I now see an Osteopath on a regular basis. Osteopaths are medical doctors who are trained to diagnose and cure ailments according to the "inter-relationship of the body's nerves, muscles, bones and organs"*. This type of medicine is generally more hands-on and holistic that traditional western medicine.
During the visits, my doctor and I talk about my long- and short-term health issues as my doctor manipulates my body. In my last visit, we talked about my attempt at a raw foods diet and how horrible I felt after starting to eat nuts and large amounts of citrus. I told my doctor that I was suspicious of of the nuts and citrus causing my abdomen pain and twitching eye, but that I was unsure. I told him that the abdomen pain only decreased while not sitting in my chair at work and while doing yoga. He suggested that my abdomen pain might be related to my back issues.
It has been over three weeks since I stopped eating nuts and over a week since I stopped eating citrus. I still have abdomen pain and eye twitches; but I have been charting them with my continuing back/hip pain and tightness. As of now, it looks promising that the abdomen pain is related to my back/hip issues.
In addition to doing yoga, I have started (painfully) deep stretching of my hips and pelvis. We shall see...
*http://www.osteopathic.org/index.cfm?PageID=ost_main
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Sunday, March 7, 2010
The Depths of Illness - Fatigue
It started on the Appalachian Trail (AT). I had been hiking upwards of 20 miles a day. A good hiking pace on the AT is around 3 miles an hour, meaning a 20 mile day would take somewhere south of 7 hours (not including breaks). For long-distance hikers, 7 hours of hiking is fairly enjoyable when you start early in the morning. But if you don't start early in the morning, 7 hours of hiking is much less enjoyable.
I don't remember when my mileage started to drop. But I do remember that it started when I no longer began hiking in the early morning. I remember being tired - too tired to wake up with the sun. I delayed getting out of [sleeping] bag until hours after the sun rose. When I finally did get up, I plodded around the campsite, delaying departure, for as long as I dared. Then, when I started to hike my muscles felt heavy, my feet ached, and my shoulders burned. Trekking up and down the mountain trail, over rocks and roots, through meadow and forest, seemed endless. A mile seemed like ten. Ten seemed like an eternity. I stopped to take naps in the middle of the day. I woke up groggy with many miles yet to go. I would usually push on. My mileage dropped to somewhere south of 15 miles per day. It would have dropped further had I not gotten off the trail to rest at my parents house in Gettysburg.
During the time I spent resting and looking for a cause to and treatment for my illness the fatigue was more bearable, but it did not get better. I had no schedule to keep, so I could wake up when I wanted, take naps when I wanted, lay around when I wanted. But after a month or so of rest and significant medical consultation there was no confirmed diagnosis. I could not lay around my parents house forever. Life had to go on.
To be closer to my girlfriend, I took a job installing solar panels in the north east. Once again, I had a schedule. No more sleeping in. No more naps. I woke up early. I slunk around like a sloth. I climbed ladders and lifted 100 lb. solar panels. My muscles weakened. Lifting and climbing became harder. My muscles felt like were filled with concrete that was slowly hardening. At the end of the day, I could do no more than lay down. Cooking dinner, nearly impossible. Bed time became earlier and earlier. The extra sleep didn't help.
On the weekends, there was a little relief. I could sleep in and take naps. My girlfriend wanted to do things - go for walks, go out to see bands, go hiking, go to the farmer's market, go to the beach, go cross-country skiing. I didn't. I wanted to be immobile. We did as much as I could bare. But our outings rarely lasted more than an hour or two before I was too tired to continue. My girlfriend understood that I was not well. She was gracious and accommodating. I felt guilty. I wanted to give her more. I couldn't.
In January of 2006, my girlfriend and I moved to San Diego. I got an engineering job. The fatigue continued, only now the fatigue in my body was mirrored in my mind. I could think and rationalize and remember, but not for prolonged periods of time. Mornings were best. Afternoons were difficult. My focus would drift. My eyes would become heavy. Working was nearly impossible. I faked my way through it, often saving drafting (mostly mindless) for the afternoon. At the end of the day, I could do no more than lay down. Cooking dinner, nearly impossible. Bed time remained early. Sleep didn't help. Making friends was virtually impossible. I remained at home while my girlfriend went out. I slept while the world moved.
