#here's hoping i get some sort of diagnosis at my drs appointment this week | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wytfut · 1 year

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round 2...

Not looking for any pity here, so please refrain from interpreting that with this note. My purpose here is just getting the word out. A lot of People want to know “whats wrong with Bruce?” So here is an abridged version.

I’ve been in some sort of pain on and off since 1999. I do realize that I’m probably luckier than a bunch of folks. But still it takes it toll.

All started with a bad dose of poison ivy, I got replacing a telephone pole in a backyard in Seward Nebraski. I’m highly reactive to poison ivy.

2 nights of misery, I went again to the ER... and they gave me a 5 days prescription to Prednisone (oral).

2 weeks later both of my hips had “died”. Literally they really had died. I had no warm up, to gradual symptoms. It just showed up at work, and just about took me to my knees. Exceptional sharp attacking pain.

Suddenly a guy in his 40′s and in the best shape of his life, was walking in baby steps. And blinding pain in both hips.

I bared it for a bit, and then caved to making an appointment with a local Ortho Dr. By the time the appointment came, the pain had subsided substantially, and I decided I wasn’t going to make that appointment. My lovely wife, changed my mind, and it was a good thing I did, as who knows where I’d be now.

My hip affliction is relatively rare, but stats say up to 60000 folks are afflicted with this issue yearly, and I don’t think that is a small number. In general public definition, my body cannot handle Prednisone. I can handle any other steroid just not Prednisone. This affliction is called AVN (avascular Necrosis) caused by Prednisone. Check it out,... its real. Another cause for AVN just for example is alcohol abuse.

Very Surprising how many Dr.’s have never heard of this, or know nothing of it being caused by Prednisone . Yet many prescribe it for their own patients. I’ve heard it called a miracle med several times, and Dr.s prescribing with no thoughts or concerns. I don’t blame them, as the positives are huge for all the possibilities of use. Alleries, inflamations, lung issues, joint issues, etc.

BUT Ortho Dr.s of any reputation know of this issue. Yet there is no testing for it. Nor has there ever been any 3rd party testing to verify it. Interesting to say the least. ...

Lincoln Dr. told me the diagnosis, and recommended a very good Ortho Dr. at Omaha UNO med center... Dr. Kevin Garvin... he at the time was doing cutting edge technology for hip replacements, including AVN.

Met up with him, and he decided that at my age (too young) for a total hip replacement will not happen... so we did 2 hip grafts in 2 years. He hoped for 10 years relief (the hopeful norm) and I got almost 8 before the pain returned.

Then in ‘11 and ‘12 I got both replaced. Amazing what kind of pain a person can adapt too. Once I had the hip replacements, it shocked me how wonderful I felt. Both times after surgery, the medical staff had to look around to find me, as I was wondering the halls on crutches.

This pain I endured before the replacements, set off my brain for restless leggs syndrome. I had touches of it, lightly before this 10+ years, but during and after, RLS became a part of my life.

Story goes, there are many examples of what causes RLS. But mine came down to over loaded pain receptors in my itty bitty head. Being over loaded, they react, thus the kicking and uncomfortable in bed. Rarely does it kick in during daylight hours. If it does..... it really doesn’t affect me, I just keep chugging along.

Then around ‘14 I had a heart attack. I assume some of it was due to the fact that I was slowly slowing down physically over the past 10+ years. I had put on roughly 20 pounds due to sitting around and not being fully active, with hip pain.

Heart Dr. said my health numbers (fat counts, and such) were all border line. My BP over the past 3-4 years had been raising and lowering drastically. I figured related to pain stress.

In reality? ... it probably was the “skoal” tobacco I was chronically using for 40 years. From what I understand, over time it ( as all tobacco) will raise your BP, AND the lining within your blood vessels become rough, and catch what ever is floating around (uh cholesterol apparently). No.... I don’t “chew” anymore. I don’t even crave it since the heart attack. But occasionally I do miss it... the buzz and the flavor.

From this time to now.... I put on another 30 pounds. Right after the heart attack, I started noticing a new pain... my BACK!

All the years of hard labor, I never had any back pain.... ever... well once I had a muscle spasm.

Been battling this back pain thing now for 2 years with a good Dr. And now finally last month.... I appear to be pain free from my back. Via an injection. NOT Prednisone, but another steroid.

So next up was to tackle this RLS issue... and got on a med last week. Nothing, nothing, then it started to work. Then the side affect showed up.

Every morning I’m dizzy for 3-4 hours. This past Saturday it was all day, and nauseous. Here I sit, dizzy. Just got the call from Dr.s office. They are discussing currently what to do.

UP DATE: .. Dr. wants me to stop the current med for a few days and see if dizzy spells go away. Then regroup at that time.

Pretty sure way back when I had my first hip replaced I had this very same med as I had complained to Dr. Garvin. And I took it. I fell down 2 days in a row (totally dizzy, no balance), and immediately quit taking it.

Update..... I’ve come to keep taking a current medication, but a smaller dosage... and it seems to be working. This med I’ve been on since July, and had a side affect of making me very “nappy” during the day. Nap attacks would hit with out any warning. I’d wake up not realizing that I had fallen asleep. And so went another hour without my knowledge. With the dosage down, ... not near the nap attacks if any.

Wish me luck.

GGP Bruce

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huphilpuffs · 5 years

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flares

chapter: 29/? summary: Dan’s body has been broken for as long as he can remember, and he’s long since learned to deal with it. Sort of. But when his symptoms force him to leave uni and move into a new flat with a stranger named Phil, he finds that ignoring the pain isn’t the way to make himself happy. word count: 3117 rating: mature warnings: chronic illness, chronic pain, medicine a/n: Trigger warning for mentions of death and cancer as Dan worries about worst case scenarios. Huge thanks to @obsessivelymoody for beta’ing!

Ao3 link || read from beginning

Phil’s at work when the call comes in.

It’s an unfamiliar number, one that isn’t in Dan’s phone. He almost doesn’t pick it up, because his fingers feel stiff and it sounds like too much effort when he doesn’t much like talking to people anyway. But the phone is sitting right next to him and he remembers that the hospital’s number was unknown, too, so he ends up bringing it to his ear with a quiet hello.

The voice on the other end is too chirpy. It makes his heart sink.

“Hello?” she says. “May I speak with Daniel Howell?”

“Speaking,” he mumbles.

“Oh, hello,” says the woman. She sounds like a secretary. “Dr. Kissel wanted me to inform you that she got your test results back. She’d like to book a follow up appointment with you, preferably in the next few days?”

Dan’s hand goes tight around his phone. It’s too much and his fingers go shaky and he almost drops it. He just about blurts that he’s busy, super busy, except all he’s going to do is sit on the sofa watching whatever the fuck is playing and being scared about whatever Dr. Kissel wants to say and–

Waiting for doctor’s appointments has never been fun.

“Uh, okay,” he says. “I should be good, like, any day she’s free but, uh, afternoons work better?”

“Okay,” says the secretary. “We have an opening on Thursday at 3:30. Would that work for you?”

Dan swallows. His throat has gone so tight it hurts. His ribs ache when he tries to take a breath. That’s only two days from now and Dan tries not to think too hard about what that means when he’s waited weeks for almost every other appointment in his life.

None of those have had answers before. Maybe this one–

“That’s fine,” he says. It sounds shaky.

The lady on the other end doesn’t know him well enough to tell. She just says, “Okay, see you then,” and hangs up like she hasn’t left Dan’s head all fuzzy and his chest feeling like it’s full of cotton buds.

He does drop the phone now. His head rolls back against the sofa. His eyes fall closed because they sting too much when he just stares at the ceiling.

When he opens them again, the show he was watching has ended.

---

Dan paces the lounge until his toes ache and there’s a pressure in his ankles that make it feel like they might collapse.

And he keeps pacing until the pain has spread up along his calves, tight in his muscle and stabbing at the middle of his shin, and settled in his knee so he can’t really pace anymore. He feels like an old man when he walks back over to the sofa, barely able to bend his legs.

He feels like he’s thirteen again.

His hands are shaking when he drops onto the sofa. Dan’s not sure if it’s from the pain or the nerves or from holding his phone too tightly. The bottoms of his feet ache from the pressure of the floor against them. The back of his head is all numb and tingly.

Dan grabs the blanket on the back of the sofa. Even the fleece feels scratchy against his skin.

He glances at the phone. It’s been sitting in the dip between the sofa cushions since he let it go. He almost picks it up again, almost calls Phil.

But his fingers are stiff and it takes too much energy and Dan can’t bring himself to make Phil worry.

---

Phil gets about three steps into the flat before he asks, “Are you okay?”

The bag he brings to work is sitting on the floor by the door and his voice is soft and tinged with worry, and Dan almost says I’m fine like he would have done forever ago. He’s sitting on Phil’s sofa. He has Phil’s blanket wrapped around his shoulders. There’s a bitter taste in his mouth and gross stickiness on his cheeks.

“I’m sore,” he mumbles.

