Monday, July 14, 2014

30 Day Chronic Illness Challenge (Days 22-24)


Day 22:
Well, every doctor marvels at how "interesting" I am or how "fascinating" the way my symptoms present is to them. 
Sometimes they get real honest and tell me I have the worst case of ______ they've ever seen or my conditions are so rare and bizarre.
A few doctors have tried to find me a new diagnosis because they are a decade or two behind the medical community and don't really believe in CFIDS.
 
Day 23 & 24:
I don't and I haven't.


Friday, June 27, 2014

But Where Are The Good Days....?

I constantly forget CFIDS symptoms that are legitimate. So I'll have these symptoms, then I'll freak out thinking it's something new, only to find out it's old hat. CFIDS it is. One of those "forgotten" symptoms is an upset stomach. I get it in a very special way. I get agita, all the time. Today I threw up in my mouth three times. That's a normal occurrence for me. Lately I've been having severe nightsweats. Yet another CFIDS symptom that I forget about, until I wake up drenched in what feels like a gallon of sweat. There are so many more symptoms, that majority of which I suffer from.

But this post isn't really supposed to list my CFIDS symptoms. This is more of a "checking in" post, catching any readers up to date on what is going on with me, physically and emotionally. If you care to know the truth in all it's forms, continue to read. If not, check back at my next posting?

On June 26 I had a horrible, sudden onset, muscle spasm and my trapezoids locked up. The only position that I wasn't in pain was tucking my chin to my chest. It was severe and paralyzing. Feeling hopeless and terrified, Kevin called my Physical Therapist, Travis, who gave us some suggestions: stretches & heat, but the muscles wouldn't release. I was in agony. I was sobbing, with bits of calm or just trickling tears, then sobbing more and more. 

So I went in to physical therapy. Travis did manual manipulations and while I was there my pec-minor on my left side started to spasm as well. (Incidentally a pec minor spasm can reproduce some of the same TOS symptoms, soooo awesome.) It was severe enough that the PT students could see my shoulder raising off the table. Travis got that to release but my traps stayed steel-rod-like. He hooked me up to electrical stimulation, which usually I have a high tolerance for, but I didn't that day. I made them set it much lower than normal. Within two minutes my pain got so much worse. The tears came rushing back. Kev went to get them, and at that point Travis said my pain was crossing the line and I needed to go to ER or Urgent Care. He said e-stim is a pain relieving modality and for that to set me off, I need to see a doc to check for fever etc....

I went to the particular urgent care place he recommended and the wait wasn't too long but it was awful because of how I had to curl up and tuck my chin to get pain relied. The doc prescribed me a stronger muscle relaxer. It definitely helped. I'm now only sore like I did a hard work out using those muscles, so I'm definitely getting better. Since then my PT appointments have only been light and gentle, to be careful not to flare anything up again. Since then I have had frequent, more minor spasms of my lats and my traps continue to feel as though I went through a strenuous workout.

I have no answers for what is going on with my back and neck muscles. I also have symptoms of TOS that I shouldn't be having this far post-op (blood pressure affected and other stupid things). There are no answers for that either. I've always been a medical mystery and it seems I always will be one. 

What came out of this was obviously more questions. The biggest of which was "but where are the good days?" I believe I was reassuring Kevin that this was just a freak bad day and I'd be better soon. Then he asked me, "but where are the good days?" In truth, I was reassuring myself as much as him because I didn't know why this was happening either but I wanted to believe what I told him, that it was just a bad day. I want to believe I'm due for so many good days. I wanted to believe it because I ask that same question both internally and out loud all the time. I get sad and scared and angry and I need to know where the fucking good days are hiding. The state of existence in which I live in is full of fear and unknowns. I do have good days (relatively speaking), but the bad days are overwhelming.

Something positive has come from this. It may be temporary, I don't really know. It has only been three weeks since this freak incident. But at least for now, Kevin and I are both consciously focusing on a change of perception. We are choosing to see more of the good. It's our way of creating good days rather than waiting for them to magically happen. Every day has good and bad in it, whether you are 10 different kinds of broken like I am or if you're a "normal" person who commutes to work. Good and bad everywhere. But the overall theme of the day, that's our choice. Believe me, I have enough bad that I cannot control--the last thing I need is to put blinders on and miss the good that is there.

