Good morning! It's now 8 a.m. Sunday morning. Yesterday at this time it was 7 a.m. Doesn't take much to change things substantially. We'll all really get this annual reminder when it's broad daylight at 7 tonight! Sorry for the continuation of my morning musings on time change, but as noted in my last post, it fascinates me...the notion of times changing are very relevant in my life now.
And so back to our story from Saturday...the unintended cliffhanger that happened because the day started moving before I had a chance to finish the saga. Actually this saga will be unfolding over time for the long haul, but on to the next chapter for now...
The blood was drawn Wednesday. Thursday around 1:15 I was at work, blithely eating my lunch when my cell phone rang, and the number that appeared was that of my doctor's office. In keeping with my oft-reported neurotic nature, wisps of adrenalin puffed into my solar plexus. It was the office receptionist who said that my results were in and the doctor wanted me to come in to discuss them.
Knowing full well she couldn't say much, I said I'd make the appointment, but asked she fax me a copy of them. She replied that the doc didn't like doing that until the results were discussed with the patient. So I asked to talk to someone. She put me on hold.
After about a minute, she came back and said that the Nurse Practitioner, who I see as often as the doc, fully trust and believe to be extremely competent, said to tell me it was to discuss diabetes management and treatment options. Aha. Just as I expected. I scheduled the appointment for this coming Tuesday, hung up, and exhaled deeply.
It was almost a sense of relief to me that this issue was "out in the open", and I knew that a subtle shift had happened inside where I was no longer going to ignore this truth that's been present for close to 4 years. No more hiding it, no more euphemistic descriptions of my "borderline" status. I have it. It's gotten worse over the years. Turns out ignoring a problem is not a useful strategy. Magical thinking doesn't exact change. Not like setting a clock to a different time and calling it a day.
Having not had the doc appointment yet, I haven't found out the particular numbers of my fasting blood sugar and HbA1C, which are the initial 2 indicators of diabetic status. I haven't been instructed to check my fasting blood sugar daily, or been given diet guidelines. I haven't been told that I need to go on medication. Yet.
Shortly after I hung up from talking to the receptionist, I got my work glucometer out and checked my blood sugar. It was a dumb time to check it, because I'd just eaten lunch (albeit a healthy low carb one) and knew the number would be high. But how high? My nursing knowledge is helpful, but it can also be a distinct hurdle in rational action on my own behalf. I know normal ranges for fasting, but not related to mealtimes, etc. I thought it could be in the 200s, which would not be good. It was 167, which is high, but not so bad just after a meal. 2 hours later would have told a different story, but I let it go, just feeling good that I'd had the nerve to check it.
I brought the meter home for the weekend. Friday night, hubby brought home dinner from his golf club (where we have to spend a certain amount in their dining room quarterly), and from where we usually get outrageously delicious dessert. I told him in no uncertain terms NOT to get me a dessert, but when he got home, one of the containers had 2 desserts. I shrieked at him, and he said he'd told them just the one dessert. He was surprised, and I can assure all of you that he would not attempt to sabotage me. It was a fluke. Guess what I did? I ate it. And once that sugar was on board, I opened a bag of candy that I was going to send to my son in the Republic of Georgia, and ate that too. Insane.
Armed with my glucometer, I checked my fasting blood sugar yesterday morning. Normal value would be less than 100. Mine was 152. It was that value and my reaction to it that prompted me to begin writing all this yesterday morning. I saw it and didn't freak out. What came was a steely determination and resolve to change it. Get it down. It was visceral, real. That high blood sugar empowered me through the day yesterday, including a baby shower with a full dinner, cake, bread...to avoid the simple carbs and sugar. Also to take in healthy nourishing meals.
This morning my blood sugar was 132. Still high. Down 20 points. Coinkydink? I think not. Can I get it lower? I believe I can.
The awareness is still fresh, almost astonishing as it continues to wash over me. The facts of my condition, out in the open, motivate me. Reality vs. wishing and hoping. A measurable indicator of my status can help me rather than scare me. There are many things I cannot control. But I am not powerless over what I put in my mouth. Once certain things enter my body (like booze, sugar, highly processed crap), my judgement is impaired. The person I am before I put in certain substances is different from the one after I ingest them. That is my biochemical addictive nature. If I ignore it, all bets are off as to my ability to act on my own behalf.
So - that's where I am at this point. I am going to test my FastingBloodSugar (FBS) every day now, whether the doc says to or not. But he will. I'm not afraid of it anymore. I'm afraid NOT to do it. That's a big change.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Saturday, March 9, 2013
The times, they are a-changin'
It's 6:15 Saturday morning. Tomorrow at this time it will be 7:15. It always fascinates me to think of this related to time change. Simply change the clock setting, and voila! Instant new normal, albeit a less drastic one than many.
Like most other folks at this seasonal juncture, I'm beyond ready for any harbinger of spring to emerge, and daylight savings time is a biggie. The purple shocks of crocus against winter brown rain/snow dampened earth have been wooing for a few weeks, but repeated storms and last gasp winter onslaughts have kept them from fully flourishing. But time change...even mother nature can't mess with that. It immediately and literally brings new light into every moment from dawn to dark.
