off. Next week I have a meeting with my doc to go over the results of all the testing, and the day after that I have my MRI. I have a feeling this summer will be interesting.

Oh, and finals and moving are next week, as well. I'm petitioning the scholastic committee to have my grades scrapped for this semester, because my GPA is so low that if they don't, I will be on academic suspension. I know I should've taken medical leave, but I was stubborn, and I'm paying for it.

Updates from back home.

After one night in the hospital, I am pleased to report that I am home. The bladder issues resolved Friday morning, and I was discharged that evening. On my way home, my mother and I stopped at my favorite high-end grocery store, to pick up sushi. The sushi chef, who knows my order by heart, asked how I was doing.

By the time we got home, however, I was in excruciating pain again. I have been sleeping most of the time, only waking to eat and take my medications. I only get out of bed to go to the bathroom. For some reason, my throat is very sore, so I'm keeping an eye on that.

Seeing as I'm highly medicated, I apologize for this rather disjointed post. I shall leave you with a picture of myself and my hardware. One 2" plate and 4 screws that were removed from my right leg.

Tragedy Poetic

I sit for a moment, taking in the staccato signals from my body to my brain. The pain weighs heavy on me tonight, one of those rare nights where it crosses the threshold from tolerable to torment. I know I'll not sleep unless I find a way to keep the neurons at bay.

I stand from my perch, coccooned in blankets at my desk. My body drags and I limp the mere feet to possible salvation. I clasp the keys in my hand and bend like the skeleton of a tree to reach the box under the chair. A small, black, unassuming case and its lock are all that stands between myself and possible freedom, at least for an hour or two.

I return to my hideaway, box in hand. Once seated I carefully meet key to lock, turning just enough to free the lid and gain access to sweet relief. I rifle through my stash - the medications I've saved for nights like this, knowing that callus, tired physicians are none too willing to prescribe some of the contents, their profession having hardened, jaded them. The labels cry out to me, familiar names, as I count the remaining pills in each bottle. A single Vicodin sits lonely in its spacious keep. A smaller bottle bares but one Valium. I spy a pair of Flexeril milling about in yet another container. These are just some of the residents in my box. The bottles all nestle together, all saviors, regardless. The rare with the readily provided, the mundane with the magnificent.

I weigh my options. The list narrows as I remove a contender due to difficulty to acquire. You'd have better chance getting a refill from the dealer on the street than a legitimate prescription. Another ticked off, not quite up to the task. I continue to weigh my options, my fields ever narrowing. At long last I decide, a contender I'd previously dismissed due to difficulty to procure.

It's nights like these that I loathe the physicians who have put down blanket rules for all patients, people they could help but won't, due to the illegal actions of the despicable souls who use the real illnesses of others as a ruse to get what they think they need.