“Oh,” says Phil. “One sec.”

Dan listens to the soft sounds of his footsteps in the flat. He fidgets with the blanket until Phil shows up at the end of the sofa, a smile on his face despite the worried furrow of his brows, and an ice pack clutched between his hands. He sits down next to Dan, all gentle and hesitant.

Like he used to be. It makes Dan’s chest ache.

“Where are you sore?” he asks.

“Everywhere?” says Dan. His smile falls before he’s sure he’s even managed it. “My legs. My ankles.”

Phil hums. He slips his hand between Dan’s knees, his touch stinging cold from the ice, and untangles them. Dan twists on the sofa so the arm rest is digging into the base of his spine and his feet are resting on Phil’s thigh. His head falls against the cushions, eyes falling shut.

The ice burns where Phil presses it against where his bone juts out from his ankle.

“I should get another ice pack,” he says, not to Dan. “You have two ankles.”

Dan manages half a laugh. “Thanks for the observation.”

He watches as Phil presses his foot against the back of the sofa, the ice pack balanced across the top of his foot. He takes the other one between his hands, holding it steady. The relief that causes is probably just a figment of Dan’s imagination, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Did something happen?” says Phil.

Dan’s breath catches. “The doctor’s office called,” he says. “They have my test results.”

Phil goes tense. His thumb jabs into the gap between the bones of Dan’s ankle, making pain stab down along the arch of his foot.

“Did they say anything?”

His throat goes tight again, a lump forming there that feels too much like he’s about to start crying. “No,” says Dan. “I have an appointment Thursday at 3:30.”

“Okay,” says Phil. “I’ll talk to my boss.”

He rubs at Dan’s ankle. It doesn’t really soothe the pain, but it makes something in Dan’s chest ease, and that’s enough to keep him from pulling away.

“Do you think they–”

“I don’t know,” says Dan. “It’s never been like this before.”

Phil’s face falls, his lips drawing into a frown. “Oh.”

Dan nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Oh.”

---

“You’re anxious,” says Phil.

They’re sitting on the sofa eating leftovers – or, well, picking at leftovers – when he speaks. The ice pack’s back in the freezer after Dan’s warmth melted it into a mushy bag of gel. The blanket is still bunched around Dan’s body, one corner hanging over his shoulder, precariously close to the sauce on his plate.

He wants to point out that Phil is, too. He’s been tense since Dan first mentioned the doctor. But he’s not wrong.

“This is scary,” says Dan. He doesn’t think he’s ever fully admitted that to anyone before. “I don’t– They’ve never done these tests before. What if they find something that’s been, like, lurking there since I was a kid and it’s, like, really bad?”

Phil drops his fork. His eyes are wide when he looks up, catching Dan’s gaze. “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “A tumor? Lou Gheric’s disease? Some sort of rare condition no one’s ever heard of that’s, like, definitely fatal and has no hope of a cure?”

“Stop,” says Phil. His eyes look glossy. It makes Dan want to shove the words back down his throat, choking on his own fears before he makes Phil share them. “You’re not dying.”

You don’t know that , Dan wants to say.

He doesn’t know that. It’s terrifying. There was a time when Dan would have taken any diagnosis, even if a deadly one, just for the sake of the answer.

Not now. His heart aches with how much he doesn’t want that now.

“Yeah, I guess,” he says.

Phil swallows. “You’re not.”

He doesn’t sound entirely convinced.

---

They try to watch TV.

Phil puts on Buffy first, because it’s his favourite show. And then Lost, because it’s one of Dan’s favourites. And then Speed, because it’s the kind of mindless entertainment that feels like it should fix this heavy feeling weighing down on the lounge.

It doesn’t.

Between shows, Phil shifts across the sofa. Dan’s legs have fallen from his lap, which means he can pull Dan closer with a hand wrapped around his waist and another resting on his thigh. His cheek rests against the top of Dan’s head, his breath warm and harsh and unsteady.

Some days, Dan doesn’t have the energy to hold him back.

Today, he drapes his arm across Phil’s stomach and grips so tight his fingers start to hurt.

They give up on Speed hardly half an hour in. Phil’s lips press against the top of Dan’s head, his hand drifting up to settle against his chest.

“We should go to bed,” he says.

It’s not that late, but Dan nods anyway.

---

They share a pillow.

It smells like Phil. He settles down against it first, flat on his back with his arms spread open and the duvet bunched up around his waist. They never do this. Dan can’t bring himself to point it out, not when all he wants is to curl up in Phil’s arms and pretend the next few days don’t exist.

And maybe every day before he moved in here, too.

He brought the fleece blanket from the sofa with him, because he can’t let it go. It feels like comfort in a way the duvet never will. It feels like the early days of getting comfort from a flatmate he half expected to kick him out the moment he learned Dan couldn’t really help pay rent.

Duvets feel like coming home from appointments, pressing his face into the plush fabric, and sobbing till it had gotten soaked.

Dan swallows. His chest hurts again. His lungs feel stretched to capacity and his brain feels numb with all the things he’s trying not to let himself think. He half expects his knees to hurt when he crawls into bed, but the mattress gives under his weight, letting him settle there without too much pain.

He presses his head against Phil’s chest, crushing his ear against where his heart beats, steady and fast.

He drapes his arm across Phil’s stomach, where his ribs jut out where they normally might not, had he eaten dinner, and every breath stutters on a rise and a fall.

He slips his one leg between both of Phil’s, just to hold on even tighter, to be even closer.

When Phil’s arm wraps around him, it makes his bones ache and his breath leave on a rushed exhale and Dan doesn’t care. He feels Phil’s hand splay across his side and his body shift, twisting so their chests are pressed closer together and Dan’s face is pressed to the crook of his neck.

“You can talk to me,” says Phil.

“Don’t want to scare you,” says Dan. It’s probably enough to scare him, anyway.

Phil just sucks in a breath, long and deep, and says, “Don’t care. I don’t want you to be scared alone.”

It’s too honest. His voice cracks and Dan slams his eyes shut against the sudden burn of tears welling there, but it just sends them rolling down his cheeks instead. He tries not to think about how his mum used to laugh when he got anxious about tests, tell him he was a young and healthy boy with nothing to worry about.

And tries desperately not to wish that was the more logical answer all along.

He pulls away just enough to look up at Phil, to catch the dark feather of his fringe across his forehead and the shadows that frame his nose. The room is dark, just barely brightened by city lights still glowing past Phil’s curtains. Dan’s not sure he wishes it was brighter.

He doesn’t want Phil to see the gleam of tears drying on his cheeks.

“I don’t want them to tell me I’m dying,” he says. It should be obvious. Maybe it is to Phil, but it isn’t to Dan and that’s one of the scariest parts.

“They won’t,” says Phil.

“You don’t know that,” says Dan.

He reaches across Phil, grasping blindly in the dark until he finds Phil’s other hand, curled into a fist at his side. Dan unravels his fingers like Phil does to the cocoons he curls himself up in when he’s in pain, slipping his own between them until their palms are flat against each other.

“I’ve been, like, sick for a really long time, and no one’s ever taken it seriously enough to actually make sure I was okay,” he says. “I have no fucking clue what they’re gonna tell me. They could tell me all my tests came back perfectly fine and I should see a shrink again for all I know, but they might–”

“Tell you you’re dying,” says Phil.

“Yeah.”

Dan squeezes his hand, because he can, because he needs to. Phil squeezes back, but his grip doesn’t loosen, not entirely.

“Do you think they’re going to tell you … that?”

“No,” says Dan. It’s the truth. How easy it comes out makes breathing a little easier. “Not, like, imminently at least. I feel like I’d be sicker after seven whole years of this if I was … you know.”

“Yeah,” says Phil. His hand drifts down Dan’s side, fingers catching at the edge waistline of his pants before drifting back up. “Yeah.”

Dan doesn’t have a response to that. He just lies there, awkwardly crushing his arm just so he can hear the echo of Phil’s heart, feel the grip of his hand around Dan’s. The blanket is all tangled around him, draped too low across his back, caught under the edge of the duvet. The pillow is shaped for only Phil’s head.

He thinks about his own room across the hall. His bed doesn’t have a proper pillow anymore, because he brought it here when they started sleeping together. His chest of drawers still has all his clothes folded neatly, except for all the stuff he actually wears and hasn’t bothered to fold back up. His own duvet’s hardly been used since he packed it up at uni.

He thinks of Taylor, of long nights in uni halls spent wishing life wasn’t what it was, and long days spent not going to class, and of how much better she is now. Of how much Dan wishes that’ll be him in a little while.

And he thinks about how little time it’s been since he was back there, miserable and desperate and without Phil.

That’s the strangest part.

“I don’t want to die,” he blurts.

Phil squeezes his whole body, pulling him even closer. “I know.”

“But you don’t,” says Dan. “You– I didn’t used to care and now I do and it sucks because I’m terrified and I don’t know how to fix it except to wait.”

Under his arm, he feels Phil’s breath catch. He doesn’t exhale for a long, long time.