I don't remember when my mileage started to drop. But I do remember that it started when I no longer began hiking in the early morning. I remember being tired - too tired to wake up with the sun. I delayed getting out of [sleeping] bag until hours after the sun rose. When I finally did get up, I plodded around the campsite, delaying departure, for as long as I dared. Then, when I started to hike my muscles felt heavy, my feet ached, and my shoulders burned. Trekking up and down the mountain trail, over rocks and roots, through meadow and forest, seemed endless. A mile seemed like ten. Ten seemed like an eternity. I stopped to take naps in the middle of the day. I woke up groggy with many miles yet to go. I would usually push on. My mileage dropped to somewhere south of 15 miles per day. It would have dropped further had I not gotten off the trail to rest at my parents house in Gettysburg.
During the time I spent resting and looking for a cause to and treatment for my illness the fatigue was more bearable, but it did not get better. I had no schedule to keep, so I could wake up when I wanted, take naps when I wanted, lay around when I wanted. But after a month or so of rest and significant medical consultation there was no confirmed diagnosis. I could not lay around my parents house forever. Life had to go on.
To be closer to my girlfriend, I took a job installing solar panels in the north east. Once again, I had a schedule. No more sleeping in. No more naps. I woke up early. I slunk around like a sloth. I climbed ladders and lifted 100 lb. solar panels. My muscles weakened. Lifting and climbing became harder. My muscles felt like were filled with concrete that was slowly hardening. At the end of the day, I could do no more than lay down. Cooking dinner, nearly impossible. Bed time became earlier and earlier. The extra sleep didn't help.
On the weekends, there was a little relief. I could sleep in and take naps. My girlfriend wanted to do things - go for walks, go out to see bands, go hiking, go to the farmer's market, go to the beach, go cross-country skiing. I didn't. I wanted to be immobile. We did as much as I could bare. But our outings rarely lasted more than an hour or two before I was too tired to continue. My girlfriend understood that I was not well. She was gracious and accommodating. I felt guilty. I wanted to give her more. I couldn't.
In January of 2006, my girlfriend and I moved to San Diego. I got an engineering job. The fatigue continued, only now the fatigue in my body was mirrored in my mind. I could think and rationalize and remember, but not for prolonged periods of time. Mornings were best. Afternoons were difficult. My focus would drift. My eyes would become heavy. Working was nearly impossible. I faked my way through it, often saving drafting (mostly mindless) for the afternoon. At the end of the day, I could do no more than lay down. Cooking dinner, nearly impossible. Bed time remained early. Sleep didn't help. Making friends was virtually impossible. I remained at home while my girlfriend went out. I slept while the world moved.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Difficult Weeks - In Real Time
What a difficult couple of weeks. My energy level - low. Waking up - difficult. My lower back - in pain. My hips - tight, aching. My calves - tight, aching. My left eye - constantly twitching. My abdomen - burning. Focusing at work - a struggle. The symptoms - ever-present. I made a few dietary changes - no more nuts and citrus. We'll see if they help.
In Real Time
My original intent was to write about my trials when I had a chance to thoughtfully reflect on my experiences. However, this week was tough and reminded me that it is difficult to write when ill. In order to capture (and provide me an outlet for) some of the tougher times, I've decided to add a segment called In Real Time.
In Real Time will document select thoughts and events as they happen. More to come...
In Real Time will document select thoughts and events as they happen. More to come...
Sunday, February 28, 2010
The Depths of Illness
The emotional and physical toll of illness cannot easily be understood by those who have not had a similar experience. This is the rationale that I prefer to attribute to my doctor's inability to understand what I am going through.
The Depths of Illness is a new series in this blog that will attempt to relate the deep interference that particular symptoms can have on one's life. More to come...
The Depths of Illness is a new series in this blog that will attempt to relate the deep interference that particular symptoms can have on one's life. More to come...
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
The Bridge to Alternative Medicine
In December, 2009, I asked my new doctor for help with my long-term health issues. He agreed. He asked for time to review my entire medical history. I agreed and scheduled a follow-up in January. My follow-up appointment came. I filled in holes in the medical history with anecdotal stories.
I had been hiking the Appalachian Trail in 2005 when my illness began. My abdomen started to hurt in North Carolina. I stopped in Franklin, NC. I ate a pizza. I threw up. I continued hiking. My feet began to ache. My shoulders started to ache. It was nothing unusual for long-distance hiking, I thought. I reached Damascus and rested for two days. It did not help. I hiked on. I reached the Virginia Highlands. I took pictures of wild ponies. I took an afternoon nap. It did not help. I had a fever. I went to bed early. One night, in the middle of the night, I woke up in a sweat, nauseated, and having to use the toilet. I scrambled to get my shoes on, grab my headlamp, and run out of the shelter. Within fifteen feet of the shelter, I crashed to the ground, landing in a pile of rocks beside a bush. After a minute, my head cleared. I stood and stumbled through the darkness. Dizziness came. Darkness came. I crashed to the ground. The stars came through the darkness. They were spinning. They stopped. I stood. I walked on. The toilet was on top of a platform. There were no walls. The wind blew. I began to shiver. I began to freeze. I stumbled back to the shelter. I woke up the next morning unable to eat. I hiked fifteen miles to the nearest road, rested for two days, and continued hiking. Another week in the woods. Another hundred miles. More dizziness. More fever. New aches and pains. I stopped in Pearisburg, Virginia. I called my parents. They drove down from Gettysburg the next day. They took me home. I rested. I did not get better.