I generally don't post on a weekend (and no cracks about how I generally don't post much at all these days), but I want to reflect and write out my thoughts this morning. Recall my Wednesday post about beginning to pay attention to my health, by scheduling appointments, having blood drawn, etc. Today's musings evolve from there.
Let me note that denial has never been a river in Egypt in my world, but magical thinking with a big dose of ignoring reality have often figured prominently in my operating system. Before I got sober, I knew my drinking wasn't "normal", but I was having too much fun to worry about it. Until I wasn't, and even then - armed with the knowledge that I was an alcoholic, I kept doing what I was doing, thinking that eventually I'd stop, or "get over it".
I determined to quit a million times and meant it with all my heart every time. But eventually (in a few days, or a few weeks) I'd go back, or rather, pick up the drink. And I never picked up planning to moderate. I never wanted a civilized glass of wine with dinner. I wanted obliteration, but without those pesky blackouts and fights with the husband.
That is how it's been with my eating and food struggles. While the consequences in my daily life have been less drastic in the social sense (I have a zillion friends, wonderful family, good job, love and feel loved) than those wreaked by alcohol, they have been painful in my inner life, and increasingly serious to my physical being.
I've ignored Type 2 diabetes for several years. It started out around 2009 with warnings that I was showing signs of it (borderline values). My doctor told me "You can cure yourself", and sent me to a Diabetes Educator/Dietician for food guidelines and menu planning. I went a few times, began losing weight and my lab values flipped back to normal quickly. So I figured I could control this thing, and lapsed back to eating what and when I wanted. My borderline status quickly turned to teetering-on-the- brink, and my doctor gently warned me.
At one point about 18 months ago, the office nurse called and said that the doc wanted me to take the Diabetes Education classes offered at the local hospital, and I (know it all nurse and pain in the ass patient) said to her, "I'm not going to do that. I know what to do, and I could probably teach the class myself." It won't shock you to know that was the last time I had blood drawn, until this past Wednesday. I had an office visit for a muscle spasm in September of 2012, and the doc gave me a slip for blood work that I hung onto, vowing to self (HAH!) that once I got a "good month of sane eating" under my belt, I'd have it done.
If I waited for that month, I'd likely never get stuck with a needle again. A moment of clarity, a deep fear, finally wanting to stop NOT WANTING to see family who aren't close by...something I can't explain jolted me into just getting the blood tests done.
And then the wait for the phone call from the doc's office.
It didn't take long. 24 hours.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Atta girl, Leslie
I'm high-5ing myself today and daring to be optimistic about some miniscule progress related to my last post. This morning, as scheduled, I went and had my routine blood work drawn that I've put off for months. My blood is out there in the ether to be looked at and to reveal the general status of my health. In the past, I used to play drama queen (to myself only) after walking out of a lab, thinking, "well, the die is cast", with emphasis on the "die"! Brother - I'm really getting tired of myself with that stuff and see that I can make a choice to be optimistic or pessimistic. Whatever is, IS. Not knowing not only doesn't help or change anything, it fuels my anxiety. The long-held fear dates back to my childhood, and while I know from where it stems, it's very hard to navigate at times. But the only way through is through.
Upon getting to work, I also scheduled my mammogram for this Monday. It's late as well, because I'd cancelled one back in October and never got around to rescheduling. I got an appointment early in the morning, which is my best and brightest time of day, and I'm highly unlikely to chicken out or be "too busy". I'll have it done and be able to get to work early. While I don't love these boob-flattening fests, they don't breed dread and fear in me the way having my blood drawn does.
Finally, I go to a fancy schmancy practice GYN care. The woman gyn. doc I see is no longer accepting new clients, and you have to schedule your annual exam as you leave from your current one, or you might have to wait for well over a year. I also cancelled that appointment last summer, and never rescheduled. This morning I called to do so, figuring it would probably be late fall before I'd get in, and by some miracle was told that my doc had a cancellation for this Tuesday at 10:30, so I grabbed it! I'll just take the day off since it's in the middle of the day. This also doesn't get me too worked up, though I know she'll gently mention my weight, as always. Maybe at next year's app't, that won't be an issue! It could, and should, happen.
Seems like the universe is opening up a sliver for me to take better care of myself, both in having ideal time slots available for what I need, and suspending some of my resistance and fear about health issues. For someone who's been very healthy my whole life, it's strange that I hate these routine procedures. But I also know how good it feels to know things are well, and if they aren't, that I am following through on my own behalf. Details to follow.
Oh - and my food and eating have improved for the last few days. That helps for sure.
Upon getting to work, I also scheduled my mammogram for this Monday. It's late as well, because I'd cancelled one back in October and never got around to rescheduling. I got an appointment early in the morning, which is my best and brightest time of day, and I'm highly unlikely to chicken out or be "too busy". I'll have it done and be able to get to work early. While I don't love these boob-flattening fests, they don't breed dread and fear in me the way having my blood drawn does.
