#will ask for surgery OR AT LEAST AN MRI. SOMETHING. at my appointments in September & October

[momo-de-avis]

Be warned that this post is going to be extremely TMI, scroll along if you don't want it to ruin your parasocial relationship with me

They scheduled me an MRI back in September

The appointment is named like MRI followed by a bunch of medical terms that I, of course, don't understand.

The lady that scheduled it for me did not explain what it was.

My doctor did not explain to me what it was.

Nobody explained anything.

I've had an MRI before, two in fact, one done to my head and one with contrast when I was in the emergency ward of the hospital screaming in pain, so this second time I wasn't really paying attention to what the fuck an MRI entails except that you're put in a gigantic washing mashine thay sucks metal and makes a lot of noise (and the metal thing I know from Dr House)

So imagine my surprise when I arrive at the hospital and the receptionist asks me if took all the precautions required. I'm like. What now?

She goes. Oh, the medication you need to take beforehand.

I'm stuttering. what the fuck do you mean.

I scroll furiously through my email trying to find the appointment and hey. Guess what. It does say there that there's this one medication I have to take, which requires some physical interaction, and that I need to be on an empty stomach 4h prior. It doesn't say where I'm supposed to get this medication, nor does it say how to take it, cause I have no idea (in the smallest letters imaginable, at the bottom of everything, like scroll endlessly for it). I've never taken this shit

Mind you, the lady that made this appointment also made 5 other apps that day: an x ray, blood tests, an EKG, urine tests, and two other apps with an anesthesiologist and my gynecologist. Yes this was all for a surgery I'm going under in January. She also explained to me what to expect of the surgery, how to bathe myself 24h prior, what to expect of every single exam except the MRI.

So here's what she, or my doctor, failed to explain to me about this MRI, I am assuming because they assumed I'd done one and it's basically the same. Which stupidly, is what I thought.

She failed to explain to me that the medication I needed to take the morning of was for me NOT to, and now I'm going to translate into colloquial terms what the kind doctor explained to me, shit myself. And why would you shir yourself in a machine that sucks metal, spins and sounds like one of those horror ARGs on YouTube? Because she also failed to explain to me that, since this is an MRI to evaluate my endometriosis, they are going to fill your every single orifice up with a fucking gel.

And let me tell you something about this process.

It's not painful at all. But my god I felt like one of those victorians who went to those doctors who didn't wash their hands to cure themselves of a flu with an enema. It is like reverse giving birth, if you're giving birth to Flubber. The female doctor that did this, and I appreciate the tact of having a female doctor but at this point how could I give a shit, it can't get any worse than this, was one of those that only speaks in diminutives and kept calling me fofinha the entire time, which I get, but I'm a 34 year old woman being flooded with get through every cavity of my body terrified I'm gonna shit myself in the tightest MRI machine I've ever seen because the purpose of this shit is to "relax your sphincter and swell your intestines" which sounds like I just developed IBS from one doctor's visit, and it really makes things awkward.

And then they tell me the catheter they put on me is not only to inject whatever the fuck they need, but also I might need some contrast too.

The contrast was the least of my issues. I didn't even feel it

Here's what else the lady failed to explain to me. She failed to explain that, since you're now full of some gel, it is going to come out. And oh boy.

Imagine the hospital gives you the shittiest sanitary pad imaginable, and what happens in the next hour you're on public transport heading home is basically you're giving birth to Flubber again. The thing isn't even sliding down your legs, it's all retained in the shitty diaper the hospital provided you.

"It's only an MRI" and you walk out with clots of gel in your underwear, slopping down your orifices, and this in your arm

Next time I'm drilling that bitch with questions

[woodruff]

*feels guilty about taking the medications that were prescribed to me*

[acyborgkitty]

I just finished watching Jennifer Brea’s incredible documentary Unrest on Netflix. Watch it now. Everyone should. 

My story.

I became ill suddenly, and severely, in September (I think) of 2016. I had just moved to Providence in August from San Francisco, without my partner of 10+ years, to take a teaching job at Brown University. I was teaching a poetry workshop for Frequency Writers, a community writing group, as well as a class I developed for Brown’s Literary Arts department, Experimental Poets of Color. Providence is a city I love, and even though the gig was adjunct (i.e. no job security, no health insurance, etc.) I wanted to be in Providence, and I wanted to be teaching in my fiend. I had health insurance through the ACA at the time, and though I had been diagnosed with several mental illnesses many years before (major depression and general and social anxiety disorders) I felt that my hearth was well managed with the medication I was on. 

I was so happy to be back in Providence, I would walk for hours around the city, sometimes 7 miles in one stretch, listening to music and books. I was thrilled to be teaching the class I desperately wish I had been able to take at any point in my education (which includes three masters degrees), and to be nearer to my friends and family who live in Boston and the surrounding areas. I missed my partner, but we’ve been long distance for much of our relationship (the price of being an artist in academia), and it seemed like he was getting ready to leave San Francisco and head back east himself. 

It was the second meeting, I think, of the Frequency open poetry workshop. It was Wednesday night. I walked to the community gallery space on Carpenter St. where we held our meetings early, unlocked the doors, and made myself some tea. It was a normal night. At some point during the workshop I started to feel exhausted, sick, like I was getting a cold. I pushed through, but took a Lyft home. I woke up the next day and still felt bad. Worse, even. I cancelled that day’s class and stayed in bed. By the next week I still wasn’t feeling any better. I went to the CVS clinic to see if I had the flu, which was going around and apparently quite bad that year. I didn’t, I was told it was just a bad cold, and to take some cough suppressant for the bad cough. 

I thought maybe I wasn’t sleeping well - I was tired all the time - and maybe that was making the cold last longer than normal. I had had (undiagnosed) chronic pain for years which had started in 2007 in my first year in grad school. It was especially bad in my neck and lower back, so I had spent years and a lot of money finding a really good mattress. But I had housemates that were young, noisy, up late, so I invested in an eye mask, noise-cancelling headphones that I slept in, and a white noise machine. I had to teach my classes, but I would show up, teach, and come immediately back home and stay in bed until I had to teach the next class. I spent several weeks like this, thinking it was just a cold, until someone pointed out that colds, even very bad ones, don’t last for several weeks. 

I made an appointment with my primary care doctor in Boston. I’ve struggled finding doctors that take me seriously, like most women and non binary people I imagine, especially with chronic and challenging illnesses. This doctor listened to me, and was gentle, and that was pretty much all I could hope for. He examined me, and tested me for mono, strep, walking pneumonia (which I’d had before, and which was basically the closest comparable experience I had). I had none of them. Then we tested my thyroid, my B12 levels, and my immune functions. He found nothing wrong with me. 

A digression on chronic pain, including a digression on trauma.

I had gone down a diagnostic wormhole several years ago when I’d first started getting tests to see if we could find an underlying cause for my chronic pain. It started in Iowa City, where I did my second graduate degree, and included MRIs, x-rays, testing for immunological disorders, cancers, and basically anything they could think of. Eventually I was referred to a psychologist, because they determined my pain might be a physical manifestation of trauma. And I’d had my share of trauma.

A digression on trauma. I grew up with an emotionally abusive mother who, though never diagnosed, meets all of the criteria for narcissistic personality disorder. I ran away from home as a teenager, living on the streets for most of a year, before re-establishing a relationship with my family, primarily my father who helped me get an apartment, back into school, and eventually into college. At that point my mother re-entered the picture, and my father stopped helping me pay for college, so I worked sometimes as many as 5 jobs while completing my undergraduate degree. I met my partner in undergrad, and he has been an immense help for me in recovering from my trauma, but like so many who were experienced long-term abuse as children, I probably will never be un-affected by my experiences. 