And then he says, “So we’ll wait. Together. And it’ll be fine, okay?”

Dan swallows. It still doesn’t feel okay. His chest still feels full of something that shouldn’t be there, and the back of his head is still haunted with images he wishes would just go away, and his eyes are burning and tears are falling onto his cheeks and he presses his face against the round of Phil’s shoulder to make them stop.

“Okay,” he mumbles.

---

They don’t sleep.

The sky goes completely dark, taking the city with it, so slowly Dan’s eyes adjust to swirling shades of black that fill the room. Phil adjusts the duvet around them so it’s drawn up to their shoulders, wrapping them in a bubble too warm for early summer days but too cozy to break. Dan’s weight settles more comfortably against his side and Phil’s fingers comb through his hair.

His skin is sticky with Dan’s dried tears. His heart rate is still quicker than normal. Dan wishes he could make it all go away but all he has is this.

It’s enough.

Dan of six years ago never would have believed it.

He plays with Phil’s hand, plucking at his fingers and rubbing at the lines in his palm. He feels the few hairs dotting Phil’s chest under his cheek. Touch stings. Dan never would have thought he’d enjoy it so much, but he matches his breaths to the rhythm of Phil’s hand drifting up and down his side.

It’s probably late by now, at least the time that they would normally get off the couch to settle here instead. Time feels hazy, dreamy in a way Dan’s never really associated with night, not when he’s spent so many of them tossing and turning against the ache in his bones keeping him awake.

Phil’s breath is warm against the top of his head. His hand settles against the dip just above Dan’s hip.

“Can I ask you something?” he says.

Dan nods, humming softly.

Phil squeezes his hand before letting it go. He reaches up, pressing his thumb to where his mouth just was, combing his hand back so he’s drawing Dan’s curls away from his forehead. He does it again, tucking one that’s grown particularly long behind his ear, and then a third time, swiping his thumb across the back of Dan’s neck.

“Can I kiss you?”

Dan forgets how to breathe, just for a second. Then he nods again, mumbling a quiet, “Yeah.”

Phil’s hand settles more firmly against the back of his neck, his thumb sweeping across the base of Dan’s skull. A smile quirks at one corner of his mouth. Despite everything, Dan feels himself matching it.

No one’s ever kissed him before. Dan doesn’t know what to expect.

When Phil’s lips press against his, it’s warm and tingly, just edging on too much. It’s soft and gentle and hesitant and so very Phil and Dan thinks it might hurt, just a bit, but it’s also so, so great. He reaches up to rest his hand on Phil’s cheek, just as Phil starts to pull away.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he says. It’s a murmur, brushed right against Dan’s lips.

“Yeah,” says Dan. mostly so Phil will kiss him again.

He does, all tangled in the blankets, just a little clumsy from the newness, over and over again until Dan’s jaw hurts and his lips sting and touch makes his skin prickle.

And Dan just kisses him again.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #dan and phil #callie writes words #flares

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choicesfanatic86 · 6 years

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TTS: Part 38 (Liam x MC)

DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to Pixelberry Studios, except characters unique to my story. Those belong to me. ;)

PAIRINGS: Riley (MC) x OC, Riley (MC) x Liam, Liam x Riley (MC) x OC, Olivia x Drake, Bertrand x Savannah, Maxwell x OC

SUMMARY: Seeing their baby brings about a whole wave of emotions.

If you are new to the series and would like to catch up by reading previous parts, please check out my master fan fiction listing. CATCH UP HERE

Permanent Tag List: @umccall71 @drakelover78 @jamielea81 @bobasheebaby @speedyoperarascalparty @hopefulmoonobject @theroyalweisme @gardeningourmet @jlouise88 @hamulau @traeumerinwitzhelden @blackcatkita @mrs-simmy @kaitycole @alwaysthebestchoice @mfackenthal @trr-duchessofvaltoria

Tag List for TTS Only: @herladyshipxx @devineinterventions2 @captainkingliam @pbchoicesobsessed @cocomaxley @queencatherynerhys @boneandfur @spetstoof @grapefrults @pessimystic-fangirl @dralenamax @mspaigemoore @jayjay879 @hhiggs @penguininapinktuxedo @topsyturvy-dream @diamond-dreamland @pnhanga @ladynonsense @mrsdrakewalkerblog @crookedslimecreatorpasta @liamxsworld @flowerpowell @bruteforcebears @withice @jared2612 @darley1101

06/02/2018 - More to come tomorrow! :) Just giving you a little taste of what’s to come. This was originally going to be a part of one big chapter, but I just figured since I was away for a while, I’d give you something to read before tomorrow! :)

As always, just shoot me a message or comment with requests to be added to the permanent tag or story tag. :)

PART 38 - Galloping Horses

Riley bit her lip, trying to conceal the smile that so desperately wanted to break out across her face. He showed up. He hadn’t turned away from the baby. He wanted to be involved. A rush of emotions raged through her body, but she held back the happy tears that threatened to flow freely.

“Wonderful,” Dr. Scoggin said happily. “Just in time. We were just going to go over mom and dad’s medical history,” she explained to Liam, motioning for him to have a seat.

Liam took a seat in one of the chairs that were across from the examination table. Riley had laid back, still in a state of surprise and relief all rolled into one. It was as if the weight of the world had been lifted off of her shoulders. She gave a glance to where he was sitting. She had never seen him so nervous before. He wore jeans and a t-shirt with some athletic shoes. He had dressed down for the appointment. It was a nice look for him. He looked so . . . normal. She was always so accustomed to seeing him dressed in formal-wear or his regal uniform, however this side of Liam . . . the laid-back Liam, was attractive. She stopped herself from going further. She couldn’t think like that. Not anymore. She had the lima bean to think about. Nope, going there with him again would just make things more complicated than they already were.

“So,” Dr. Scoggin smiled at both of them. “Are there any sort of medical conditions in any of your immediate families? Diabetes, Cancer, Asthma? Genetic abnormalities?” She asked, her pen at the ready.

Riley glanced toward Liam, swallowing thickly. “Well . . . I had a history of asthma when I was a kid . . . My mom had some pre-cancerous polyps a while back. No real other issues in my family. I have a cousin that has lupus,” she shrugged. “Otherwise pretty healthy,” she said nervously.

“And you, Dad?” The doctor turned her attention to Liam.

Riley caught a small smile play on his lips when the doctor said the word “dad.” What a transformation from the previous night. She found it difficult to believe that the man sitting before her was the same man that she had argued with the previous night. She wondered what had happened to change his mind about things. Maybe he really did just need some time to work things out on his own.

“My father . . . he, uh, passed away from cancer a short while ago,” Liam said, his voice cracking a little. “No other major medical conditions that I’m aware of.”

“Great,” Dr. Scoggin murmured as she jotted all of the information down. “Okay, so the good news is you’re both fairly young and healthy. The older you get, the risks for genetic abnormalities or problems with the pregnancy tend to increase. Everything looks good right now,” she smiled. “The only speed bump seems to be the hyperemesis gravidarum.”

“Hyperemesis gravidarum?” Liam asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Mom here has been diagnosed with hyperemesis gravidarum. In pregnancy, a woman will endure an excessive amount of vomiting. It tends to last at least through the first half of the pregnancy. Sometimes it wanes as time goes on,” she explained.

“That’s why you were hospitalized,” Liam frowned, looking at Riley.

She nodded. “The lima bean had quite a dramatic way of making himself known,” she chuckled.

He sucked a breath in, his forehead wrinkled in concern. “Is it dangerous?”

“It can be, if left untreated. Dehydration is one of the biggest risk factors for mom,” Dr. Scoggin noted. “It’s not too common; maybe 1-2% of pregnant women will suffer from it. Even then there’s varying degrees in severity. Riley here appears to have a moderate level, but we won’t know how severe it is until the pregnancy progresses a bit further.”

Liam’s eyebrows furrowed deeply. The wrinkles in his forehead were deep crevices. He was concerned. It was written all over his face. “Should she be in the hospital?”

Dr. Scoggin shook her head. “She’s fine right now, I assure you.” She noticed the doubt flit across Liam’s face. “It’s okay to be a bit unnerved by such a diagnosis, but tens of thousands of pregnant women have this and they deliver perfectly healthy babies,” she assured them. “Let’s prove it to you and take a look at your baby,” she smiled brightly.

She sat on her rolling chair, fiddling with the buttons and monitor. She moved over to Riley, and she started to shift the paper gown aside to expose her abdomen. Liam watched intently as the doctor pulled out the tube of gel.

“Just going to be a bit cold at first, but then I promise you’ll get used to it as the exam goes on,” she said.

“Oh, they had to do a transvaginal ultrasound at the hospital,” Riley began to object. “They couldn’t find the baby this way,” she explained.

“Don’t worry, if the abdominal ultrasound doesn’t work, we’ll use that technique, but I have a lot of years of practice,” she smiled. “You’re almost ten weeks, so we just might be lucky enough to see the baby this way.”