Finally, I go to a fancy schmancy practice GYN care. The woman gyn. doc I see is no longer accepting new clients, and you have to schedule your annual exam as you leave from your current one, or you might have to wait for well over a year. I also cancelled that appointment last summer, and never rescheduled. This morning I called to do so, figuring it would probably be late fall before I'd get in, and by some miracle was told that my doc had a cancellation for this Tuesday at 10:30, so I grabbed it! I'll just take the day off since it's in the middle of the day. This also doesn't get me too worked up, though I know she'll gently mention my weight, as always. Maybe at next year's app't, that won't be an issue! It could, and should, happen.
Seems like the universe is opening up a sliver for me to take better care of myself, both in having ideal time slots available for what I need, and suspending some of my resistance and fear about health issues. For someone who's been very healthy my whole life, it's strange that I hate these routine procedures. But I also know how good it feels to know things are well, and if they aren't, that I am following through on my own behalf. Details to follow.
Oh - and my food and eating have improved for the last few days. That helps for sure.
Monday, March 4, 2013
The first day of something
Today is the proverbial first day of the rest of my life. The day (actually the 2nd day, as I was stellar yesterday) I start back on track with moving toward weight loss, improved fitness, and denial-free attention to my physical well-being. Mondays are good first-days-of-the-rest-of-my-life. I should know. I've had a zillion of them in my 59+ years, yet here I still sit, about 40 pounds overweight, in denial about my borderline (hopefully still borderline) type 2 diabetes, hypertension controlled by medication, and who knows what other weight related issues. Confession: initially I wrote "obesity related issues", but it sounded so harsh and ugly that I changed it to the kinder and gentler "weight-related". This runs deep.
I'm going to spit out some major baggage here - I might as well use this blog for an outlet, since it isn't panning out to be a springboard to writing fame. I'm too cheap to go to therapy again - been there, done that. It won't get me skinny or give me any new insights into my demons. I have to have somewhere to say some of this shit out loud. Judge me or not. Something's gotta give if I'm ever to find freedom from a very destructive relationship with food and eating.
I've been blogging since summer of 2009, and it was really only in the first 6 months that I lost a chunk of weight (~25 pounds) that I have of course re-found. I'm still not as high as I was at the very beginning, but I'm as far from a success story as Obama is from getting Congressional republicans to agree with any words that come out of his mouth. Truth be told, the reason I stop blogging for long periods (often) is that I get tired of not having anything positive to report. I always get so much support and kindness here, and yet I feel ashamed about that because I don't deserve it.
I've written before about one of my favorite sayings in AA - "if nothing changes, nothing changes". I am the poster child for that little nugget of truth. Many things HAVE changed in my life over the years, and those changes have bore much fruit and richness. But with the eating, the food, the weight - status quo breeds status quo. I want to be honest about a few facts of my life. These won't be new to anyone who has read me for awhile. They provide good examples of the saying in the paragraph above.
1) I love my Atlanta in-law family. They love me. I'd like to visit more often. But I dread going, always, because I'm fat. Still fat.
2) My beautiful daughter is still living in the Dominican Republic with her wonderful boyfriend and soon to be official fiance. I love spending time with them both. We have only been to visit once while she's been there, though she comes home as often as possible. They are dying for us to come down soon so we can meet Cesar's parents, and visit their beach condo up on a stunningly beautiful tiny penisula off the northeastern coast of the island. I want to go, but I don't want to go fat. I can't wear long sleeves and capris on a tropical Caribbean beach. And I definitely can't wear a bathing suit. Or meet the parents.
3) I should have had basic blood work drawn about 7 months ago, and have put it off until I get some "sane eating time" under my belt". I'm afraid of the type 2. I'm afraid something horrible and terminal will show up. I'm afraid of my shadow, I think. (And whenever I walk with friends, my shadow is always the biggest. Admittedly I have lean friends, but still...) I'm afraid of literally everything. I'm phobic about minor symptoms, in me or my family members. And I keep this all at bay, inside, so as not to appear as nuts as I feel. A neurotic mess on the inside. Cool, wise, AA sponsor/friend/nurse/mom/counselor on the outside. Let me tell you - it takes a lot of food to keep this all zipped up.
There is a lot more I could say, but my work day is winding down, and I think enough is enough. Maybe I'll write again soon. I hope so, but my willful bad self, driven by a million forms of self-centered fear, can call the shots if I'm having a bad day.
Acceptance and the Serenity prayer are my current strategies right now. There is much I cannot change. There is much I can. I even claim wisdom to know the difference between the two. But action is what matters. One planned action is that I have an appointment at 8 a.m. on Wednesday morning to have that blood work done. If it shows I'm gonna croak - so be it. I'm having it done. It's a start. And I'm going to try and resist any sugar, other than fruit, for the rest of the day. I did that yesterday and it was ridiculously hard, arguing constantly with the voice in my head coaxing me to have just one ___________ that someone brought to a meeting. I got through the day. I'd like for a rerun of that today.
I'm going to spit out some major baggage here - I might as well use this blog for an outlet, since it isn't panning out to be a springboard to writing fame. I'm too cheap to go to therapy again - been there, done that. It won't get me skinny or give me any new insights into my demons. I have to have somewhere to say some of this shit out loud. Judge me or not. Something's gotta give if I'm ever to find freedom from a very destructive relationship with food and eating.