So the trauma angle seemed at least plausible to me, and I went to a year’s worth of sessions with two different people, one a psychologist who specialized in and studied the manifestation of trauma as physical pain, and another who practiced CBT and meditative mindfulness therapy. Both helped immensely with my emotional state, but my pain persisted. So when I moved away for my third graduate degree (my first move to Providence) I transferred care and we started the diagnostics all over again. This time I saved all my records - I have my MRIs and my X-rays still in some box somewhere. We did CAT scans and I went to scores of specialists including  an orthopedic surgeon who recommended surgery; a chiropractor who works with the Boston Ballet Company who diagnosed me as hyper-flexible and gave me strengthening exercises to do that actually seemed to help somewhat; and a neurologist who found nothing wrong with me at all. After four years of referrals and diagnostics, I found a integrative care physician who listened to me break down in her office, prescribed an anti-depressant that is also a sedative to help me fall asleep, and helped me come up with a plan to manage the pain. Massage, chiropractor, walking and stretching, the anti-depressants, 800mg Ibuprofen when I needed it, and Vicodin when nothing else helped. 

After all of this, I wasn’t eager to go down another diagnostic chase. 

Back to 2016.

By this point it was the middle of November. I was so sick that I couldn’t feed myself, I couldn’t do laundry, I couldn’t leave the house except for to teach, and then I spent the next 24-48 hours recovering mostly in bed from the fatigue it caused me. I was experiencing sever cognitive deficiencies, most notably my ability to process and retain information, and my ability to speak. It felt like I had dementia, or what I imagine dementia to feel like. I would read the same sentence over and over again and not understand it, or not remember it when I started the next one. I would fight to get up to go into the kitchen, only to forget what I was there for. Did I need water? Had I fed the cat? Did I need to use the bathroom? My father and brother were taking turns coming down to my house to prepare food for me for the week, and to get my groceries, and to do my laundry. I needed help with everything. I could do one, maybe two things in a given day. Those things included brushing my teeth and feeding the cat. 

I couldn’t even research my condition, given my cognitive symptoms. I was angry, and many days I felt like it would be better to die. I couldn’t read or write, so I took up embroidery as a way to try to keep my life worth living, a way to keep making art. 

In January, 2017 when my partner came to visit for his winter break, we went to my doctor together. I couldn’t remember the questions he wanted me to ask, and I couldn’t have remembered the answers anyway, and I certainly couldn’t get myself there and back without help, so him coming was the only way I was going to get there. I don’t remember much of the appointment, but I do remember my doctor suggested that I might be experiencing a severe prolonged depressive episode. Based on my previous diagnosis of depression. Based on the fact that there seemed to be nothing wrong with me, physically. 

My partner didn’t buy it. I sort of did, or at least I didn’t have the energy to dispute it. My partner started researching, aggressively, and a few months later he came up with something. Maybe, he said, it was my copper IUD. Maybe I had copper toxicity. My doctor said that was impossible, that the IUD can’t cause copper toxicity, but my symptoms aligned, and there are thousands of women on the internet who have experienced copper poisoning from their IUD. So one day in April, my best friend took me to the hospital and I had mine removed. The next day, I felt better. Not 100% better, but maybe 40% better. The next day my partner and I went for a walk, the first time in almost a year I had felt able to do that. 

I kept feeling better. Not getting better, but I stayed feeling about 40% better. A few days I felt almost entirely myself, but then the next day I would be exhausted again. I could do things, but if I pushed too hard, I would collapse and pay for it for days. I learned about spoons, and disability culture and activism. I learned about setting my limits, and prioritizing. I said no to almost everything, because almost nothing was worth the risk of incapacitation for me. 

My brain started to recover too - I could read. I started writing in my journal, not poetry but at least writing of some sort. I felt hopeful that I was recovering. We bought a house, a big old Victorian that needs TLC, and I moved in there with 4 other queer artist friends. I didn’t get the tenure-track job at Brown, but I did get another adjunct offer to teach Book Arts, and I accepted - something I definitely couldn’t have done at my sickest, given that it’s a 15-hr a week studio course. 

But now, a year post-removal, my memory is still a problem. And I still get exhausted a lot. A lot more than I used to, before I got sick. But the anecdotal evidence on the copper IUD detox forums says that it could take years to fully process the toxicity out of your system. The most severe days might be attributed to “dumps” - when the body releases stored copper all at once - and those days feel like my worst ones did when I was at my sickest. I had thought that when I felt better, I would start to do things again, go to poetry readings, have dinner with friends, go for walks, be part of the community I’d moved here because I loved. But I still say no to most things, or write them down in my calendar and don’t go. I know that if I push too hard, I’ll pay for it for days. And “too hard” is a moving target - it changes seemingly randomly, and I don’t know when I’m approaching it until it’s too late. Then I’m in bed for days. 

I’ve been having an especially bad few days. Maybe a week. Maybe more. My memory, my brain isn’t good at sequence anymore, or keeping track of time. It’s frustrating, because I can’t keep track of my own symptoms. Sometimes I remember to write them down, and sometimes I forget, or am too tired. And there’s no one here to watch me, or help me - my partner doesn’t move here until June. Today, for example, I got up at 11 and I fed the cats. And I was so tired that I lay down, and just...passed out. I don’t remember falling back asleep, but then I woke up at 6 pm. I fed the cats again, and then had to go back to bed. The last week has been similar: do just what is necessary, then back to bed. It feels like I’m sick all over again. 

I have had my period, which can be associated with copper dumps. I’m not saying it’s not copper “dumps,” or that it’s isn’t related to copper poisoning. But I watched Unrest and thought: “maybe this is what I have, too?” So many of those scenes were heartbreakingly familiar. I wept through most of it, because Jennifer was saying the things that I’d been feeling. About feeling like it was a good day when all I had done was survived it. About feeling like my life had ended, and that I had a new one now, one that sometimes didn’t feel like a life at all, but one that I still didn’t want to give up. About not being listened to, about not being believed. I wept at the thought of having a diagnosis, after all this time. Of maybe finally at least knowing what is wrong with me. Maybe.

But I don’t know how to find out. I don’t currently have health insurance, because the premium on my ACA policy from last year went up by 50% and I couldn’t afford it anymore, and adjuncts at Brown who teach fewer than 4 classes a year don’t get health insurance, and I’m only teaching 3, and I am barely able to do that; this semester teaching 2 classes took every bit of energy I had. I will get health insurance starting in September when my partner starts his new job in Providence, and maybe then I can get some answers. If I have the energy for it.

My story doesn’t have an ending yet. I’m in bed, as I have been all day. Writing this was the most writing I’ve done since I got sick. I’m grateful for that. It feels like, thanks to the work that Jennifer has done, an important story is at least starting to be told. Not just mine, but one that is shared by millions. 

[vthiker09]

My Back?

Will is an interesting quality.  Often mistaken for stubbornness, will allows you to decide something has improved or you are on track to accomplish a certain task.  Will, much like many human emotions, can often times be rooted in nothing more than your desire for a certain result - even if you are ignoring the obvious.  When I look back at my social media posts from a few weeks after my third surgery, I see all of these dramatic posts about how much my injury improved and how I thought this was a turning point for me - finally in the right direction. 

Will takes strength.  Particularly in situations where the desired end result isn’t easy, a person with strong will, will often persevere more often.  Having said this, often in instances where will is confused with stubbornness, a person won’t have the ability to acknowledge they cannot bull their way to their desired result because for whatever reason, there isn’t enough will in the world to reach the goal.

In late September, I was sent back for another round of PT.  This time, I opted to go to the PT practice in the same building as my surgeons.  I had struggled in the past to have any line of communication between the PT’s I saw and the surgeons I was working with.  I thought perhaps if they were in the same building, it would help this problem.  I also thought since this practice was associated with an entire crew of surgeons, they probably knew the scope of good, bad, and awful injuries.    I was paired, yet again, with someone who focused on ankle injuries and worked with folks who were trying to get back to an active lifestyle.  

Although the end result was pretty awful, through no fault of this PT, they were the best PT I’ve worked with.  It was the first PT I worked with who I felt truly understood what I was trying to accomplish and instead of giving me the standard list of exercises everyone gets to rehab an ankle injury, took the time to evaluate where I was at, where I wanted to go, and how to help me get there.  It was also the first time a PT saw me as an entire person vs. a busted ankle.  Once we started to work together, this became an important distinction.  I realized quickly it wasn’t just my ankle which sat on that couch for a year, it was everything.  Every muscle I needed to hike those mountains, had been de-conditioned in the same way my ankle had been and needed some work.