Riley nodded, but still felt a bit skeptical about it considering her last ultrasounds were merely days ago. She had hoped that the transvaginal ultrasound wouldn’t be necessary. That would be a tad bit embarrassing to have in front of Liam. She didn’t care how many times he had seen her naked, it would still give her a bit of the heeby jeebies to have him witness that sort of procedure being done on her.

Dr. Scoggin moved the ultrasound wand around her belly for a while. Riley waited anxiously, gazing at the screen, waiting for something to pop up. A few moments later, there he was. The lima bean in all his glory. She couldn’t help but smile as she saw him.

“I told you . . . with a little patience and some skill,” Dr. Scoggin chuckled. “I’m just going to take some measurements and snap some images for you both.”

Riley took a quick look at Liam. His eyes were glued to the monitor. He had leaned forward a bit in his chair to get a better look. The expression was one of awe and wonder. He was clearly amazed by the little life they had created.

“It’s so tiny,” he murmured. “And it’s moving so quickly,” he noted.

“Yes, lots of movement, but mom won’t feel it for quite some time. Maybe not at least for another six to seven weeks,” she explained.

Liam reached across to grab Riley’s hand, but hesitated. She saw the worry in his face. She remembered how she had pulled away from his the previous night when he had tried to hold her hand. She sighed. They were back at square one again, but she couldn’t worry about the status of their pseudo-relationship now. She had a chance to see her little lima bean, and she wasn’t going to squander the opportunity.

Dr. Scoggin pulled another device off of the cart with the monitor stationed on it. She pushed it against Riley’s tummy and instantly a whooshing noise filled the space around them.

“What’s that?” Liam asked, a puzzled look on his face. “Is that . . .” he trailed off, realization dawning on him.

“Your baby’s heartbeat,” Dr. Scoggin smiled.

Riley’s eyes began to water. All of the emotions that had been bottled up inside of her since Liam had walked into the room flowed out of her freely.

“It sounds like galloping horses,” she covered her mouth in awe. She’d only seen the fluttering heartbeat on the ultrasound at the hospital that first time. She didn’t even remember the second ultrasound because she had been passed out. This . . . hearing their baby’s heartbeat was nothing short of a miracle.

“Amazing,” Liam murmured.

Riley gazed at Liam with watery eyes. “Isn’t it?” She sighed, feeling so content. Who know that seeing their little baby flitting across the monitor could make her feel so happy?

“Do you mind if I record this?” He asked, his eyes meeting Riley’s.

“He’s your baby, too, Liam. You don’t have to ask,” she gave him a half-smile.

He pulled out his cell phone, and started to record the sound echoing through the room as well as the image of their baby moving across the screen.

“Okay folks, I’m going to move on to the next part of the exam,” she said as she started to turn off the monitor. “We’re going to need to do a pap smear and also get some bloodwork done.”

Riley sat up, wrapping the paper gown back around her. “More pokes?” she asked in dismay. “I feel like a pin cushion as is,” she sighed.

Dr. Scoggin chuckled lightly. “Get used to it, you’ll probably be poked and prodded over the course of this pregnancy. It gets better,” she assured her.

“So, I’m just going to get ready for the pap smear,” Dr. Scoggin said, sifting through a cabinet off behind the monitor.

“And I will take that as my cue to wait outside,” Liam stood, nodding politely. “I’ll give you your privacy, Riley, but perhaps we can talk after the appointment?” He asked softly.

She nodded. “Excellent, I’ll wait for you in the front. Dr. Scoggin, it’s been a pleasure,” he smiled.

“Dad, any questions before you go? Last chance until the next visit,” she said.

“Actually . . . there is a question I’ve had in mind,” he stopped short of opening the exam room’s door. “How soon before she’s able to travel?”

Riley’s head snapped toward Liam. Travel? Then it hit her smack dab in the face. He intended for her to return to Cordonia with them. That wasn’t the plan. She started to sit upright to look him in the eyes. She needed him to know that going back to Cordonia was not an option. Not now. Not ever. She and the baby were going to stay in New York. She’d give birth *-here. She’d raise the baby here. That was non-negotiable.

“I don’t see any reason for there to be any travel restrictions as long as she doesn’t exhaust herself. Long flights can be a bit uncomfortable for women with hyperemesis, but as long as she’s comfortable, it shouldn’t be a problem,” she smiled brightly. “Thinking of a bit of a babymoon?” She asked.

Riley blushed. “It’s not like that,” she muttered, shaking her head.

Liam frowned a bit. “I’m from Europe, and I was hoping she’d come back with me so that I can take care of her,” he explained.

“Ah,” Dr. Scoggin nodded in understanding. “I see. Well, if you are thinking of relocating, the sooner the better would be ideal,” she explained. “As the pregnancy gets further along, I wouldn’t recommend traveling internationally. The stresses that come with a move can also be detrimental to the pregnancy.”

Liam nodded at her in gratitude. “Thank you again,” he said. “I’ll meet you outside,” he said softly to Riley.

She could only nod. She was still reeling from the idea of him wanting her to go back to Cordonia with him.

The pap smear and bloodwork had gone a lot smoother than Riley had expected. Perhaps she had become accustomed to all the uncomfortable tests after being in the hospital so many times over the last week.

“I’m going to get some photos printed out for you, and then I’m going to have you schedule another appointment in two weeks. I don’t think you’ll need to see me much longer. Although you are considered a bit more high risk because of your hyperemesis diagnosis, as long as you continue to take the anti-nausea medication and stay hydrated, it shouldn’t be too much of a problem. Any questions?”

Riley shook her head.

“Great, I’ll see you in two weeks. Go ahead and get changed, and you can meet my receptionist up front to set your next appointment up,” she smiled.

“Thank you, Dr. Scoggin.”

Riley became lost in her thoughts as she tossed the paper gown in the trash and changed back into her regular clothing. She didn’t want to fight with Liam, especially after they had shared such an amazing experience together, but she just couldn’t let him think that he was going to take control over this pregnancy. Last night it seemed like he wanted nothing to do with the lima bean, now . . . now he was talking about her going back to Cordonia. He couldn’t dictate what she was going to do. If she wanted to stay in New York, she’d stay in New York. She could do this on her own. It’d be difficult, of course, but he could fly down for visits. She’d never deprive him of any of the medical information regarding the pregnancy. Technology was great. She could text him pictures and videos from the appointments. Heck, she could probably even facetime or skype with him during the actual appointment if he wanted to be present at all of the future visits. She didn’t have to move to Cordonia just because she was pregnant with his child. Nope. Not happening.

When Riley exited the exam room and went back into the waiting room, she noticed that Liam had firmly planted himself on one of the chairs. “Ready?”

“I just have to make another appointment,” she said curtly. Liam must have sensed her anger as he took a step back towards the door. She sighed. She hadn’t wanted to snap at him, but she just couldn’t stand the presumptions that were being made on his part. When she was finished, she walked toward the door, which Liam politely opened for her.

As soon as they stepped foot out of the office, she let her irritation rip at him.

“How soon can she travel?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Really Liam?” She brushed pass him pressing the elevator button forcefully.

“Riley . . .”

“Let me get this straight . . . last night you have a major meltdown about this baby . . . act as if you want nothing to do with him, and now you want to take care of me? Don’t get me wrong here, Liam. I’m so happy that you came today. I want you to be a part of our baby’s life, but I’m not going back to Cordonia with you.”

“Yes, you are.” He stated simply.

“No . . . I’m not,” she said adamantly.

He grabbed her wrist, pulling her into his embrace. “I love you, Riley Lawson. We’re having a baby, and I plan to be with you every step of the way. I’ve already missed so much, and I don’t plan on missing anything else when it comes to this pregnancy. I know I screwed up . . . it seems what I do best when it comes to us, but I want to make it up to you. I need to, for our baby’s sake,” his hand reaches out toward her flat stomach. “Give me a chance to take care of you . . . the both of you.”

#the royal romance #theroyalromance #choices: stories you play #choices #playchoices #choices fandom #choices the royal romance #the royal romance fan fic #royal romance #trr au #trr fanfic #trr #choices trr #trr fic #liam #liam x riley

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imagineclaireandjamie · 6 years

Text

As Yet Unread: Part 4.

Anonymous said: Where can I find the link As yet Unred... I have been reading it in bits and Pieces. Thank you

-- I took this from my personal blog, I hope you don’t mind, Anon. Please find all the previous parts attached here as well as the newest chapter --

Prologue (i) (ii). Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

Sitting patiently in the flattened chair, Claire kept her good hand clenched around the faded leather of the seat. Jamie leaned against an empty table, his gaze unapologetically trained on Claire as they waited for Dr Gowan to return with the x-rays.

“Ye ken if yer arm--”

“Yes,” Claire interrupted, her excitement palpable, “it’ll be fine, I know it.”

She was almost vibrating, her hands tapping out a nervous rhythm against the base of the chair and Jamie didn’t want to quash her hopes if she was feeling so positive about the diagnosis.