I've been blogging since summer of 2009, and it was really only in the first 6 months that I lost a chunk of weight (~25 pounds) that I have of course re-found. I'm still not as high as I was at the very beginning, but I'm as far from a success story as Obama is from getting Congressional republicans to agree with any words that come out of his mouth. Truth be told, the reason I stop blogging for long periods (often) is that I get tired of not having anything positive to report. I always get so much support and kindness here, and yet I feel ashamed about that because I don't deserve it.
I've written before about one of my favorite sayings in AA - "if nothing changes, nothing changes". I am the poster child for that little nugget of truth. Many things HAVE changed in my life over the years, and those changes have bore much fruit and richness. But with the eating, the food, the weight - status quo breeds status quo. I want to be honest about a few facts of my life. These won't be new to anyone who has read me for awhile. They provide good examples of the saying in the paragraph above.
1) I love my Atlanta in-law family. They love me. I'd like to visit more often. But I dread going, always, because I'm fat. Still fat.
2) My beautiful daughter is still living in the Dominican Republic with her wonderful boyfriend and soon to be official fiance. I love spending time with them both. We have only been to visit once while she's been there, though she comes home as often as possible. They are dying for us to come down soon so we can meet Cesar's parents, and visit their beach condo up on a stunningly beautiful tiny penisula off the northeastern coast of the island. I want to go, but I don't want to go fat. I can't wear long sleeves and capris on a tropical Caribbean beach. And I definitely can't wear a bathing suit. Or meet the parents.
3) I should have had basic blood work drawn about 7 months ago, and have put it off until I get some "sane eating time" under my belt". I'm afraid of the type 2. I'm afraid something horrible and terminal will show up. I'm afraid of my shadow, I think. (And whenever I walk with friends, my shadow is always the biggest. Admittedly I have lean friends, but still...) I'm afraid of literally everything. I'm phobic about minor symptoms, in me or my family members. And I keep this all at bay, inside, so as not to appear as nuts as I feel. A neurotic mess on the inside. Cool, wise, AA sponsor/friend/nurse/mom/counselor on the outside. Let me tell you - it takes a lot of food to keep this all zipped up.
There is a lot more I could say, but my work day is winding down, and I think enough is enough. Maybe I'll write again soon. I hope so, but my willful bad self, driven by a million forms of self-centered fear, can call the shots if I'm having a bad day.
Acceptance and the Serenity prayer are my current strategies right now. There is much I cannot change. There is much I can. I even claim wisdom to know the difference between the two. But action is what matters. One planned action is that I have an appointment at 8 a.m. on Wednesday morning to have that blood work done. If it shows I'm gonna croak - so be it. I'm having it done. It's a start. And I'm going to try and resist any sugar, other than fruit, for the rest of the day. I did that yesterday and it was ridiculously hard, arguing constantly with the voice in my head coaxing me to have just one ___________ that someone brought to a meeting. I got through the day. I'd like for a rerun of that today.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
At long last, part deux
Don't faint - I'm still here, still alive, still reading, but haven't posted much. I thought by doing a post with "Part Une" in the title in early January, I could peer pressure myself into posting sooner that I have. It's been almost 2 months, and while the scary and unexpected things about the holidays I alluded to in my last post have settled down, I just haven't felt like putting figurative pen to paper. But I need to.
I think I overwhelmed myself by saying I'd post shortly about the other "big event" that shook up our family holiday gatherings (besides my FIL's passing, which I did write about) - though it didn't begin unfolding (quietly and seemingly innocently) until Christmas Eve. That day, nor in the next few, I had no idea that odd things were brewing in my middle child, Stephen, and neither did he, though he did start noting some weird physical sensations to me. Being a nurse, the vague symptoms sounded potentially concerning, but easily explained away by recent physical activity he'd engaged in. Being a recovering catastrophizer, I kept telling myself to calm down and stop always going to a bad or worst case scenario. But a few days in, it became clear something real was happening.
The day after Christmas, Steve said the bottoms of his feet felt numb and tingly. Also that his calves were very painful, but we attributed it to the fact that he'd gone out a run a couple of miles in the freezing cold (and he doesn't run), just for exercise. Concerning the numbness, I asked if it was really both feet, and he said yes. A wisp of adrenalin puffed into my gut, because as a nurse, I know bilateral neurological stuff is significant. But I reminded myself to not get crazy or worried over essentially nothing. He didn't mention it again for a day or so, but then he told me that his finger tips were tingly and numb, and his arms ached. "Both arms?" Yep. Shit, more bilateral symptomology. More adrenalin. More talking myself off the cliff. Yet he could move everything fine. "How are your legs and feet?" His answer was, "Probably worse." I told him I was going to make a doctor appointment for him the next day, and he told me to not be ridiculous. HAH!