Unlike all my other PT’s, instead of a long list of ankle focused activities, this PT gave me body focused activities with a heavy dollop of ankle work.  Besides being more interesting than the previous regimens I had been given, I felt like I was finally working with someone who cared even slightly as much as I did about helping me get back to the mountains.  Despite what I believed to be better care and my steadfast will to get better, I quickly started to realize something still wasn’t right. Here’s a good gimpy kid tip: hold all your dramatic social media posts for until you start to move.  When it comes to orthopedic surgery, it’s really easy to say “it’s great!” when you are in a walking boot or a brace.  The true test is when your limb has to function on it’s own and move in the ways you want it to move.

Many things hadn’t changed: my range of motion in certain directions was still not functional, I had post-surgery swelling along with continued general swelling, I had continued bruising in areas which were not operated on, and my ankle in general hurt.  To add to my routine list of woes was increased nerve pain.  Now, I had had “nerve pain” the whole time.  What I had now was NERVE PAIN.  I had constant pins and needles, burning, and shooting pain which felt like razor blades in my foot.  To say the least - it was unpleasant.  Joining my nerve pain was what I believed to be ligament pain on the inside of my ankle.  

When I met with the second surgeon, he asked me if the inside of my ankle hurt.  He asked me because my MRI had shown my deltoid ligament was damaged.  Two things: a) yes, you have a deltoid ligament complex in your ankle and b) deltoid ligament ruptures are the actual root cause of a high ankle sprain.  Think of it as one big bad chain of events: first you rupture your deltoid, which allows your ankle joint to move majorly in the wrong direction, your syndesmosis tries to pick up the slack, fails and ruptures, and then your ankle joint moves even more in the wrong direction and breaks your leg.  It was a given my deltoid was hurt.  What wasn’t a given was whether it would heal on it’s own.  In most instances it does and doesn’t require any intervention.

For some reason, on this day, I told the surgeon “no it doesn’t hurt.”  I don’t know why, because it did.  Perhaps in this one moment it didn’t and I was being narrow minded in my response.  For reasons I will describe later, I really wish I had said “yes.”  These reasons started to reveal themselves a few weeks into PT.  The inside of my ankle truly started to hurt.  There was one session with my PT where I said, I think my deltoid isn’t functioning properly.  This was after weeks of me saying “I have some serious nerve pain going on.”  After tugging on my ankle, my PT said “roll over.”  She promptly began to push on my back and asked me if it hurt, which it did.  She explained often times back injuries create symptoms in a person’s leg and/or ankle in the form of nerve pain.  She believed perhaps I had a slipped disc and this was the whole reason I often couldn’t feel my foot.

I was given a set of back stretches, which made it way worse.  In the course of a few days, I went from having no clue my back might be hurt, to being in serious pain.  I emailed my PT saying “it hurts to breath,” she told me to stop doing the back stretches, and we would talk next week.  The following week, she said I should see a back specialist.  Now, at this point I had heard a bunch of bad news.  I was working on three surgeries and had finally began to cope with the fact dashing ER doctor was really wrong and I wasn’t going to be hiking in the spring.  At the same time, my ankle was injured - not my back.  I also, much like most people, have this perception of back issues being much more severe than ankle issues.  Whether this is true, I felt like I went from being sort of busted to being much more hurt. 

At this point I had really bad nerve pain, my ankle still didn’t function in many of the same ways it didn’t function before surgery number three, and now my back wasn’t happy.  To say the least, I wasn’t a happy camper.  Despite my lack of happiness, my will was still strong and if seeing a back specialist was going to make me feel better, than so be it.  I promptly called the spine people, who happen to be right across the hall from my ankle surgeons and made an appointment for a few weeks later. 

I’m not going to spend a lot of time on this because I don’t even believe it deserves the effort it takes to type about it.  In short, my experience with the spine team was awful and I won’t be recommending them to anyone - ever.  Here are the highlights:

1. I met with a provider on January 4th.  They asked me what was worse, my ankle or my back.  I told them this was hard to distinguish between because it was the same ankle I had been struggling with for quite some time and it wasn’t clear to me which pieces were caused by my ankle injury and what was caused by the mysterious back injuries, I didn’t even know I had.  Their response was “Look, I am a spine specialist.  I’m not here to talk about your ankle.”  At this point I almost walked out of the appointment.  It made no sense to me, medically or otherwise, that I couldn’t talk about my ankle injury when my back symptoms were in the same place.  I only have one right ankle.

2. At the end of exam, the recommendation was a cortisone injection. After they spoke with their supervising surgeon, the recommendation was an MRI.  I left not being pleased, got a phone call later that day and scheduled the MRI for January 26th with a follow-up on February 5th.

3. I got the radiology report from my back x-rays.  They didn’t match what I had been told by the spine provider.  I called them to ask “why isn’t this the same information as what you told me two days ago?”  They tried to tell me I was wrong, which I wasn’t and then proceeded to laugh at my questions.  After I hung up, I promptly called saying I never wanted to see this provider again and was told if I didn’t, I would be a new patient and the wait would be months.

4. I called another hospital, they wouldn’t see me until they had my medical records.  I called the hospital I was working with and had my records sent.  They were sent a few months ago and I still haven’t heard from the other hospital. 

5. After an insane amount of nagging from my parents, I saw a chiropractor.  They saw my x-rays and flipped out.  Their exact words were: “I’ve never seen a spine move like this.”  Apparently when I bend backwards, my L5 and S1 come a little too close for comfort.  After three or four appointments, the chiropractor said: “I can’t fix this” and referred me to pain management - who never called.

6. I had the MRI done, requested the films, and figured out pretty quickly I had a few bulging discs and one, in particular, didn’t look good.

7. I went to the February 5th appointment, with the provider I really didn’t care for, and was told what I already knew: I have bulging discs between the L3 and L4 vertebrae and the L4 and L5 vertebrae.  I also have a herniated disc between the L5 and S1 vertebrae, which is pushing on the right side of my nerve root in my spine.  This sort of explains the nerve pain in my right foot - because the disc is pushing on the right side.  The provider again recommended a cortisone injection and then said this gem: “My hope is this will provide you with some relief and you can try harder in PT to push through whatever is going on.”

8.  I got super mad someone had the guts to say I wasn’t trying and promptly called the hospital again thinking maybe I could see someone new faster.  Again, this wasn’t the case.  While all of this was going on, my parents were trying to find another hospital I could go to all together.  At this point, there were just too many missteps, what I perceived as a lack of caring, and I was confident a new set of providers were in order. 

My aunt, little did I know, had been going through a similar nightmare.  After an unsuccessful surgery at Mass General, fifty failed PT visits, and two years of pain, it had been suggested she go to a private practice in southern NH.  She had seen both their hip and ankle surgeons and had nothing but fantastic things to say about them.  Although a haul from my central Vermont location, I was so fed up with the care I was receiving, I was willing to try anything.

I called this practice, gave the receptionist the short (which is really a long) version of what was going on and was told they couldn’t schedule with me until they had my medical records.  Although medical red tape makes me want to scream, I noticed two things: 1. This person was nice to me.  She seemed to care even though she had never met me and it didn’t feel like she was staring at a calendar and blindly trying to put me in a slot.  She listened and treated me like a human.  2. The wait times weren’t something I needed to worry about.  This practice wasn’t booking out several months - they were booking out about a week and a half.  Even after 18 months, I could wait 10 days.

I promptly hopped in my car and drove the hour to get all my medical records.  This required three stops and nearly a hundred dollars to fax/overnight all the information to NH.  I was surprised to see a NH phone number pop up on my phone within an hour of me faxing my paper medical records.  The same pleasant women started with “you poor thing” and then proceeded to schedule me to see their ankle and spine surgeon.

Hold tight to hear all about my first experience with a private practice and what turns out to be some pretty bad news.

[heleftnowwhat]

I haven’t written in a while. I have had some repeat doggy clients so I wanted to wait for a new one to write about.