Dr Gowan had promised that if Claire’s arm had healed enough and her fingers were in a similar condition she could go home with Jamie today and, even though the light had long since faded and most of the other specialists had gone home, Ned was going to stay in order to complete the tests needed to see if Claire was fit enough for release.

“Jamie,” Dr Gowan called from the doorway, “can I just borrow ye for a moment?”

“Of course,” he replied, smiling over at Claire before exiting the room behind Ned.

Closing the door, Ned turned to Jamie with a serious glint in his eye. “It’s important I just talk to ye about the implications of releasing Claire wi’ her night terrors still untreated, aye?”

“So she’s fit to leave then?” He asked, his chest lightening with the news. At least she had been right about her own health.

“Aye, she is. Her arm can come out of plaster but she’ll still need some physio on it, and she’ll need to come back in two to three weeks to have the cast of her leg and some rehabilitation. The muscles will ha’ wasted, ye ken, and she’ll need help adjusting to walking again. But that’s no’ my main concern now. My worry is that as much as she wants to escape her hospital bed, she hasna considered what life will be like now. It’s new and scary. Also, the last time she left a building she came to some harm, that sort of memory doesna fade so easily. She could verra well have a panic attack and be unable to leave. What I want to ken is what will ye do if she gets herself to the doors and these memories show themselves?”

“I canna fail her now, Ned,” Jamie replied, scratching his forehead nervously. “If I have to gather her in my arms and carry her to the car I will. I dinna ken much about post traumatic stress, its symptoms or its cures, but she needs a better place to heal mentally. That isna here and ye ken it well. The pills and the sedatives make her crabbit and miserable - as much as they do help some, they dinna help her. She’s stronger than any of us can even comprehend, Doc, so I have to gi’ her a chance to get better.”

“Alright then, Jamie lad. I trust ye. But you need to promise that you’ll contact me if yer worried about anything at all. I willna force her to stay somewhere that’s no’ helping her, mentally, but I expect that at some point the memories of her past punishments will rear up and swallow her whole. When that happens make sure ye dinna let yerself get in over yer head. If she needs access to anything at all, whether that be medication or an appointment wi’ a psychologist, call me.”

Nodding, Jamie followed as Ned walked back into the room with a large smile on his face.

“Good news, Claire,” Dr Gowan said, his hand reaching for the elasticated bandages that lay on the tray table beside the reclined chair, “yer arm is looking fairly stable though you are going to have to keep it wrapped and secured to yer chest - at least while yer resting. I’ve spoken to Jamie just to make sure yer homecare routine is set, and I’m happy for you to go home and recover in private. How does that sound?”

Loitering in the doorway to her private room, Claire leaned forwards on her crutches, getting used to the sensation of the plastic covered metal that now rested beneath her armpits. Jamie had banished her as he packed the few belongings that she’d accrued into a bag that Murtagh had brought over a few days previously.

“Anyone would think ye couldna wait to get away, lass.” Jamie joked as he folded her last jumper - one that Ellen had knitted and sent down with Jenny - and placed on the top of the filled bag before zipping it closed and placing it on top of his own jacket.

“Are you sure you want me in your home, Jamie?” She asked, her eyes wide and sincere as she leaned most of her weight on her good leg and swung the other backwards and forwards.

She was shaking but trying to hide it with the motion of her cast.

“Dinna fash,” Jamie replied, making his way over to Claire slowly. Placing his hand gently on the swell of her cheek, he rubbed the pad of his thumb against her flushed skin, “Jenny and Suzette have been in and made ye the perfect room wi’ nice furniture and decor - something I know verra little about - but it’s safe to say that yer more than wanted in my home, Claire.”

Closing her eyes, Claire sighed and tilted her head so that it rested more fully in Jamie’s palm.

“Are ye scared, Claire?” Jamie asked honestly, feeling a slight quiver run through her.

“Terrified.” She confessed.

“I’m here. I promise ye that, lass. I told Ned the same. Whatever happens from here on out, I’ll get ye home. Do ye trust in that?”

“Yes,” she whispered lowly, “just don’t leave me here.”

“I willna do that.”

Walking down the hall towards the admissions reception, Jamie let Claire lead the way as he carried her belongings. They’d signed the release papers in the room and Claire was free to leave without any further checks. Worried about Claire’s admission and Dr Gowan’s warning, Jamie kept a close eye on Claire but he didn’t want to place any of his fears onto her just in case they manifest into reality when they wouldn’t otherwise have surfaced but he didn’t want to be caught unawares either.

“Murtagh’s coming for us.” Jamie said happily as he walked through the sliding doors next to Claire, his finger pointing towards the short term car park, “I think he’ll be waiting for us.”

“Did he not want to come in?” Claire asked, her voice wobbling a little as she spoke but she seemed to right herself as they turned left out of the hospital.

“I didna want to crowd ye, neither did he.” Jamie answered honestly, unwilling to openly lie to her about his intentions. “Ye’ve been through a lot, Claire,” he said, looking left and right as they crossed over the small road. She still seemed happy enough as they approached the small Ford containing Murtagh and wee Fergus, “and we just want ye home now, aye? Though I’m sure Jenny is arranging something to celebrate as we speak. She’s a whirlwind, that one.” He joked.

Climbing from the car, Murtagh rushed round to take the small bag from Jamie. Placing it in the boot he came back to open the front passenger side door for Claire. “Ye can sit up front wi’ me,” he said cheerfully, “or ye can keep Fergus company in the back. Where would ye like to sit, Claire?”

Claire had met Fergus before when Suzette had brought him to the hospital. It was strange, she knew about babies from her biology A Level all those years ago, but she’d never actually seen one. Fergus seemed incredibly fragile to her and, although she knew he was actually so very resilient and strong, his tiny limbs scared her.

Glancing through to the back seat, Claire locked eyes with wee Fergus, his bouncy curls -so very much like hers- sliding in front of his eyes as he scrunched his nose and laughed freely. Claire smiled along with him, captivated by his bonnie blue eyes and his varied facial expressions.

“I-I’ll sit in the back,” she said finally, stepping away from the front of the car towards the rear, “if you don’t mind that is.”

“O’ course no’!” Murtagh laughed. “Fergus likes the car, if ye put yer finger in his hand he’ll hold onto ye as we ride.”

Perching herself in the back, Jamie took the crutches from her and placed them in the boot before climbing into the front passenger seat beside Murtagh.

Listening for the click of her seatbelt as he did his own, Jamie watched Claire in the rear-view mirror as Murtagh pulled the car out of the car park and back onto the main road. She seemed comfortable enough but her gaze was fixed on the youngest Fraser bairn as Fergus smacked his lips together playfully. Jamie observed Fergus as he reached his tiny hand upwards, wiggling his fingers in between Claire’s curls as she bobbed her head as she let him play.

It wasn’t until - only moments from Jamie’s flat - Fergus gripped a little too hard that Claire’s mental wall finally came crumbling down. Jamie watched in subdued horror as her eyes glazed and she drew herself back as close to the door as possible. Sensibly, Fergus immediately let go of her hair and went back to tugging at the stuffed dog Murtagh had placed in his lap.

Claire didn’t make a sound but her heart was thudding mercilessly in her chest as she curled her good leg up towards her chest and squeezed her eyes closed. She could feel him circling her, his harsh grip keeping her head elevated as the invisible threat whirled around her in the small back seat. Bile rose along her throat and she clamped her mouth shut to stop herself from throwing up in Murtagh’s clean care.

Murtagh; she thought blearily…

...she wasn’t stuck, bound and gagged on the floor of her old home. No, she was safe, with Jamie and on her way to *his* flat. But she couldn’t pull herself from the memory. Biting her lip hard, Claire tried to repeat to herself over and over. It’s alright, she whispered to herself, he’s not here. I’m safe.

Strong arms surrounded her, the warmth of them giving her a reprieve from the daggers that were digging into her fragile flesh. She realised, belatedly, that she’d been clenching her body so tight that she’d begun to get pins and needles through her feet and hands and that her calves had started to cramp making them almost too sore to move.

“It’s okay,” she heard a far off voice mutter mirroring the words she’d been chanting to herself, “yer safe, a ghraidh. It’s alright.”

She was shaking so badly that Jamie had a hard time keeping hold of her as he carried Claire up the stairs towards the lift. Murtagh followed behind, one hand gripping solidly onto Fergus’ carrycot and the other holding Claire’s bag. They boarded the lift in silence, listening only to the shallow gasps of Claire’s breath as she panted through her panic. Jamie could feel her tense and relax as they stepped out of the lift on his floor and headed the short distance to his front door.

“Are ye just going to let her sleep?” Murtagh asked quietly.

“Aye, thanks Murtagh. I’ll stay wi’ her for now but I dinna think there’s much I can do other than keep talking to her.”