By now it was New Year's Eve, after 3 p.m., so I figured we'd deal with it, if necessary, on Wednesday, which was Jan. 2nd. Well. That night, he had friends over, which he later confessed was because he felt too weird and crappy to go anywhere. I was asleep by 9:30 while hubby lay next to me and watched the various NYE's going ons on tv. Tuesday morning I was out of the house by 6:30 to go to a 7 a.m. AA meeting and then breakfast with friends (New Year's Day), and when I walked into the house at 9:45, my husband called out that Steve's "medical condition" had gotten worse. I flew into the den, and Stephen was sitting there looking entirely pissed off with Tom (hubby), and told me to disregard what "Dad just said". I asked what was going on, and it turns out his face was feeling "wooden", his tongue was "thick" and he was having a hard time swallowing food. His speech was even slightly slurry.
Into HIGH GEAR - I said we were going to the ER. Stephen said no. I said that I'd call 911, and he said for me to go ahead but that he wasn't going, and then I SCREAMED, "GET YOUR SHOES ON...WE'RE GOING NOW"... and off we went - me driving, Tom next to me telling me to slow down while Stephen reminded me I wasn't driving an ambulance. I was terrified, even though Steve could walk, he was definitely having some kind of neurological event. What it turned out to be had actually occurred to me a couple of days earlier, but is such a rare thing that I was sure my mind was being crazy.
He got taken back quickly, and at this point I will try to make a very long story less long by saying that he had a million tests. All blood tests and CT scan of the head were normal. And then a neurologist was called in, and that man will be my hero forever. He did a full neurological exam on Stephen (with me present, since Steve said it was okay), checking reflexes, strength, asking countless detailed questions. It was during this exam where I became the most scared, terrified really, because I could this doctor was sharp, good, and knew his stuff. I knew this doctor would figure out what it was, and that was both terrifying and reassuring.
After he finished the exam, he told Steve that based on everything up to that point, he felt fairly confident that what Stephen had was Guillain Barre Syndrome. This is a very rare condition that you can read a brief description of if you click the link. Essentially it's an auto-immune response where the body begins attacking the nerves as the exit from the spinal cord. Cause is unknown, but it often occurs after a respiratory infection or receiving a flu shot. If you've ever gotten a flu shot, you've seen the condition listed in the consent form you sign prior to getting the vaccine. I won't go into all the details of this, except to say that it's considered a medical emergency because it is a progressive paralysis that can (but does not in 70% of cases) actually cause a paralysis of the chest muscles that aid in breathing. It can very in intensity and seriousness, and in worst cases, can actually (though rarely) cause death.
After the doc told Steve what he thought his condition was, he said that the diagnosis was confirmed by a spinal tap and looking at the spinal fluid under a microscope. The presence of protein in the fluid is the only way to definitively know for sure. You can imagine that Stephen was thrilled to hear that, but was a champ for the procedure. We had to wait a couple of hours for the result, and while we waited, Steve researched the condition on his phone, and his symptoms were essentially a textbook definition of the disease. Fortunately this condition is treatable, and in the majority of cases, the patient recovers fully.
Turns out, if you hadn't guessed or aren't friends on Facebook, that Stephen did have GBS, and ended up spending 4 days in the hospital in ICU (because he had to be monitored during treatments and for possible chest involvement), for the condition. It seemed that his symptoms had peaked by the time we got to the ER, because he never got worse. During his time in the hospital, his facial involvement (recall his lips feeling wooden, face stiff, etc) made it hard for him to even use a straw because he couldn't seal his lips around it. Crazy, huh? Yet he could always walk pretty well (though his legs also felt "wooden") and really never lost motor function. Most of his symptoms were more on the sensory end of the nervous system - more what he felt and sensed, rather than how he moved. There is so much more about all this that I won't bore you with (probably too late for that!), but he did well in the hospital, got fantastic care, had lots of company, and tolerated the treatments well. After discharge he ended up staying home for an extra 3 weeks before going back to working on his cousin's farm in Kentucky.
So this all happened while our daughter Jean and her boyfriend Cesar were here for the holidays. Obviously it sort of changed a lot of our plans, but Jean and Cesar shifted gears and hung out with Steve in the hospital, and we still had a good time together. We were all so thankful that Stephen seemed to have a mild case of this syndrome. It all felt quite surreal, and while we were relieved that his diagnosis turned out to be something entirely treatable and one from which he will fully recover, it definitely was a very scary experience. Stephen soldiered through well - Mom, not so much. On the surface I kicked into competent nurse/mom mode, grateful, optimistic, and the family spokesperson. Inside my tendency to catastrophize and be anxious got very triggered, and I'm still working on regrouping, almost 10 weeks later.
I talked to Stephen on Saturday, and he says he feels pretty good. He still tires more easily - especially in his arms and legs, and he has the tingling fingers and soles of feet when he first wakes each day. But after moving around a bit, he says he feels pretty normal. We are so grateful that this happened while he was at home, rather than while he was at the farm. The doc said we caught it earlier than a lot of folks do, and that will further ensure eventual full recovery.
I'm sorry for this long post. Believe when I say it could be MUCH longer, but if I want to publish it before midnight, I have to keep it brief! Or at least less than a novella.
My food/weight/eating is in about the same place it's been for many months. I haven't gained, but I haven't lost. Up and down between 5 pounds. I'd like to say I'm ready to get this weight off once and for all, and of course I am. But I don't seem to ready to do what it's going to take, which is get consistent about it.