OMG, I just had a my tiniest guest today. Diego is a 10 week old, 3lb Beagle/Chihuahua mix. This was his first visit and he did very well. I assumed that he would play for an hour and sleep for an hour and I was correct. I took him out every 60-90 mins to go potty, which he did. All and all, a great first visit. I believe that he will be coming back, YAY!!

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 Like I said, I have had some repeat clients….here they are…

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Also, A friend and I went back to PA for a weekend in Sept. We joined my sister’s team, to walk and to raise money and awareness of Melanoma. It was fun and very successful. I am excited to say that my sister has had her 12th and final treatment and all looks good now. She is so strong. This is her story…..

My Melanoma Madness Family history: none Number of full skin checks I had through my life: zero Melanoma type: Acral Lentiginous (subungual) the most common in Asian, Hispanic and African American races. Of which I am not. This type of melanoma makes up less than 5% of all melanomas. Melanoma is the deadliest form of skin cancer. Timeline: Years and years ago I got a mole on the cuticle line of my left big toe. It was fine. Appeared normal. I thought it odd to get a mole on my toe, but I was not concerned. Fast forward to sometime in late 2017-ish I notice I have what I think is a blood blister. It’s near or on or around the “mole”. So I google blood blister on toe. Because who googles toe cancer??? I go several months until having it looked at.

May 2018: I’m in my 3 month diabetes check appointment with my Doc and at the end of appointment, I ask him to look at my toe. He glances at it and tells me it’s ugly and I should cover it for a week and if it doesn’t improve I should go see a podiatrist. Ok!!! Sounds easy. So I do what he tells me and it seems to start to dry up so I don’t go to the podiatrist.

September 17th 2018: Ok, I give!!! Made an appointment with the podiatrist because it seemed to get worse again. I go in, sit down and show him my “blood blister”. Instantly he tells me it is a wart. Oh! I ask if warts oozed and bled. He shook his head and told me no and that he wanted to biopsy it to see what kind of wart it was so he knew what type of antibiotic he may need to prescribe. OUCH. That kind of hurt. But ok! The results will be in in 7-10 days. Thanks doc. So, because I’m impatient, I go buy a wart freezing kit and try to freeze the little bitch off. HOLY CRAP. OUCH IS AN UNDERSTATEMENT. And it obviously wasn’t even worth the pain. Tic tock…. tic tock September 28th (10 business days later): I call the office to ask about results. I am told there are none. Sometimes these things could take up to a month they say. Of course, I argued that and said that the doctor told me 7 to 10 business days. They shrug and say they hope it’ll be in next week. HOPE?????? Mind you, I struggle with anxiety and unknown things are huge a trigger for me. Ok. Sigh.

October 5th 2018: Ring ring. Hi, this is Stephanie Heart. Calling to see if results are in. Nope. What the hell????? Ok. This is science. Deep breaths. October 17th 2018: Cell phone rings. I’m in middle of something and can’t answer my phone. Voice mail says: “ hello this message is for Dr. B…, this is so-and-so from the pathology lab in Maryland and I need to speak with you directly about one of your patient’s biopsies” UMMMMM….. what the hell? Now I’m freaked out. So of course I call back and leave a message. No response. Text— no response. Call doctors office and leave urgent message with answering service. Call doctors office again first thing in morning and start pushing. Hard. Turns out the initial abnormal results were in a couple weeks ago and lab was doing further testing. WHICH NOONE INFORMED ME OF. The lab certainly broke some rules by accidentally calling me directly. They say they will have doctor call me. 15 min later he does. Tells me same story. Says he is trying to get in touch with pathology lab and will get the results for me and I can pick them up in office tomorrow. Ok. Fine. Instantly google cancer on toe, because why else would a lab be trying to reach the doc?

October 18th (my cancerversary, I guess) I arrive at the office and go to desk and say I’m here to see the doctor about my results. They tell me he gave us this for you and hand me a sealed envelope. Um. Alright. I leave office and am in lobby. Remember, I’m impatient. So I open envelope while alone in the lobby. And all I see is MALIGNANT MELANOMA and I am alone. Frozen. Oh. Also a note with a referral to a dermatologist. That bastard let me read that alone. Ok. Now it’s a search and destroy mission. I immediately call this dermatologist and fax over results while I am on the phone. While scheduling the appointment with the receptionist, she asked me to hold on and out of nowhere this doctor gets on the phone. He tells me that he would gladly see me, however, he would be telling me immediately to get to a surgeon at Fox Chase Cancer Center and gave me the name. He told me that this was a deep tumor and it would have to be removed. Holy shit. This is serious. Like WAY serious. My fingers instantly started dialing the number to the doctor he referred me to. They were amazing on the phone while I cried and they got me set up for an appointment with the chief of surgery in less than a week. Begin massive anxiety attacks. Google. Bing. Explorer. Knowledge is power.

October 25th, 2018 Appointment with surgeon. The guy who saved my life. Tells me that the depth on the report puts me at a stage 2. Which means they remove it and then do a sentinel lymph node biopsy to check the nearest lymph node to see if it spread. But only 20% chance it would have. And then he tells me that to remove it, they have to amputate the top half of my big toe. Wait. WHAT??? Alligator tears begin flowing. Sends me on my way to schedule surgery.

November 2, 2018 Surgery day. Maybe after today I won’t have cancer anymore. Ativan on board I head to the hospital with my army. Long day of waiting and tests. Blood work. They do the injection for sentinel lymph node biopsy. Waiting and scans. Then it’s time to head back. I don’t remember any of it. Wake up. Foot is wrapped and I have a nerve block. They said they were sure they got clean margins. So as long as lymph node comes back clean, I would be cancer free! Remember only 20% chance of the lymph node being malignant. They send me home same day with healing instructions and tell me results will be in in 7-10 days. I’ve heard this before. Anxiety is in high overdrive. My family and friends took amazing care of me. But in the midst of this I told the boyfriend to take a hike. Zero empathy and he couldnt understand my fuss. It was only a toe. Not even a whole toe. It wasn’t like it was a boob or a lung. I’m sorry…. you’re out of my circle now. Piss off.

1 week later: Still no results. Tic tock. All I can think of is just getting back to work and I did. I work from home so was able to do some work and elevate.

About 12 days post op: Guess who is in the 20%???? Of course I am. Worst news I could have gotten. I now have stage 3 melanoma. Stage 3. Are you kidding me? You have to be. Now what? Time to have a PET scan of my entire body to see if it has spread anywhere. This would place me at stage 4. Thank goodness, it had not spread. I remain stage 3, but now I have to face a year of immunotherapy treatment with CT scans, skin checks, MRIs, ultrasounds and a slew of other tests every 3 months or so.

November 28 First meeting with medical oncologist. He details the plan of action to do everything we can to make sure the beast stays away. Melanoma is really sneaky and can just show up anytime anywhere. Sigh. A lifetime of anxiety. There is no cure. We set up the treatment plan.

December 5,2018 Treatment day. Lab work first to see if my body can handle it. Meet with oncologist again. Then head to the infusion room. Walk in and there are a ton of cancer patients in their chairs hooked up to IVs. Not gonna lie. It was scary and I couldn’t believe I was there. They begin the infusion after mixing the medicine. They have to wait for doc approval for this as they bill my insurance company $115,000 a month for this drug. Yes, the comma is in the right place. Infusion begins. And ends just as fast. Only about 30 min. And they send me home. Almost instantly, my entire body is hot and so itchy. A normal side effect. Any type of “itis” is. I’ll take that over chemo though. The itch continued for 2 months. My first 2 treatments.

Wash rinse repeat. I just completed my 6th of 12 treatments. I’ve had some scans and skin checks in between. So far…. I am FREE of cancer. We call this NED. No evidence of disease. And we celebrate this.

A few things I have learned: Not all melanoma comes from the sun, but most does. Mine didn’t. I am now susceptible to any and all skin cancers as well as having an increased risk of developing other types. I must be diligent with protecting myself from the sun. When in doubt, get it checked. Schedule yearly dermatology appointments. ADVOCATE for yourself for fast treatment and diagnosis. You are never too busy to take care of your health. In times of crisis you really learn who your true circle of people are. Mine is huge and I am truly blessed.