So we are celebrating the small victories, whether it's something fun that I'm able to do or whether it's doing productive things. We keep some structure in my days so I have a routine conducive to my limitations, which helps maximize success. We are making our own happiness. 
It's all perception. Instead of choosing to be bummed when yardwork wipes me out and causes immense pain, we make that a good day. Pain and exhaustiion, good? No, not really. But it's definitely good that I felt enough strength to do some of the yardwork. The alternative is me being too tired/weak to get out of bed and spending the day laid up watching life go by. And the structure helping this is scheduling an evening of rest that night and a lazy day-after. My body being dead after that work is inevitable, but it is a choice whether I celebrate the successful work I did or whether I pout and dwell on the post-exertional malaise. Change of perception, bam! 


So where are my good days? They're somewhere in my mind in between the bad days and the pity parties. They're in beautifying my home with roses, lilies, and butterfly bushes. They're in spending a long weekend with family, even if my sleep schedule confuses everyone a little. They're in a day at the beach with my nieces, even though my body had to be told to suck it up to get out of bed. 






Monday, October 21, 2013

Being an Athlete//Day 16&17

It has been almost a month since I posted. I've been fighting with what seems like even more than normal. I've had a neurostimulator implant in my spine. I've had a rib "pop out" and be popped back in place. I've been sick with my seasonal allergies and colds. I've faced amplified depression. I've been fighting with my mortgage company to get my house eligible for a short sale (because they think I can pay back $11,000+). I've been fighting with disability because they think I'm capable of working, even though I can't read a page without falling asleep and I can't drive more than a mile. 

This post is long, because I combined a few I'd planned in drafts. So stick with me because it makes up for all the lost time. Please and thank you ;)



Day 16: This isn't a famous quote, but it's something I need during this time. My friend, who I used to coach with, wrote this to his(our) team. It is lengthy but it is guaranteed to light a fire in any athlete:
"Ladies,
The mark of a true athlete is not their caliber of play. It's not how fast they run a mile. It's not their skill on a ball, and it's not the number of goals they score in a season. I train athletes; but never would I expect your performance to dictate whether you are an athlete.

No, the mark of an athlete is not physical, but mental. It's a state of mind. It's that calling to press past what you know you can do. It's the itch you get when you haven't played. It's the desire for respect. Respect is something we are currently not being given by other teams in this league. 

We play this game, on this team, for each other. We play for and with one another, but we unite for a common cause. During practice, we battle hard against our teammates to give them the toughest training they can endure, and then when we find opponents, we can outmatch them because of our dedication. To this day, we have yet to show them what we are about. Saturday, this changes. 

I ask only one thing of you against Loch Raven. Earn your respect. Make them fear you. Warm up as a team. Listen to each other. Pump each other up and prepare for your 60 minutes of war. You are playing along side my favorite 18 people, and all of you are capable of fantastic feats when you focus and play as hard as you can. There is no limit to your success, and no boundary to your capacity - but you yourself dictate whether you win or lose.

The mark of an athlete is something that you earn. It is not given. It is not stolen from a trophy room or conceded in a game. You earn it with your attitude. You  earn it with your teammates. 

Bring the heat Saturday. Send a message to this league. Get a strong, commanding win and send those that doubt our team's strength away. Make them suffer. Make them hate playing against you and want to quit. Make them give up. 

Play as a team and there is not a team in our league better. The person on either side of you is your friend, your sister and your teammate. They are your shield and your sword. Bring all of your aggression to the pitch, and prepare to take that team down. You know the tactics; we've  practiced them. You know how to play defense; be strong and hold your ground. You know to play simple; execute it. You know to talk; so speak loudly and with authority.

Play for each other. Play for the win. Play for your respect."

Day 17: I wrote the following in correlation with the email Aaron sent to the Pipeline team. This more than answers the question about how my life would be different. How wouldn't things be different is really the question...because EVERYTHING is different. 
I do not coach presently. I dream and plan to coach again. But I currently am without a team. I also wish to play again. I went from being a D1 prospective goalkeeper to not playing in college to having 8 knee surgeries and finally to happily playing D-back in co-ed adult rec leagues.