Writing all this has been exhausting to my emotional reserves - so I'm not even going to proof it. I intend, hope, and plan to get back to more frequent blogging, but I've said that before. But at least I've posted once a month, so far, in 2013!
I think I overwhelmed myself by saying I'd post shortly about the other "big event" that shook up our family holiday gatherings (besides my FIL's passing, which I did write about) - though it didn't begin unfolding (quietly and seemingly innocently) until Christmas Eve. That day, nor in the next few, I had no idea that odd things were brewing in my middle child, Stephen, and neither did he, though he did start noting some weird physical sensations to me. Being a nurse, the vague symptoms sounded potentially concerning, but easily explained away by recent physical activity he'd engaged in. Being a recovering catastrophizer, I kept telling myself to calm down and stop always going to a bad or worst case scenario. But a few days in, it became clear something real was happening.
The day after Christmas, Steve said the bottoms of his feet felt numb and tingly. Also that his calves were very painful, but we attributed it to the fact that he'd gone out a run a couple of miles in the freezing cold (and he doesn't run), just for exercise. Concerning the numbness, I asked if it was really both feet, and he said yes. A wisp of adrenalin puffed into my gut, because as a nurse, I know bilateral neurological stuff is significant. But I reminded myself to not get crazy or worried over essentially nothing. He didn't mention it again for a day or so, but then he told me that his finger tips were tingly and numb, and his arms ached. "Both arms?" Yep. Shit, more bilateral symptomology. More adrenalin. More talking myself off the cliff. Yet he could move everything fine. "How are your legs and feet?" His answer was, "Probably worse." I told him I was going to make a doctor appointment for him the next day, and he told me to not be ridiculous. HAH!
By now it was New Year's Eve, after 3 p.m., so I figured we'd deal with it, if necessary, on Wednesday, which was Jan. 2nd. Well. That night, he had friends over, which he later confessed was because he felt too weird and crappy to go anywhere. I was asleep by 9:30 while hubby lay next to me and watched the various NYE's going ons on tv. Tuesday morning I was out of the house by 6:30 to go to a 7 a.m. AA meeting and then breakfast with friends (New Year's Day), and when I walked into the house at 9:45, my husband called out that Steve's "medical condition" had gotten worse. I flew into the den, and Stephen was sitting there looking entirely pissed off with Tom (hubby), and told me to disregard what "Dad just said". I asked what was going on, and it turns out his face was feeling "wooden", his tongue was "thick" and he was having a hard time swallowing food. His speech was even slightly slurry.
Into HIGH GEAR - I said we were going to the ER. Stephen said no. I said that I'd call 911, and he said for me to go ahead but that he wasn't going, and then I SCREAMED, "GET YOUR SHOES ON...WE'RE GOING NOW"... and off we went - me driving, Tom next to me telling me to slow down while Stephen reminded me I wasn't driving an ambulance. I was terrified, even though Steve could walk, he was definitely having some kind of neurological event. What it turned out to be had actually occurred to me a couple of days earlier, but is such a rare thing that I was sure my mind was being crazy.
He got taken back quickly, and at this point I will try to make a very long story less long by saying that he had a million tests. All blood tests and CT scan of the head were normal. And then a neurologist was called in, and that man will be my hero forever. He did a full neurological exam on Stephen (with me present, since Steve said it was okay), checking reflexes, strength, asking countless detailed questions. It was during this exam where I became the most scared, terrified really, because I could this doctor was sharp, good, and knew his stuff. I knew this doctor would figure out what it was, and that was both terrifying and reassuring.
After he finished the exam, he told Steve that based on everything up to that point, he felt fairly confident that what Stephen had was Guillain Barre Syndrome. This is a very rare condition that you can read a brief description of if you click the link. Essentially it's an auto-immune response where the body begins attacking the nerves as the exit from the spinal cord. Cause is unknown, but it often occurs after a respiratory infection or receiving a flu shot. If you've ever gotten a flu shot, you've seen the condition listed in the consent form you sign prior to getting the vaccine. I won't go into all the details of this, except to say that it's considered a medical emergency because it is a progressive paralysis that can (but does not in 70% of cases) actually cause a paralysis of the chest muscles that aid in breathing. It can very in intensity and seriousness, and in worst cases, can actually (though rarely) cause death.
After the doc told Steve what he thought his condition was, he said that the diagnosis was confirmed by a spinal tap and looking at the spinal fluid under a microscope. The presence of protein in the fluid is the only way to definitively know for sure. You can imagine that Stephen was thrilled to hear that, but was a champ for the procedure. We had to wait a couple of hours for the result, and while we waited, Steve researched the condition on his phone, and his symptoms were essentially a textbook definition of the disease. Fortunately this condition is treatable, and in the majority of cases, the patient recovers fully.