“She can hear ye so I’d say that’s a good bet. Once she’s fought through the worst of it she’ll be able to use yer voice to bring herself around I reckon.” Murtagh said wisely, placing Claire’s bag down and patting his nephew on the back. “I ken it doesna feel it when yer living through it, but she’s calmer now than she was in that hospital room. That’s something right, even if only a small victory?”

“Och, aye it is,” Jamie said quietly, smoothing the hair from Claire’s forehead as he wrapped the blankets around her trembling shoulders. “From what Ned said before we left this was pretty much a given considering her ordeal. It was more a matter of when she’d have her first panic attack rather than if.”

“J-Jamie?” Claire whispered, her throat rough and dry.

“I’m here Claire,” he replied, nodding to Murtagh as he quietly left Jamie and Claire be, closing the front door softly behind him. “Yer wi’ me, aye? Home.”

Squinting her eyes open, Claire shuffled as close to the edge of the bed as she could get and slipped her hand out from beneath the sheet. Jamie took it, his warm palm wrapping delicately around Claire’s.

“Thank you,” she said sleepily, her eyes opening and closing drowsily as she tried to keep herself awake, “for everything.”

#;Mod MBD #As Yet Unread #jamie x claire

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drmyler · 3 years

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Kafka - Psychoanalysis

Kafka, Metamorphosis a Psychoanalytical View

Dr Stephen F Myler PhD

Abstract:

Franz Kafka in 1916 wrote a short novella called Metamorphosis (1. Bantam Edition 2004) a book of immense psychological and insightful nightmare into the human condition. Here we will exam Kafka's masterpiece from a psychoanalytical perspective to see that this work was an insightful self examination of depression, mental health and the role of carers when love turns to loathing. To begin our journey for the non-reader of this famous text we will give a brief outline and then turn to the specific role of psychoanalytic insight from Freudian to Burns and beyond.

Introduction:

Kafka was born in 1883 a middle class Jewish boy, introverted, shy and inadequate, believed to be a result of a critical father, (2. Letter to his Father 1919) he was later educated in Prague in a German University however he went on in his spare time to write many works of outstanding literature. Here we are not going to delve into detailed life but satisfy ourselves with a small picture of the man as writer. Kafka was very driven and wrote daily through the night with a dedicated passion. Today he might be seen as OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Behaviour) prone to perfectionism. It is his perfectionist emotional driver that made his literature something very special.

Kafka wrote Metamorphosis in 1916 as a short novella about a young man who was the stalwart of the family, supporting an out of work critical father, a doting mother and childlike sister, in which our hero, Gregor Samsa was not popular at work and under daily stress of travel and deadlines to meet for which he felt a losing battle. In the beginning of the book he awakes from a troubling dream to find he has in fact turned into an ugly giant beetle his mind trapped in an alien body. From this beginning Gregor begins to explore his new limitations and narrow world view, his sight becomes dim, he cannot move without constant pain and great effort. His family are dependent on Gregor going to work, earning their keep and supporting their needs when suddenly he cannot no longer act in this role. His father is disgusted, his mother stricken and his younger sister while becoming his carer is repulsed by this new version of her brother. As time passes and he does not return to his old self – the family must make new plans to survive and now see him as their burden (roles reversed). In the beginning Gregor thought this was just a temporary situation that would soon pass and he would re-uptake his old life and continue forward. However in the end there is no solution and suffers a lonely eventual death.

In writing the following psychoanalytical analysis I have not read the many introductions, essays and critical insights of other writers. This was purposefully done to avoid contamination of my thinking process in treating Gregor as my patient in a psychoanalytical setting. I did not want to have the bias of others opinions to my way of seeing the text as the only evidence of the patients mental health problem.

The Patient:

Like any new psychological patient to the clinic a first one hour session would be usually conducted in two parts – the first – why have you come to see me? The second the clients ability to vent (tell their story in their own words) and so set the scene for further sessions. Lets imagine Gregor's typical answer to why have you come here.

Gregory: My family is very dependent on me to support them but lately I have been feeling very stressed by work and home alike. I had a very bad dream a few weeks ago and woke up in a deluded state in which I found it impossible to get our of bed. I just felt overwhelmed with exhaustion and the loss of will to keep going on with my miserable life. It was like I was some ugly bug that everyone despised and yet took for granted. All they want to do is squash my passion for life and replace it with their needs.

Psychoanalyst: It sounds very much as if you are stressed and reached what me might call a point of exhaustion – this means your energy has been depleted both physically and mentally. So to summarise – you are depressed right now from the burden of work and a non-supportive family environment and you feel you have given up trying to be the one who supports everyone else?

Gregory: Yes, it is like I was a donkey with burden I could no longer carry.

Psychoanalyst: Tell me a little of your background? (second part - venting)

Gregory: I have a very critical, controlling father who tries to dominate the household, however he is unemployed right now and his health has deteriorated through becoming lazy and irritable. My mother cowers to him and goes along with his demands even when unreasonable, I have a younger sister – she is just finishing her education but has not found any real outlet for her abilities just yet, she is kind and sweet but very nieve about the world at large. At work my supervisor while pleasant enough but he is also under pressure from our boss who like my father is controlling and micro manages our every move. This means you feel you are being scrutinized constantly and found lacking. I have to travel a lot for my work and often come home late and exhausted but then am expected to be there for the family as the main stay of their comforts. I do not have time for relationships and I am probably not a very good catch for any girl who might have any interest in me beyond the obvious. At home things have changed now that I have been fired and lost my income. My sister has started to care for me more and tries constantly to rescue me from my mood swings, however my mother has just fell apart and cries insistently about her poor boy yet shy away from actually helping me. As for my father he is even more disgusted by me than ever as I forced him to go out and find work, he even took in some lodgers to help make ends meet and so the burden has passed to my mother and sister to keep the household clean and fed. We have had some cooks and cleaners but they have mostly left because they refuse to have anything to do with me. I cannot really think of much else to tell you – but at least I feel I managed to get it all out.

Psychoanalyst: I think that gives me quite a lot to think about Gregor and you have been very clear and systematic in the way you have explained the background. Tell me how are you actually feeling right now?

Gregory: A little relieved to have finally explained myself and someone listened without a sneer on their face or laughing at me. Thank you for that. In general I know that everyday I feel sad and tired by life – I just want to lay down and sleep – that somehow when I wake up everything will be normal again – that I can function and have some sort of life.

Psychoanalyst: Well we have had our time today Gregor, an hour can pass very quickly the first visit. I hope to see you are least once a week for an hour, in the meantime I have a little homework exercise for you to complete for me. A one page biography of your family, where you grew up, your education, relationships and the current here and now situation. I know you have told me some of this already but it will help save some time in sessions by having a short version of your life so far. Please send to me via email before our next session so that I can read and analyse the content before you come. Here is my card and details. If at anytime you feel you are in crisis and need me – please call for an earlier appointment.

Gregory: Thank you Doctor, I will see you same time next week.

Psychoanalytical Analysis of the First Session:

For insurance purposes the analyst is forced to write a psychiatric number and diagnosis. This labelling is not a reflection of the true nature of the mental health problem but merely a forced situation in order to get paid. In Gregor's case – Clinical Depression DSM V 296.3.

In reality a psychological outcome may have been Reactive Depression to stress at both home and work leading to a lack of everyday cognitive functioning in both thought and behaviour.

Clearly in this case – depression is the key element from signs of mental exhaustion, a sense of hopelessness and helplessness from the role reversal of stalwart breadwinner to helpless victim in need of rescuing by his sister in particular – the constant disappointment to both his parents and rejection of his work colleagues. At his stage we do not have enough data to surmise the underlying unconscious drives that might be fueling his depressive state other than the external pressures of family and work. In further sessions the need will be met from a more in depth scrutinizing of his emotional world and inner conflicts. He clearly feels alone in his burden although the sister is obviously doing her mother's duty of care. The client mentioned a bad dream – this can be further pursued for unconscious motivations.

Further Sessions:

Over 20 or more sessions – Gregor's analogy of being an ugly beetle are further explored and his relationships with both family and work – more importantly his feelings about himself and his depressive state. It also became clear that his family were now neglecting his everyday needs for nutritious food, care and comfort. They in fact have become physically violent towards him causing him to further withdraw into his delusional world where he feels he is nothing more than an ugly beetle that should be stamped upon. Risk of suicide has now become evident in his demeanour. His appearance shows he is not looking after his ablutions, clothing is dirty and unkempt and he has lost considerable weight. He was also becoming lethargic in that he no longer cared what happened to him as long as this constant pain would cease (pain being mental anguish). His sister although dutiful in looking after him has lost heart in him getting better and so now only is a functional caregiver as opposed to a empathetic one. His biography homework showed that his father was not only controlling but bitter in that he lost a business owing considerable money to Gregor's employer who now expected him to pay off his fathers debts through a reduced salary for his own work putting considerable burden on him to support the family at home. The mother was ashamed of the home situation and was too weak to stand up to her husband in any matters of economy or otherwise. The sister was in the past spoiled and now resented her reduced situation and blamed Gregor for being sick. Again adding to his feelings of alienation and being alone.