I am so thankful for the care I have received and continue to receive from everyone at Fox Chase Cancer Center. They literally have saved my life.

I still struggle with anxiety and depression and some pain and swelling. But I’m managing it by staying informed and positive and laughing at things. That’s how I deal. Gotta laugh. My side effects haven’t been horrible from treatment. I hope that my story can help at least one person to get help if needed. Early detection is KEY to surviving melanoma.

I am a melanoma warrior. A survivor. And I plan on keeping it that way.

GET CHECKED PEOPLE!!!

Doggy Guest #30 Diego and more I haven't written in a while. I have had some repeat doggy clients so I wanted to wait for a new one to write about.

[laurenakramer]

Nerving Neurology

His cries pierced the calm, quiet night.  What started as a whimper turned into a ceaseless moan that tore my heart into a million pieces.  I knew that our time together was rapidly growing shorter.

I knelt by his side and tried to comfort him. 

I covered his tiny body in the warmest blanket that I could find.  My hand gently stroked his long, tan fur.  The words I spoke were soft, calm and full of love.  My feeble attempts were failing miserably and we were losing time.

Throwing on the first outfit I could find, my husband and I loaded Theo into the car and raced to Hawthorne Animal Hospital.  Matt turned on the radio partially trying to provide background noise and partially to drown out Theo’s mournful cries.  My tears flowed like a river down my non-make-upped face.

We had called ahead, so the nurse was waiting for us by the emergency door when we arrived.  I tried to remain calm as I explained to the vet technician what had taken place.  Theo had been squinting his right eye for the past two days.  His veterinarian had examined him the day before and diagnosed him with glaucoma in his right eye. 

Theo wearing his Muffin's Halo.

He had had glaucoma in the left eye before losing vision in that eye.  We had been giving him his prescription eye drops daily and were instructed to now administer the drops to both eyes. His crying spree began at 11:00 p.m. that night and would not stop.  Not even for his favorite treat:  Blue Buffalo Sizzlers.

The veterinarian determined that the glaucoma was causing the pressure in his right eye to shoot up to an incredible 80.  We were told that this pressure could be giving Theo a doggy migraine.  The hospital staff was great.  They began to administer the eye drops every five minutes in an attempt to lower the pressure quickly.  After 30 minutes, the pressure was down to 60.  Not great, but definitely better than 80. 

Theo was also given some numbing drops in order to reduce the pain and (hopefully) allow him to sleep before his ophthalmology appointment the next day.  We thanked the staff and headed home.  Theo cried the entire way.  Our car was almost home when I made Matt pull over in a nearby Target parking lot and call the hospital back asking what we should do.  We were told to give the injection and numbing drops more time to work.

At 3:30 a.m., we were heading back to Hawthorne.  My tears began anew and I was screaming at my husband to drive faster, desperately seeking a miracle.  Theo was then admitted to Hawthorne where he would be given an IV medication in an attempt to bring the pressure in his eye down further.  If this could not be done, the eye would have to be removed.

Theo is 14 years old.  That is 72 in human years.  I was beyond afraid of him having to be under anesthesia.  I was praying that the medications would work.

I received a call later that morning from the veterinarian.  She said that the pressure was back down to a normal level and Theo was doing great.  He had even inhaled his breakfast for the vet tech.  When we picked Theo up, I could tell something wasn’t right.  He kept trying to climb over my shoulders and leap out of my arms.  The staff assured me that he was healthy enough to be released.

Theo cried the entire way to the ophthalmologist.  Once the doctor appeared, his crying stopped.  My mom and I were amazed.  The doctor spoke softly and gently looked into Theo’s eye.  His diagnosis was devastating.

“The eye is not causing him any issues.  I believe this is something neurological.”

He told us to allow more time for the medications to leave Theo’s system before seeking any additional treatment.  Theo’s cries picked up again the minute we got in the car.  Mom tried to convince me that everything was going to be fine.  My gut continued to tell me that something still wasn’t right.

I made a call to my veterinarian’s office.  One of my favorite receptionists answered.  My heart sank when she told me that Theo’s vet was booked for the day.  She then asked what was going on.  After I explained all that Theo had been through, she spoke with the doc and got us squeezed in.

Since my mom had an appointment, my dad graciously drove us to the appointment.  The vet also agreed with the ophthalmologist’s assessment.  She was concerned that Theo was exhibiting an extreme head tilt.  He was also taking a while to respond to having his feet picked up one by one.  She suggested that we see a neurologist at Veterinary Specialty Services in St. Louis, MO.  The vet called ahead so that Theo could be seen on an emergent basis.

Dad did a fantastic job getting us to VSS.  I was surprised to see that the lobby was packed.  We were soon taken to a room and Theo was whisked away to ICU.  My only comfort was knowing that Theo had slept the entire way to VSS.  At least he appeared to be getting some relief.

The ER doctor returned and said that something neurological was definitely going on.  Her main concerns: cancer, a brain tumor or a stroke.  Theo would need to be admitted for several days and monitored closely.  We were told that they may need to do an MRI and spinal tap if his condition worsened. 

I left feeling completely numb.  I had literally spent 24 hours trying to get answers and was walking away with something worse: fear.  What if Theo had cancer?  If there was a tumor, could Theo handle surgery? 

We received daily calls with an update on Theo and his condition.  The doctor called the next day and said that Theo was eating great and had just gone out for a walk.  My hopes began to soar.  He was still walking!  We decided to visit him that day to see the miracle recovery for ourselves.  Bad idea.  The moment that Theo smelled us, he began to whine…like he had on Thursday night.  We ended our visit quickly and asked the vet tech if our presence was causing him distress.  She said that when a pet smells his/her humans and then realizes that they are not at home, they can become confused and upset.

I left feeling horrible.  My intention was not to cause Theo more stress.  I was very happy that we at least got to take him outside for a short walk and I got a few sweet kisses.

Monday I received a call stating that Theo was going to be released.  The doctor stated that they believe he had a “vascular accident,” a.k.a. stroke.  It had also been determined by the ophthalmologist that he was now blind in the right eye.  Thankfully, we already had been using a Muffin’s Halo when he lost vision in the left eye.

Theo was so happy to be home!  Matt and I made it a priority to learn all of the signs of a stroke in dogs.  Per Petmd.com, these signs include:

·         Inability to walk or walking with an uncoordinated gait

·         Head tilt

·         Abnormal eye movements, side to side or rotary (nystagmus)

·         Abnormal eye positioning (strabismus)

·         Loss of consciousness

·         Abnormal behavior

·         Falling to one side

·         Blindness

·         Abnormal behavior

·         Rapid onset of symptoms

September was a fabulous month.  Theo was nicely adjusting to being blind.  Just like Hope, he quickly learned where the water bowl was.  His walking was even improving.

Then, October came.  I had been eagerly awaiting the Picture Book Summit online writing conference.  The day-long event was to take place on October 7th.  I was an hour and a half into the conference when my husband and I noticed that Theo was walking in circles and had a slight head tilt.  He then took several steps and pooped out a large portion of blood.

As I ran to get paper towels, Matt called Theo’s new veterinarian.  She told us to bring Theo in ASAP.  He was not happy about having to leave the house.  And then he began crying again.

I had a feeling I knew what was in store.  Sure enough, the vet said that his blood pressure was 195.  She wanted us to get to VSS as quickly as possible.  My husband and I were thinking the same thing:  another stroke.

We arrived at VSS to find the lobby full to capacity.  One of the receptionists looked at me and said, “Are you from Davis Animal Hospital?”  I told her that we were.  She picked up one of the FRS’s and said, “Theo is here from Davis.”

Before I knew what was happening, a vet tech (with blood stains on his arms) came running out, grabbed Theo towel and all and raced back to neurology.  I felt sick to my stomach.  He hadn’t been acting that unusual.  Could something horrible be happening and we are totally clueless?

Thankfully, the same veterinarian that saw Theo the first time was also on duty that day.  She said that the pressure in his right eye was fine.  He did very well on the neurology examination, but she wanted to do some lab work and chest x-rays to see if he possibly had cancer in the chest or abdomen that could be causing swelling in the brain.  Theo was admitted once again.