Turns out, if you hadn't guessed or aren't friends on Facebook, that Stephen did have GBS, and ended up spending 4 days in the hospital in ICU (because he had to be monitored during treatments and for possible chest involvement), for the condition. It seemed that his symptoms had peaked by the time we got to the ER, because he never got worse. During his time in the hospital, his facial involvement (recall his lips feeling wooden, face stiff, etc) made it hard for him to even use a straw because he couldn't seal his lips around it. Crazy, huh? Yet he could always walk pretty well (though his legs also felt "wooden") and really never lost motor function. Most of his symptoms were more on the sensory end of the nervous system - more what he felt and sensed, rather than how he moved. There is so much more about all this that I won't bore you with (probably too late for that!), but he did well in the hospital, got fantastic care, had lots of company, and tolerated the treatments well. After discharge he ended up staying home for an extra 3 weeks before going back to working on his cousin's farm in Kentucky.
So this all happened while our daughter Jean and her boyfriend Cesar were here for the holidays. Obviously it sort of changed a lot of our plans, but Jean and Cesar shifted gears and hung out with Steve in the hospital, and we still had a good time together. We were all so thankful that Stephen seemed to have a mild case of this syndrome. It all felt quite surreal, and while we were relieved that his diagnosis turned out to be something entirely treatable and one from which he will fully recover, it definitely was a very scary experience. Stephen soldiered through well - Mom, not so much. On the surface I kicked into competent nurse/mom mode, grateful, optimistic, and the family spokesperson. Inside my tendency to catastrophize and be anxious got very triggered, and I'm still working on regrouping, almost 10 weeks later.
I talked to Stephen on Saturday, and he says he feels pretty good. He still tires more easily - especially in his arms and legs, and he has the tingling fingers and soles of feet when he first wakes each day. But after moving around a bit, he says he feels pretty normal. We are so grateful that this happened while he was at home, rather than while he was at the farm. The doc said we caught it earlier than a lot of folks do, and that will further ensure eventual full recovery.
I'm sorry for this long post. Believe when I say it could be MUCH longer, but if I want to publish it before midnight, I have to keep it brief! Or at least less than a novella.
My food/weight/eating is in about the same place it's been for many months. I haven't gained, but I haven't lost. Up and down between 5 pounds. I'd like to say I'm ready to get this weight off once and for all, and of course I am. But I don't seem to ready to do what it's going to take, which is get consistent about it.
Writing all this has been exhausting to my emotional reserves - so I'm not even going to proof it. I intend, hope, and plan to get back to more frequent blogging, but I've said that before. But at least I've posted once a month, so far, in 2013!
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Holiday Chronicles part une
I hope everyone had a good set of end-of-the-year-holidays - I've been reading my top ten, plus a few other blogs, throughout and it seems most all of you survived them just fine - many thrived. And staying in touch with the blog world, whether by just reading or occasionally commenting, has been one of the activities that enabled me to stay grounded throughout.
The reason I am posting is because I need to write - about a lot of what our season was like. And when I came to my blog, the template looked dark and depressing to me me, so I did a quick change. Hopefully I can fine tune and add some creativity to it, but being a world class non-techie makes that unlikely. I need someone to sit down with me and show me how to do stuff. Once I learn, I don't forget, and can figure other stuff out. But original blog pages apparently aren't my forte.
Our holidays, starting with Thanksgiving, have been a true mixed bag - wonderful connections with family throughout, but a couple of medical issues arising at the beginning (Thanksgiving night) and at the end (New Years Day) have definitely left this blogger reeling. I won't get to all of it today in hopes of keeping your eyes from bleeding, but will at least talk a little about the big stuff.
The first big thing was Thanksgiving. For the first time since becoming parents, we had no children at home - 2 out of the country, and our middle son Stephen living and working on a farm in Berea, Kentucky. The farm is owned by his cousin and her husband, and with it being a 10 hour drive and his plan of coming home for Christmas, he stayed and enjoyed the holiday with some extended family. Tom and I were alone, but thanks to several invites from friends were able to cherry pick from the appetizing menu of wonderful people with whom to share the holiday meal. (You know the cherry picker was me, btw. Tom was happy to go anywhere.)
Before we left for our friends that afternoon, Tom's mom in Atlanta called, and reported her hubby, Tom's dad (Tom Sr.) was not feeling well and wanted to ask her "nurse daughter in law" for advice (from 700 miles away?). At 94 and 9/12, Tom Sr. was beginning to really show the ravages of age. While his mind remained sharp, other things like balance, swallowing, and speaking had become diminished, and that day certain symptoms became more pronounced and alarming. To shorten this story significantly, he ended up being 911d to the hospital that night, and several issues were diagnosed that hadn't been identified before. He did a few days in the hospital, then a week in a rehab where he was utterly miserable and kept saying he was "ready to go", and finally ended up in a hospice facility where he was able to be kept comfortable, literally surrounded by family, until he peacefully passed away on December 15.
My Tom(Jr) made 2 different trips down at various points along this 3 week period, and felt fortunate to be there during his dad's last days. Virtually all the family besides us live in or much closer to Atlanta, so there was much family camaraderie, connection, love, sharing of memories throughout. Our daughter from the Dominican Republic was able to fly into Atlanta a few days prior to what she'd originally planned to do with her soon to be fiance, and was able to see Papa before he passed. The memorial service for Tom Sr. was on Saturday afternoon of December 22, so I flew down early that morning and back home the next day to get ready for Christmas and the family company we were having. (As I write all this, I realize the huge gaps of significant stuff that are too much for a blog post...but maybe this text will serve as a starting point for me to document it more fully for our family and who knows what else later.) The service was lovely - with a great turnout of family and friends - and children of their friends. There was a very lively reception at the church after, and then a big family gathering at the home of one of my father in law's nieces that went on til about 11 that night. By 5 am the next morning, I was at the airport to return to Philly. Quite a whirlwind, literally and emotionally.