Sadly Gregor died after the end of the sessions from self-neglect – basically willing his life to cease as he saw no longer any purpose to it. His father had found new employment, the mother felt relieved to see her son no longer in this life suffering and the sister finally felt free of her own burden that being her brother. While psychoanalysis would have hoped for a different outcome – the book itself determined the ending that we have to accept.

Conclusion:

While Franz Kafka meant his novella of Metamorphosis to be a comic tragedy of a wasted life it springs out at any educated reader in the art of psychoanalysis as a perfect example of chronic depression and futility. Those in this delusional state often contemplate suicide although mostly via ideation (I think it but don't), however self neglect is very common trait that leads to slow death from a lack of self care. When you have a non-supportive family, where their needs are being thwarted by your mental state – then further rejection can cause a spiralling effect of deeper resentment about your own part in the downfall of your mind. Many depressives play victim (3. Berne 1960's) inviting others to rescue them – when in fact they need to rescue themselves – but in the end they become their own persecutor and further victimize themselves to that bitter ending of death.

In real life via treatment for depression a sense of purpose is sought from the client in that he can see a new fresh change to his circumstances despite the battle of a non-supportive family and hostile work environment that is all to common in today's economy. In Gregor's case over time he would have explored his past traumas and realized the underlying demons that led to his lack of self assurance and efficacy to find a new solution to his mood.

Summery:

This paper was an exercise in psychoanalysis from a famous work of literature and reflects the art of the analyst who tries to understand the underlying concepts of the unconscious mind in creating monsters from our own imagination to battle with when we reach that point of exhaustion both physically and mentally called – depression.

References:

1. Kafka F. 1915 – Metamorphosis – Bantam Edition 2004

2. Kafka F. 1919 – Letter to his Father – Bantam Ed 2004

3. Bernes E. 1960's – Transactional Analysis – various volumes.

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nettheworldonfire · 4 years

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If the Genes Fit, Test Them.

It’s been 2 weeks since I’ve last posted. Somewhere between the drama and chaos that was diagnosis, first treatment, and weaning my 6.5 month old external tumor, and now the end of life as we know it (also known as COVID-19), I just didn’t have much to say, or much time to say it.

So while Charlie is sleeping, and Olive is screaming at me in her typical zombie-esque growl and tossing each toy I give to her on the ground, repeatedly, I’ll painstakingly stop and start this post, until I’ve given a short update about all that has been going on.

Genetic Counseling Update: On Wednesday I spoke to a genetics counselor over the phone. I was supposed to go in, but the appointment was modified due to COVID-19 and we took care of everything via phone. The counselor’s name was Stephanie and she was extremely kind and informative. She called me promptly at 8 am and the call lasted almost exactly one hour, like she said it would. (I kind of wish all appointments were this easy.) They are sending me out a saliva swab kit to test my DNA. The kit should arrive within a week, I’ll send it back out, and I should have those results within a month. Easy peasy.

Stephanie said that about 10% of neuroendocrine tumor patients are genetically predisposed to getting cancer. While only about 1 of those percents are people with my type of neuroendocrine tumors, due to my family history, they think it is smart to check. On my mother’s side, I have a second cousin who also has pancreatic neuroendocrine tumors and liver metastasis (she recently started Lanreotide injections, too). Additionally, my mother’s father had a neuroendocrine tumor on his spine, near the nape of his neck, which they assumed was was not cancerous, even though it was fatal. He was diagnosed in the 70s though, and then Neuroendocrine tumors were thought to not be cancerous because of how slow-growing they are. When I was diagnosed 8 years ago, we tried to access his records from his more recent Jefferson hospital stays/surgeries (he passed away in the early 2000s) but we were not able to obtain them. Anyway - that is enough to make this a fishy scenario. And in the words of the counselor, “reasonable to think there is an underlying genetic predisposition.”

While the most important reason for genetic testing right now is to find out if my immediate family may also be at risk for these type of tumors, it can also be helpful to know what treatments may be beneficial. If an underlying genetic cause is found, it would trigger two things - testing for my mother and brothers, and testing for my children. A genetic predisposition has a 50/50 chance of being passed to your children, so therefore, if I have it (presumably from my mother, since it’s on that side of the family) it would typically indicate that she does and my brothers and children have a 50/50 chance of having it, too. There is yet a third consideration though - which is that it is a NEW genetic predisposition started with ME. Apparently, there are 10 new genes in each baby, that did not come from either mother or father, meaning that issues like these can start with anyone, at any point (crazy, huh?).

They told us that this testing, if not covered by insurance, costs $250 per person - something I think is worth it, in the long run. I don’t think they would test my children now, but they said they would fairly early - and if they also have the gene - they would be followed/scanned regularly to ensure there are no tumors. Definitely not the sort of thing you want to have passed down to the kids (I think they would prefer a family fortune, or a shorehouse) - so fingers crossed that I don’t have this gene and it’s all just a horribly shitty coincidence.

Adventures of Olive in Formula-land Update: My (adorable) hungry, hungry hippo is now taking 25-30 ounce of formula daily, from a regular medela bottle with a disposable enfamil nipple (go figure), like a freaking champion. This girl can eat. She is so proud of her bottle-loving self, that she gets up three or four times a night to show me how much she loves her fancy formula. Luckily, she is four months away from regular old milk (or an abundance of yogurt and cheese, the route Charlie opted for) and we can stop spending $30 a week on her elitist beverage of choice. I joke, but really I am thrilled that the horror of weaning is over. That nearly killed me. And in more personal news, I didn’t even have to pump that long, didn’t really get sore, and have pretty much stopped producing much at all - so that is a literal relief.

University Update: After learning I was locked into paying for the course I had started a few days before my diagnosis, I was annoyed and anxious about what was the best course of action. I decided that it would be better, for the purposes of my sabbatical (and needing to complete a certain amount of my program to meet the requirements of my district and not owe them back what I’ve earned this year) to struggle through the course, versus withdrawing, if we were paying for it either way. So that’s what I did. But, but rather than struggle through the course, I just kind of didn’t do anything. I felt overwhelmed even thinking about it, so it was easier not to. And I didn’t. This past week, as week 8 (the final week) of my course began, I discussed my options for salvaging the course, so that I might at least “pass” with my chairperson. She was accommodating and understanding, and now with even more craziness in the world, sympathetic. She and I discussed a minimalist approach to completing back-work and hitting the milestones I missed in the last few weeks, so that I could still get some late credit. I felt like so many of my students, basically asking, “What is the very least amount of work I can do and still pass your class?” I suppose what goes around, comes around?

I started working my dissertation proposal again Thursday and will have more to work on this weekend - but should be able to pull off a small miracle. I did send a crass email to the finance department and will likely be taking a hiatus from the program, as I am not sure where to go from here. While I want to finish this dissertation and accomplish what I set out to -- I also just don’t give an eff at this point, and may want to spend the tiny bits of spare time I have doing things that make me genuinely happy. After all, you only live (or die) once, and If the last two months say anything about life, well - that’s enough to scare anyone into treating each day as your last.

Side-effects Update: After my first injection, I felt okay for awhile, then got extremely tired for about two hours. Later that night, I was quite nauseous and vomited a couple times. By the next day, I felt a little wonky and sick - but overall, not terrible (more like a bad hangover). Within two or three days, I think I felt normal again (what is normal anyway?). Even now, almost three weeks later, I can still feel a bulbous spot in my upper butt cheek and from time to time it is sore. I can definitely see why they recommend doing the injection on alternate sides. The specialty pharmacy called me this week and everything is set up for my shot to arrive at Dr. Rose’s office sometime next week. He should be back to work on Monday and I am hoping he calls me with next steps/ideas. The only thing I know for sure is that I need to get blood work next week and I am not looking forward to sitting at Labcorp and germ swapping with my Abington area neighbors, but I will be careful.

Anxiety Update: I started a daily dose of 5 mg of Lexapro about the same time as I started the Lanreotide - I think I have been on it for 25 days maybe. I can’t really tell if I feel a difference because everything has calmed down a bit, and we have a plan of action to tackle this cancer and I am not actively writing my dissertation - or if the medication is working? Hard to say. I do feel better(ish), minus the impending shitstorm that is COVID-19 lurking around every corner. My doctor, however, didn’t think I was any more susceptible than a normal 37 year old, so that was the good news. The bad news is, that if they start making triage decisions based on health - metastatic cancer is one of the things that means you don’t get a ventilator - so I better watch my back (and wash my hands, and not touch my face, and all that jazz). We’re socially distanced though, and other than my appointments, we will remain that way until things are less deathy out there.

Options Update: I am assuming that the whole COVID-19 thing has changed his thoughts on doing the embolization in April, and since Dr. Teitelbaum felt it was something we could hold off on, I think that may be the route we go now. I don’t even know if they would do it, or if it would be considered elective. Not that anyone would elect to go through this, but you know. Hoping I will have a conversation with him on Monday to sort this all out. Til then...