We got the call later that night that Theo’s labs came back better than before.  The x-rays were also clear, no signs of cancer!  We were able to pick him up that Sunday with the caveat that we bring him back the following Thursday for a neurology appointment.

I counted down the days until his appointment.  I was bound and determined to get answers.  We had to know what was happening to our furry pack leader.  To our surprise, the lobby was completely empty.  We had come prepared with a large blanket for Theo and electronics for us.  And I remembered to pack my phone charger!

We had the sweetest woman who is completing her fellowship at VSS in the neurology department.  She said that Theo did great during his exam.  However, she was concerned that he may have cancer or a tumor.  Theo was to undergo an MRI and spinal tap immediately.  She also thought that he might have an infection of the inner ear, so she wanted to also perform a myringotomy.  This involves making a tiny incision into the eardrum to release the pressure caused from backed up fluid.  She would then send the fluid off for culture samples.

The procedures would take two hours.  Matt and I tried to be proactive by staying in the area and getting some much-needed shopping done.  Thankfully, there was a Petco right around the corner.  We headed back to VSS around 2:00 p.m.  My husband offered to go in and inquire about Theo’s status. 

Suddenly, my cell phone rang.  It was Matt telling me to come inside to room 9.  I raced into the building and saw the doctor sitting across from Matt.  “Don’t worry, we didn’t start without you,” she smiled.  She said that we had perfect timing because she was just getting ready to call us.

The veterinarian said that Theo did a great job and was still waking up from the anesthesia.  His MRI came back completely normal!  She said that there weren’t even any signs of a stroke!  And he didn’t even have to have the myringotomy.  The spinal tap labs would not be available

Theo was then diagnosed with Idiopathic Geriatric Vestibular Syndrome. Per VCA Animal Hospitals, “vestibular disease is a sudden, non-progressive disturbance of balance.”  This is also known as “old dog disease” and is typically seen in older dogs.

Theo's shaved spot where the spinal tap was performed.

She explained that the Theo may have reoccurring episodes or he may never have another episode again.  His symptoms just need to be monitored.  I was so excited that I hugged her.  Theo was not dying!  My best friend was coming home with a clean bill of health.

His follow up appointment at the ophthalmologist revealed that he has chronic corneal calcification.  This means that the cornea of his right eye is calcifying.  We were assured that this process may cause discomfort, but not pain.  The eye ointment seems to be working wonderfully.  In two weeks, the cornea should be completely calcified and no longer be an issue.

My purpose in sharing Theo’s story is to help pet parents of aging or senior dogs.  Witnessing your fur baby walking in circles and stumbling around the house can be terrifying.  Especially when they begin crying out for no reason.  While we are sure that Theo’s eye played a key role in raising his blood pressure during both episodes, we are very happy to know that this condition will not cause him pain or stop him from living an amazing life.

We are so thankful to have Theo at home!

I love looking at his smile!

If you live in southern Illinois or around the St. Louis, MO area, I would highly recommend Veterinary Specialty Services for all of your emergent pet care needs.  The staff is compassionate and friendly and treats everyone like family.  To learn more about the services offered, please visit:  http://www.vssstl.com/.

from Blogger http://ift.tt/2xVnznB via IFTTT

[laurenakramer]

Nerving Neurology

His cries pierced the calm, quiet night.  What started as a whimper turned into a ceaseless moan that tore my heart into a million pieces.  I knew that our time together was rapidly growing shorter.

I knelt by his side and tried to comfort him. 

I covered his tiny body in the warmest blanket that I could find.  My hand gently stroked his long, tan fur.  The words I spoke were soft, calm and full of love.  My feeble attempts were failing miserably and we were losing time.

Throwing on the first outfit I could find, my husband and I loaded Theo into the car and raced to Hawthorne Animal Hospital.  Matt turned on the radio partially trying to provide background noise and partially to drown out Theo’s mournful cries.  My tears flowed like a river down my non-make-upped face.

We had called ahead, so the nurse was waiting for us by the emergency door when we arrived.  I tried to remain calm as I explained to the vet technician what had taken place.  Theo had been squinting his right eye for the past two days.  His veterinarian had examined him the day before and diagnosed him with glaucoma in his right eye. 

Theo wearing his Muffin’s Halo.

He had had glaucoma in the left eye before losing vision in that eye.  We had been giving him his prescription eye drops daily and were instructed to now administer the drops to both eyes. His crying spree began at 11:00 p.m. that night and would not stop.  Not even for his favorite treat:  Blue Buffalo Sizzlers.

The veterinarian determined that the glaucoma was causing the pressure in his right eye to shoot up to an incredible 80.  We were told that this pressure could be giving Theo a doggy migraine.  The hospital staff was great.  They began to administer the eye drops every five minutes in an attempt to lower the pressure quickly.  After 30 minutes, the pressure was down to 60.  Not great, but definitely better than 80. 

Theo was also given some numbing drops in order to reduce the pain and (hopefully) allow him to sleep before his ophthalmology appointment the next day.  We thanked the staff and headed home.  Theo cried the entire way.  Our car was almost home when I made Matt pull over in a nearby Target parking lot and call the hospital back asking what we should do.  We were told to give the injection and numbing drops more time to work.

At 3:30 a.m., we were heading back to Hawthorne.  My tears began anew and I was screaming at my husband to drive faster, desperately seeking a miracle.  Theo was then admitted to Hawthorne where he would be given an IV medication in an attempt to bring the pressure in his eye down further.  If this could not be done, the eye would have to be removed.

Theo is 14 years old.  That is 72 in human years.  I was beyond afraid of him having to be under anesthesia.  I was praying that the medications would work.

I received a call later that morning from the veterinarian.  She said that the pressure was back down to a normal level and Theo was doing great.  He had even inhaled his breakfast for the vet tech.  When we picked Theo up, I could tell something wasn’t right.  He kept trying to climb over my shoulders and leap out of my arms.  The staff assured me that he was healthy enough to be released.

Theo cried the entire way to the ophthalmologist.  Once the doctor appeared, his crying stopped.  My mom and I were amazed.  The doctor spoke softly and gently looked into Theo’s eye.  His diagnosis was devastating.

“The eye is not causing him any issues.  I believe this is something neurological.”

He told us to allow more time for the medications to leave Theo’s system before seeking any additional treatment.  Theo’s cries picked up again the minute we got in the car.  Mom tried to convince me that everything was going to be fine.  My gut continued to tell me that something still wasn’t right.

I made a call to my veterinarian’s office.  One of my favorite receptionists answered.  My heart sank when she told me that Theo’s vet was booked for the day.  She then asked what was going on.  After I explained all that Theo had been through, she spoke with the doc and got us squeezed in.

Since my mom had an appointment, my dad graciously drove us to the appointment.  The vet also agreed with the ophthalmologist’s assessment.  She was concerned that Theo was exhibiting an extreme head tilt.  He was also taking a while to respond to having his feet picked up one by one.  She suggested that we see a neurologist at Veterinary Specialty Services in St. Louis, MO.  The vet called ahead so that Theo could be seen on an emergent basis.

Dad did a fantastic job getting us to VSS.  I was surprised to see that the lobby was packed.  We were soon taken to a room and Theo was whisked away to ICU.  My only comfort was knowing that Theo had slept the entire way to VSS.  At least he appeared to be getting some relief.

The ER doctor returned and said that something neurological was definitely going on.  Her main concerns: cancer, a brain tumor or a stroke.  Theo would need to be admitted for several days and monitored closely.  We were told that they may need to do an MRI and spinal tap if his condition worsened. 

I left feeling completely numb.  I had literally spent 24 hours trying to get answers and was walking away with something worse: fear.  What if Theo had cancer?  If there was a tumor, could Theo handle surgery? 

We received daily calls with an update on Theo and his condition.  The doctor called the next day and said that Theo was eating great and had just gone out for a walk.  My hopes began to soar.  He was still walking!  We decided to visit him that day to see the miracle recovery for ourselves.  Bad idea.  The moment that Theo smelled us, he began to whine…like he had on Thursday night.  We ended our visit quickly and asked the vet tech if our presence was causing him distress.  She said that when a pet smells his/her humans and then realizes that they are not at home, they can become confused and upset.