My doctor listened patiently to my stories, to the beginning of my symptoms. When I was done, I told him about a few new symptoms - a bitter taste in my mouth, sharper abdomen pain. He nodded. He sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. Everyone has different filters, he began. I nodded. I wondered where he was going. Multitudes of illnesses known to man manifest themselves in a small number of symptoms, he continued. He said my symptoms were not consistent with illnesses that were known. He said that my filter was too sensitive. He said that I was complaining of too many symptoms. He said that I needed to learn to ignore most, if not all of my symptoms. He said that my tests showed that I was normal, that my symptoms were a normal part of growing older.
I was baffled. My doctor was telling me that my lack of energy after work, my abdomen pains, my inability to focus, my headaches, my tonsil stones, the bitter taste in my mouth, my brain fog, my frequent urination, and all the rest of my symptoms were all a natural part of growing old. He was telling me that my five years of illness were not real. He was telling me that I was too sensitive to pain. He didn't understand the depths of my illness, the depression, the struggles with brain fog, the muscle pain, the fatigue. I was infuriated. I left. I stopped believing that western medicine could and would eventually find a diagnosis for my ailment.
I had been hiking the Appalachian Trail in 2005 when my illness began. My abdomen started to hurt in North Carolina. I stopped in Franklin, NC. I ate a pizza. I threw up. I continued hiking. My feet began to ache. My shoulders started to ache. It was nothing unusual for long-distance hiking, I thought. I reached Damascus and rested for two days. It did not help. I hiked on. I reached the Virginia Highlands. I took pictures of wild ponies. I took an afternoon nap. It did not help. I had a fever. I went to bed early. One night, in the middle of the night, I woke up in a sweat, nauseated, and having to use the toilet. I scrambled to get my shoes on, grab my headlamp, and run out of the shelter. Within fifteen feet of the shelter, I crashed to the ground, landing in a pile of rocks beside a bush. After a minute, my head cleared. I stood and stumbled through the darkness. Dizziness came. Darkness came. I crashed to the ground. The stars came through the darkness. They were spinning. They stopped. I stood. I walked on. The toilet was on top of a platform. There were no walls. The wind blew. I began to shiver. I began to freeze. I stumbled back to the shelter. I woke up the next morning unable to eat. I hiked fifteen miles to the nearest road, rested for two days, and continued hiking. Another week in the woods. Another hundred miles. More dizziness. More fever. New aches and pains. I stopped in Pearisburg, Virginia. I called my parents. They drove down from Gettysburg the next day. They took me home. I rested. I did not get better.
My doctor listened patiently to my stories, to the beginning of my symptoms. When I was done, I told him about a few new symptoms - a bitter taste in my mouth, sharper abdomen pain. He nodded. He sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. Everyone has different filters, he began. I nodded. I wondered where he was going. Multitudes of illnesses known to man manifest themselves in a small number of symptoms, he continued. He said my symptoms were not consistent with illnesses that were known. He said that my filter was too sensitive. He said that I was complaining of too many symptoms. He said that I needed to learn to ignore most, if not all of my symptoms. He said that my tests showed that I was normal, that my symptoms were a normal part of growing older.
I was baffled. My doctor was telling me that my lack of energy after work, my abdomen pains, my inability to focus, my headaches, my tonsil stones, the bitter taste in my mouth, my brain fog, my frequent urination, and all the rest of my symptoms were all a natural part of growing old. He was telling me that my five years of illness were not real. He was telling me that I was too sensitive to pain. He didn't understand the depths of my illness, the depression, the struggles with brain fog, the muscle pain, the fatigue. I was infuriated. I left. I stopped believing that western medicine could and would eventually find a diagnosis for my ailment.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Definitions
For the sake of simplicity...
Western medicine - scientifically proven medicine.
Alternative medicine - medicine that is not scientifically proven.
Western medicine - scientifically proven medicine.
Alternative medicine - medicine that is not scientifically proven.
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