Anyway - while it was of course a very sad occasion, it was also a celebration of my father in law's full life and remarkable health and hardiness well beyond that of most 90 plus folks. He was able to keep up with golf, bridge (played a couple of days at his club before his final trip out of their home) and stayed interested in politics and other news currents as well. Life really didn't owe him much at all, and it was clear he passed peacefully and with full knowledge of how fortunate and blessed he'd been. I hope he also knew how utterly adored and esteemed he was by his kids and grandkids. He'd led the typical imperfect human life, and there were things about which he had a hard time self forgiving. You know - like almost every person who has walked the face of the earth.
I'm going to stop now because my son Stephen just woke up and we're going to meet one of his friends at a local museum. He figures very significantly in this story and I will need to gather my emotional resources for the retelling of what is still unfolding.
And by the way...Happy Belated New Year.
The reason I am posting is because I need to write - about a lot of what our season was like. And when I came to my blog, the template looked dark and depressing to me me, so I did a quick change. Hopefully I can fine tune and add some creativity to it, but being a world class non-techie makes that unlikely. I need someone to sit down with me and show me how to do stuff. Once I learn, I don't forget, and can figure other stuff out. But original blog pages apparently aren't my forte.
Our holidays, starting with Thanksgiving, have been a true mixed bag - wonderful connections with family throughout, but a couple of medical issues arising at the beginning (Thanksgiving night) and at the end (New Years Day) have definitely left this blogger reeling. I won't get to all of it today in hopes of keeping your eyes from bleeding, but will at least talk a little about the big stuff.
The first big thing was Thanksgiving. For the first time since becoming parents, we had no children at home - 2 out of the country, and our middle son Stephen living and working on a farm in Berea, Kentucky. The farm is owned by his cousin and her husband, and with it being a 10 hour drive and his plan of coming home for Christmas, he stayed and enjoyed the holiday with some extended family. Tom and I were alone, but thanks to several invites from friends were able to cherry pick from the appetizing menu of wonderful people with whom to share the holiday meal. (You know the cherry picker was me, btw. Tom was happy to go anywhere.)
Before we left for our friends that afternoon, Tom's mom in Atlanta called, and reported her hubby, Tom's dad (Tom Sr.) was not feeling well and wanted to ask her "nurse daughter in law" for advice (from 700 miles away?). At 94 and 9/12, Tom Sr. was beginning to really show the ravages of age. While his mind remained sharp, other things like balance, swallowing, and speaking had become diminished, and that day certain symptoms became more pronounced and alarming. To shorten this story significantly, he ended up being 911d to the hospital that night, and several issues were diagnosed that hadn't been identified before. He did a few days in the hospital, then a week in a rehab where he was utterly miserable and kept saying he was "ready to go", and finally ended up in a hospice facility where he was able to be kept comfortable, literally surrounded by family, until he peacefully passed away on December 15.
My Tom(Jr) made 2 different trips down at various points along this 3 week period, and felt fortunate to be there during his dad's last days. Virtually all the family besides us live in or much closer to Atlanta, so there was much family camaraderie, connection, love, sharing of memories throughout. Our daughter from the Dominican Republic was able to fly into Atlanta a few days prior to what she'd originally planned to do with her soon to be fiance, and was able to see Papa before he passed. The memorial service for Tom Sr. was on Saturday afternoon of December 22, so I flew down early that morning and back home the next day to get ready for Christmas and the family company we were having. (As I write all this, I realize the huge gaps of significant stuff that are too much for a blog post...but maybe this text will serve as a starting point for me to document it more fully for our family and who knows what else later.) The service was lovely - with a great turnout of family and friends - and children of their friends. There was a very lively reception at the church after, and then a big family gathering at the home of one of my father in law's nieces that went on til about 11 that night. By 5 am the next morning, I was at the airport to return to Philly. Quite a whirlwind, literally and emotionally.
Anyway - while it was of course a very sad occasion, it was also a celebration of my father in law's full life and remarkable health and hardiness well beyond that of most 90 plus folks. He was able to keep up with golf, bridge (played a couple of days at his club before his final trip out of their home) and stayed interested in politics and other news currents as well. Life really didn't owe him much at all, and it was clear he passed peacefully and with full knowledge of how fortunate and blessed he'd been. I hope he also knew how utterly adored and esteemed he was by his kids and grandkids. He'd led the typical imperfect human life, and there were things about which he had a hard time self forgiving. You know - like almost every person who has walked the face of the earth.
I'm going to stop now because my son Stephen just woke up and we're going to meet one of his friends at a local museum. He figures very significantly in this story and I will need to gather my emotional resources for the retelling of what is still unfolding.
And by the way...Happy Belated New Year.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)