I left feeling horrible.  My intention was not to cause Theo more stress.  I was very happy that we at least got to take him outside for a short walk and I got a few sweet kisses.

Monday I received a call stating that Theo was going to be released.  The doctor stated that they believe he had a “vascular accident,” a.k.a. stroke.  It had also been determined by the ophthalmologist that he was now blind in the right eye.  Thankfully, we already had been using a Muffin’s Halo when he lost vision in the left eye.

Theo was so happy to be home!  Matt and I made it a priority to learn all of the signs of a stroke in dogs.  Per Petmd.com, these signs include:

·         Inability to walk or walking with an uncoordinated gait

·         Head tilt

·         Abnormal eye movements, side to side or rotary (nystagmus)

·         Abnormal eye positioning (strabismus)

·         Loss of consciousness

·         Abnormal behavior

·         Falling to one side

·         Blindness

·         Abnormal behavior

·         Rapid onset of symptoms

September was a fabulous month.  Theo was nicely adjusting to being blind.  Just like Hope, he quickly learned where the water bowl was.  His walking was even improving.

Then, October came.  I had been eagerly awaiting the Picture Book Summit online writing conference.  The day-long event was to take place on October 7th.  I was an hour and a half into the conference when my husband and I noticed that Theo was walking in circles and had a slight head tilt.  He then took several steps and pooped out a large portion of blood.

As I ran to get paper towels, Matt called Theo’s new veterinarian.  She told us to bring Theo in ASAP.  He was not happy about having to leave the house.  And then he began crying again.

I had a feeling I knew what was in store.  Sure enough, the vet said that his blood pressure was 195.  She wanted us to get to VSS as quickly as possible.  My husband and I were thinking the same thing:  another stroke.

We arrived at VSS to find the lobby full to capacity.  One of the receptionists looked at me and said, “Are you from Davis Animal Hospital?”  I told her that we were.  She picked up one of the FRS’s and said, “Theo is here from Davis.”

Before I knew what was happening, a vet tech (with blood stains on his arms) came running out, grabbed Theo towel and all and raced back to neurology.  I felt sick to my stomach.  He hadn’t been acting that unusual.  Could something horrible be happening and we are totally clueless?

Thankfully, the same veterinarian that saw Theo the first time was also on duty that day.  She said that the pressure in his right eye was fine.  He did very well on the neurology examination, but she wanted to do some lab work and chest x-rays to see if he possibly had cancer in the chest or abdomen that could be causing swelling in the brain.  Theo was admitted once again.

We got the call later that night that Theo’s labs came back better than before.  The x-rays were also clear, no signs of cancer!  We were able to pick him up that Sunday with the caveat that we bring him back the following Thursday for a neurology appointment.

I counted down the days until his appointment.  I was bound and determined to get answers.  We had to know what was happening to our furry pack leader.  To our surprise, the lobby was completely empty.  We had come prepared with a large blanket for Theo and electronics for us.  And I remembered to pack my phone charger!

We had the sweetest woman who is completing her fellowship at VSS in the neurology department.  She said that Theo did great during his exam.  However, she was concerned that he may have cancer or a tumor.  Theo was to undergo an MRI and spinal tap immediately.  She also thought that he might have an infection of the inner ear, so she wanted to also perform a myringotomy.  This involves making a tiny incision into the eardrum to release the pressure caused from backed up fluid.  She would then send the fluid off for culture samples.

The procedures would take two hours.  Matt and I tried to be proactive by staying in the area and getting some much-needed shopping done.  Thankfully, there was a Petco right around the corner.  We headed back to VSS around 2:00 p.m.  My husband offered to go in and inquire about Theo’s status. 

Suddenly, my cell phone rang.  It was Matt telling me to come inside to room 9.  I raced into the building and saw the doctor sitting across from Matt.  “Don’t worry, we didn’t start without you,” she smiled.  She said that we had perfect timing because she was just getting ready to call us.

The veterinarian said that Theo did a great job and was still waking up from the anesthesia.  His MRI came back completely normal!  She said that there weren’t even any signs of a stroke!  And he didn’t even have to have the myringotomy.  The spinal tap labs would not be available

Theo was then diagnosed with Idiopathic Geriatric Vestibular Syndrome. Per VCA Animal Hospitals, “vestibular disease is a sudden, non-progressive disturbance of balance.”  This is also known as “old dog disease” and is typically seen in older dogs.

Theo’s shaved spot where the spinal tap was performed.

She explained that the Theo may have reoccurring episodes or he may never have another episode again.  His symptoms just need to be monitored.  I was so excited that I hugged her.  Theo was not dying!  My best friend was coming home with a clean bill of health.

His follow up appointment at the ophthalmologist revealed that he has chronic corneal calcification.  This means that the cornea of his right eye is calcifying.  We were assured that this process may cause discomfort, but not pain.  The eye ointment seems to be working wonderfully.  In two weeks, the cornea should be completely calcified and no longer be an issue.

My purpose in sharing Theo’s story is to help pet parents of aging or senior dogs.  Witnessing your fur baby walking in circles and stumbling around the house can be terrifying.  Especially when they begin crying out for no reason.  While we are sure that Theo’s eye played a key role in raising his blood pressure during both episodes, we are very happy to know that this condition will not cause him pain or stop him from living an amazing life.

We are so thankful to have Theo at home!

I love looking at his smile!

If you live in southern Illinois or around the St. Louis, MO area, I would highly recommend Veterinary Specialty Services for all of your emergent pet care needs.  The staff is compassionate and friendly and treats everyone like family.  To learn more about the services offered, please visit:  http://www.vssstl.com/.

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from Nerving Neurology

[laurenakramer]

Nerving Neurology

His cries pierced the calm, quiet night.  What started as a whimper turned into a ceaseless moan that tore my heart into a million pieces.  I knew that our time together was rapidly growing shorter.

I knelt by his side and tried to comfort him.

I covered his tiny body in the warmest blanket that I could find.  My hand gently stroked his long, tan fur.  The words I spoke were soft, calm and full of love.  My feeble attempts were failing miserably and we were losing time.

Throwing on the first outfit I could find, my husband and I loaded Theo into the car and raced to Hawthorne Animal Hospital.  Matt turned on the radio partially trying to provide background noise and partially to drown out Theo’s mournful cries.  My tears flowed like a river down my non-make-upped face.

We had called ahead, so the nurse was waiting for us by the emergency door when we arrived.  I tried to remain calm as I explained to the vet technician what had taken place.  Theo had been squinting his right eye for the past two days.  His veterinarian had examined him the day before and diagnosed him with glaucoma in his right eye.

  Theo wearing his Muffin’s Halo.

He had had glaucoma in the left eye before losing vision in that eye.  We had been giving him his prescription eye drops daily and were instructed to now administer the drops to both eyes. His crying spree began at 11:00 p.m. that night and would not stop.  Not even for his favorite treat:  Blue Buffalo Sizzlers.

The veterinarian determined that the glaucoma was causing the pressure in his right eye to shoot up to an incredible 80.  We were told that this pressure could be giving Theo a doggy migraine.  The hospital staff was great.  They began to administer the eye drops every five minutes in an attempt to lower the pressure quickly.  After 30 minutes, the pressure was down to 60.  Not great, but definitely better than 80.

Theo was also given some numbing drops in order to reduce the pain and (hopefully) allow him to sleep before his ophthalmology appointment the next day.  We thanked the staff and headed home.  Theo cried the entire way.  Our car was almost home when I made Matt pull over in a nearby Target parking lot and call the hospital back asking what we should do.  We were told to give the injection and numbing drops more time to work.

At 3:30 a.m., we were heading back to Hawthorne.  My tears began anew and I was screaming at my husband to drive faster, desperately seeking a miracle.  Theo was then admitted to Hawthorne where he would be given an IV medication in an attempt to bring the pressure in his eye down further.  If this could not be done, the eye would have to be removed.

Theo is 14 years old.  That is 72 in human years.  I was beyond afraid of him having to be under anesthesia.  I was praying that the medications would work.