I spent nearly 3 years coaching Parkville United. I coached at Parkville High School for 2 full years: 6 seasons & 3 sports in total. And I coached with Pipeline Soccer Club for about 1 season, though the intent was to be there much longer. I hear from my PHS girls all the time, God love them. I've made 4 of their games this season and they still play as the family I taught them to be. They play with heart and character, and their new coach has fallen in love with them just like I did. The girls are some of my biggest cheerleaders when it comes to getting better. And PSC, despite my short time with them, keeps me on the team email list. At first, it made me sad reading team updates, but I've grown to love it. I feel connected in a good way. I still can text or email Aaron to discuss team happenings and offer perspective on girls of that age. Even though I can't be there, it feels like they wish I could, just like I wish I could. I also occasionally get to talk to my former adult league teammates. Some of them I coached with, some of them were just teammates who became friends. Just last week I got to see one of my former teammates -- and one of the few females I've ever easily connected with. They're far away and in a different world than me, but they're all still there.

During my battle with TOS I've struggled in a major way with my identity. Because my health has robbed everything from me, I've stopped knowing who I am. Sometimes when strangers ask what I do for a living I'll answer coaching, rather than explaining I'm disabled. It's just easier; if I say I'm a stay-at-home-housewife people assume we have kids or are trying, and that's also not a conversation I want to accidentally fall into. But the fact is I'm not a coach anymore. I officially haven't been since April 2013. And I haven't played since June of 2012. I managed to coach during my early TOS struggles. Playing was always out of the question. Not just no playing -- no exercising at all.

I have been an athlete forever. It is one of the core foundations of who I am. Or who I thought I was. I have totally stopped feeling like that's who I am and it has resulted in a deep confusion of wondering who I am, if not what I know.

The inevitable question one might have reading that above paragraph is answered by saying, yes I am in therapy. I'm facing it all as best I can. But to answer day 17's question, EVERYTHING WOULD BE DIFFERENT and I would know who I am. 

Saturday, September 28, 2013

I'm the Long-Lost Blogger

I've grounded myself from blogging (just for a little while) because of too many things I need to do. I have paperwork for disability and other stuff. So I try to focus on what I need to do, not what I want to do. But this is remarkably therapeutic. 

Plus I've had double the normal amount of doctor's appointments as usual. So this'll be a mini-update...

Short story: my new primary sent me to: get bloodwork done; a sleep study; an immunologist who did bloodwork of his own and allergy scratch tests (and wants to do allergy shots at about $15 a pop, every week--hell no, I'm broke!) and sent me to get a CT scan; and next up a full-blown 3-4 hour psych eval. She's thorough and wants to see if CFIDS isn't my lifelong trouble and if I was misdiagnosed. It's the perfect time for a medical witchhunt, seeing as how I have no money for my regular co-pays ($90 a week on PT and therapy). Then again, I have nothing but free time. 



Monday (two days away) I'm getting a neurostimulator put into my spine. It's a trial so I'll have wires sticking out of my back and connecting to an external battery pack. It comes out Friday. When it's permanently done the battery pack is surgically implanted in your hip, sort of like a pacemaker. It will be put in with an epidural needle so it should suck horribly. 

Hopefully I won't get this permanently because it sucks worse--more than the pain. But it's one of only 2 remaining options. The other is having a rib or two removed (this is very likely, but I don't see my Hopkins surgeon until Nov 20 to discuss). The ribs HAVE to come out, as far as I'm concerned. I was born with 2 extra ribs, one on each side, and on my bad side it can be seen on my MR-neurography that my regular top rib and my floating rib are compressing the nerves. So ciao, Cervical Rib and First Rib. 

Anyways that's my quickest update possible. The better part of this blog is Part 2 of that gratitude blog, where I posted all the amazing things people messaged me. 

 This note came home with Kevin on Friday afternoon. Kevin told me the kid, who was on JV baseball last year and remembered me being around at games, just randomly asked if I was better, if that surgery I had during baseball season worked. Kevin told him no, and with that Dashawn decided to write me this amazing letter. In my thank you card (which Kevin will deliver on Tuesday) I told Dashawn his note came at such a great time because I had a scary procedure on Monday and needed that boost of positivity. 

I've also gotten a lot of love on Facebook and Instagram:

"Shanley, I can't imagine all the things you are going through but keep fighting.  I hope you feel better soon."

"Hi honey- saw your recent posts. I hope everything is okay. Let me know if you need anything, please"

"Wishing you well Shanley! I think about you all the time and check your blog for updates every few days.  Know that I'm sending you love across the country."