I received a call later that morning from the veterinarian.  She said that the pressure was back down to a normal level and Theo was doing great.  He had even inhaled his breakfast for the vet tech.  When we picked Theo up, I could tell something wasn’t right.  He kept trying to climb over my shoulders and leap out of my arms.  The staff assured me that he was healthy enough to be released.

Theo cried the entire way to the ophthalmologist.  Once the doctor appeared, his crying stopped.  My mom and I were amazed.  The doctor spoke softly and gently looked into Theo’s eye.  His diagnosis was devastating.

“The eye is not causing him any issues.  I believe this is something neurological.”

He told us to allow more time for the medications to leave Theo’s system before seeking any additional treatment.  Theo’s cries picked up again the minute we got in the car.  Mom tried to convince me that everything was going to be fine.  My gut continued to tell me that something still wasn’t right.

I made a call to my veterinarian’s office.  One of my favorite receptionists answered.  My heart sank when she told me that Theo’s vet was booked for the day.  She then asked what was going on.  After I explained all that Theo had been through, she spoke with the doc and got us squeezed in.

Since my mom had an appointment, my dad graciously drove us to the appointment.  The vet also agreed with the ophthalmologist’s assessment.  She was concerned that Theo was exhibiting an extreme head tilt.  He was also taking a while to respond to having his feet picked up one by one.  She suggested that we see a neurologist at Veterinary Specialty Services in St. Louis, MO.  The vet called ahead so that Theo could be seen on an emergent basis.

Dad did a fantastic job getting us to VSS.  I was surprised to see that the lobby was packed.  We were soon taken to a room and Theo was whisked away to ICU.  My only comfort was knowing that Theo had slept the entire way to VSS.  At least he appeared to be getting some relief.

The ER doctor returned and said that something neurological was definitely going on.  Her main concerns: cancer, a brain tumor or a stroke.  Theo would need to be admitted for several days and monitored closely.  We were told that they may need to do an MRI and spinal tap if his condition worsened.

I left feeling completely numb.  I had literally spent 24 hours trying to get answers and was walking away with something worse: fear.  What if Theo had cancer?  If there was a tumor, could Theo handle surgery?

We received daily calls with an update on Theo and his condition.  The doctor called the next day and said that Theo was eating great and had just gone out for a walk.  My hopes began to soar.  He was still walking!  We decided to visit him that day to see the miracle recovery for ourselves.  Bad idea.  The moment that Theo smelled us, he began to whine…like he had on Thursday night.  We ended our visit quickly and asked the vet tech if our presence was causing him distress.  She said that when a pet smells his/her humans and then realizes that they are not at home, they can become confused and upset.

I left feeling horrible.  My intention was not to cause Theo more stress.  I was very happy that we at least got to take him outside for a short walk and I got a few sweet kisses.

Monday I received a call stating that Theo was going to be released.  The doctor stated that they believe he had a “vascular accident,” a.k.a. stroke.  It had also been determined by the ophthalmologist that he was now blind in the right eye.  Thankfully, we already had been using a Muffin’s Halo when he lost vision in the left eye.

Theo was so happy to be home!  Matt and I made it a priority to learn all of the signs of a stroke in dogs.  Per Petmd.com, these signs include:

  Inability to walk or walking with an uncoordinated gait

Head tilt

Abnormal eye movements, side to side or rotary (nystagmus)

Abnormal eye positioning (strabismus)

Loss of consciousness

Abnormal behavior

Falling to one side

Blindness

Abnormal behavior

Rapid onset of symptoms

  September was a fabulous month.  Theo was nicely adjusting to being blind.  Just like Hope, he quickly learned where the water bowl was.  His walking was even improving.

Then, October came.  I had been eagerly awaiting the Picture Book Summit online writing conference.  The day-long event was to take place on October 7th.  I was an hour and a half into the conference when my husband and I noticed that Theo was walking in circles and had a slight head tilt.  He then took several steps and pooped out a large portion of blood.

As I ran to get paper towels, Matt called Theo’s new veterinarian.  She told us to bring Theo in ASAP.  He was not happy about having to leave the house.  And then he began crying again.

I had a feeling I knew what was in store.  Sure enough, the vet said that his blood pressure was 195.  She wanted us to get to VSS as quickly as possible.  My husband and I were thinking the same thing:  another stroke.

We arrived at VSS to find the lobby full to capacity.  One of the receptionists looked at me and said, “Are you from Davis Animal Hospital?”  I told her that we were.  She picked up one of the FRS’s and said, “Theo is here from Davis.”

Before I knew what was happening, a vet tech (with blood stains on his arms) came running out, grabbed Theo towel and all and raced back to neurology.  I felt sick to my stomach.  He hadn’t been acting that unusual.  Could something horrible be happening and we are totally clueless?

Thankfully, the same veterinarian that saw Theo the first time was also on duty that day.  She said that the pressure in his right eye was fine.  He did very well on the neurology examination, but she wanted to do some lab work and chest x-rays to see if he possibly had cancer in the chest or abdomen that could be causing swelling in the brain.  Theo was admitted once again.

We got the call later that night that Theo’s labs came back better than before.  The x-rays were also clear, no signs of cancer!  We were able to pick him up that Sunday with the caveat that we bring him back the following Thursday for a neurology appointment.

I counted down the days until his appointment.  I was bound and determined to get answers.  We had to know what was happening to our furry pack leader.  To our surprise, the lobby was completely empty.  We had come prepared with a large blanket for Theo and electronics for us.  And I remembered to pack my phone charger!

We had the sweetest woman who is completing her fellowship at VSS in the neurology department.  She said that Theo did great during his exam.  However, she was concerned that he may have cancer or a tumor.  Theo was to undergo an MRI and spinal tap immediately.  She also thought that he might have an infection of the inner ear, so she wanted to also perform a myringotomy.  This involves making a tiny incision into the eardrum to release the pressure caused from backed up fluid.  She would then send the fluid off for culture samples.

The procedures would take two hours.  Matt and I tried to be proactive by staying in the area and getting some much-needed shopping done.  Thankfully, there was a Petco right around the corner.  We headed back to VSS around 2:00 p.m.  My husband offered to go in and inquire about Theo’s status.

Suddenly, my cell phone rang.  It was Matt telling me to come inside to room 9.  I raced into the building and saw the doctor sitting across from Matt.  “Don’t worry, we didn’t start without you,” she smiled.  She said that we had perfect timing because she was just getting ready to call us.

The veterinarian said that Theo did a great job and was still waking up from the anesthesia.  His MRI came back completely normal!  She said that there weren’t even any signs of a stroke!  And he didn’t even have to have the myringotomy.  The spinal tap labs would not be available

Theo was then diagnosed with Idiopathic Geriatric Vestibular Syndrome. Per VCA Animal Hospitals, “vestibular disease is a sudden, non-progressive disturbance of balance.”  This is also known as “old dog disease” and is typically seen in older dogs.

  Theo’s shaved spot where the spinal tap was performed.

  She explained that the Theo may have reoccurring episodes or he may never have another episode again.  His symptoms just need to be monitored.  I was so excited that I hugged her.  Theo was not dying!  My best friend was coming home with a clean bill of health.

His follow up appointment at the ophthalmologist revealed that he has chronic corneal calcification.  This means that the cornea of his right eye is calcifying.  We were assured that this process may cause discomfort, but not pain.  The eye ointment seems to be working wonderfully.  In two weeks, the cornea should be completely calcified and no longer be an issue.

My purpose in sharing Theo’s story is to help pet parents of aging or senior dogs.  Witnessing your fur baby walking in circles and stumbling around the house can be terrifying.  Especially when they begin crying out for no reason.  While we are sure that Theo’s eye played a key role in raising his blood pressure during both episodes, we are very happy to know that this condition will not cause him pain or stop him from living an amazing life.

  We are so thankful to have Theo at home!

  I love looking at his smile!

  If you live in southern Illinois or around the St. Louis, MO area, I would highly recommend Veterinary Specialty Services for all of your emergent pet care needs.  The staff is compassionate and friendly and treats everyone like family.  To learn more about the services offered, please visit:  http://www.vssstl.com/.

from Nerving Neurology