* Dark side: Quarantine, still, and maybe forever.

* Bright side: A lull in posts means a lull in “activity” means a lull in bad news - I’ll take it! * Next steps:

3/30/20 - Conversation with Dr. Rose about the plan of action

4/1/20 - 10:00 a.m. - Bloodwork at Labcorp

4/6/20 (tentatively) - next Lanreotide injection (I forgot to write down the time!)

* Sciencey GIF:

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bbyrina-blog1 · 7 years

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The Bald Headed Girl Who Was Allergic to the Color Blue

You probably have no idea what you’re about to read. I must first state that I am not asking for pity by writing this, nor am I a professional writer. I probably won’t even proof read or edit. If you came across this you might know me from life experience or just from my internet presence. If you don’t know me, my name is Marina and I am 19 living in South Florida. But let’s cut to the chase: my disease.

I’m not one to open up to others, for the sole reason that I understand that most people don’t give a fuck about other people’s problems. Harsh truth? (TBH I don’t fall into this category, I actually care a lot so if you ever need a listening ear, I’m here). For this reason, most people don’t know a lot about me, because I either choose not to share it, or because nobody ever seems that interested. However, I woke up this morning feeling a bit alone in my situation, and thought that maybe writing about it would help. If you made it this far, I applaud you and honestly thank you. But the story starts here.

As a child, I lived under the roof of two pretty “perfect” people in Perry Hall, Maryland. Obviously, everyone has their own set of flaws, but these two people, my parents, specifically valued being the best. They are type-A personalities, you know, always having to be perfect. Everyone always looked to my mom, dad, brother and I as something to be envious of. When I entered middle school, I started my battle with mental illness and realized I wasn’t as liked by boys like the rest of the girls. Everyone goes through their insecurities and battles as a child or young adult but I was able to find a place eventually and get over it until I entered high school. High school was the peak of my insecurities. I always got up early to make sure my makeup and hair was looking right. I still got bullied in school and had no real friends for a long time, but I also enjoyed being called beautiful by a lot of people. I don’t want to discuss all the details of that time, but being “beautiful” came to a quick close by the end of my high school career.

Because of family issues, I moved from Maryland all the way to Miami. The few people I spoke with were jealous that i was getting to live near everyone’s favorite vacation spot. However, it was a huge change for me. All of the changes had a play on my physical and mental health. You may think that in this essay I’m going to just go into depth about my depression or my anxiety. But I’m actually going to skip that all together. When I moved to Florida, what I noticed most was that: my hair was falling out. If you knew me, my butt-length thick head of hair was what people complimented me on the most. It was my favorite physical trait of myself. Because I thought the rest of me was ugly, and not favored by society, I thought I would never cut my hair. I almost hid behind it. So when I started noticing long strands of black hair, at the time, all over the floor and furniture I was confused. I honestly don’t remember thinking that much of it because I was used to my hair being everywhere, because I had so much of it. But over time my mom and I realized that it wasn’t normal.

In 11th grade I continued dying my long hair black, but during the summer before 12th grade I decided to make the big chop. I thought that maybe if I cut the inches and inches of hair that I grew out for so long, that maybe the hair quality would be better. But I was mistaken. By the end of the summer, I decided to never dye my hair again. I thought that over-processing my hair was the cause of my hair loss, mixed in with my mental state. I went to all types of dermatologists and doctors, they all told me it was something everyone went through. This is one of the reasons why I don’t like doctors. They ASSUMED everything was fine, by the looks of my thick hair. No one believed that I was losing so much because I had thicker hair than most. So, I believed what they told me and just tried to be stress-free so it would stop.

When I started my senior year of high-school, and my hair loss was getting worse by the day, my dad decided to reach out to a commercialized or “famous” hair loss doctor who happened to work in my city. He was featured on that Dr. Oz show. So I was hopeful since he had so much credibility from what I could understand. I started doing monthly visits to his office. An appointment would really consist of doctors measuring hair strands and taking photographs of my head, to keep a watch on hair growth or loss. They would ask me questions, wash/massage my scalp, do treatments, stuff like that. The measurements concluded that my hair loss was getting worse, even though they tried to act like it was getting better, so the business would continue. There’s a limited amount of things to do to help someone with hair loss. You either need to “take a chill pill” or spend money on some sort of treatment that may not even work. The options here were to either take their Minoxidil treatment, A.K.A. what you may know as ROGAINE (Minoxidil is the only proven drug to help hair loss, but it only works for a small percentage of people and it must be taken daily for the rest of your life), or do a PRP treatment. Platelet-rich Plasma is when they take a certain amount of your own blood from your wrist and then mix that blood with platelet proteins and its supposedly supposed to promote hair growth. PRP treatment is used for variety of other things, but I don’t know much about it. The treatment cost about $3000 I believe, and with my families situation, it was not in the picture for a while. But the day came in December 2015 that we decided to move forward with the PRP.

I remember it being sooo painful for me because I’m a pussy when it comes to needles. They basically numb your head, which is where I felt the pain from, and then inject the PRP. There was atleast 10 numbing needles in my head, I was literally crying and having to take breaks because the fact that NEEDLES were going into my head seemed like a situation that I would never come across. When the procedure finished, my head was extremely swollen. It was the worst week post-procedure. I couldn’t even sleep because I had to tape up my head until the swelling went down. I can barely remember the entire thing. I don’t think I told anyone I went through that because I didn’t feel like explaining. Some people knew that I went for “head surgery” but none asked why. I assumed my hair would grow super fast because of that treatment, because of all the pain I endured and money that was spent. But obviously if PRP was a cure to baldness, then no one would be bald. (LOL).

My last few months of high school, it was obvious, at least to me, that my hair was super thin compared to its previous state. I even remember at my last visit with that doctor that the thinnest section of my hair, the front, was measured to be thinner than someone with actually thin hair from birth. I was so disappointed and just overall shocked. How could someone with thick hair, with no family signs of hair loss go through this? I got super depressed. No one could give me a real diagnosis and my family, being the only ones who knew, just kinda shrugged it off. “It will go away if you just do yoga, or try to stop being sad” kinda thing. I know no one else who had to go through this at my age. It really is something that no one talks about, especially girls. I was supposed to find my peace in knowing that I had beautiful hair and now that part of me was taken from me.

In 2016 my mom found a doctor that worked at the University of Miami hospital that was supposed to be really great. This time, I didn’t really have high hopes. The appointment had to be scheduled like 8 months prior because she was booked so much. I got to finally go see her in December 2016. The day I was in, she had a bunch of college students shadowing her, so it was me and like 12 people in a room. I have social anxiety so when she ended up doing a small procedure I had to ask everyone to leave hahaha. The students were actually my favorite part of the visit, all of them were so sweet and comforting. They traveled from all around the world just to shadow this doctor so I felt better about it. Before the procedure, though, she analyzed my head and showed me it on a screen. She was able to see the future of my hair follicles, this was something the previous doctor didn’t have. She meant business, and she was going to diagnose me with something other than just “stress”. When the images of my scalp were portrayed on the screen, the students around looked fascinated but kind of sad. I saw it in their eyes, something was wrong. The doctor continued by telling me that there was something abnormal with my scalp. She said that she needed to conduct a biopsy. When she told me this I think I passed out just from being overwhelmed, that’s when the students were asked to leave. A biopsy is usually taken when looking for cancer. The doctor had to make sure that I didn’t have a tumor. A biopsy is when a piece of your skin is cut off, basically, and taken for research. With the numbing, it didn’t hurt that bad. We were told that we would receive a call with the results, and that we had to schedule another set of appointments to check for allergies.

A couple days later, my mother got the call. The doctor told me that I was diagnosed with Androgenetic Alopecia. I’m pretty sure I went up to my room and cried for like an hour. I think I knew that I had alopecia. Everyone tried to tell me otherwise, to either make me feel better or from just being ignorant of how bad it was. I still do everything I can to try to hide it. I have basically a quarter of the hair I used to have 3 years ago and it worsens by the day. I also have side effects that influence the pigment of my hair. I have random chunks of gray hair and it truly sucks. I still can’t even process the fact. It’s not something people ask or talk about so I haven’t really told anyone specifically about it. The few I’ve told don’t really believe me, and my parents still think it’s all in my head. I wrote this to tell the world that I indeed DO have alopecia. In other words, one day, I may not have hair anymore. Only 2% of people are at risk for alopecia. My parents have very thick hair, and no one that we know of in the family has this. It must have skipped a few generations then to get to me. When I was called back for my allergy testing appointments, it was found that I was extremely allergic to cobalt. Who knew? My entire life I had an allergy I didn’t know existed. There really is nothing online about an allergy to cobalt specifically, though a lot of people connect it with other metals like nickel. Cobalt is in most foods because it is found in vitamin B. It also is found in a lot of products so I have to watch what I use now. I started using wooden utensils and have to paint my keys with clear nail polish. And I can’t forget, I’m also allergic to the color blue. A percentage of cobalt is used to create blue dye, so I’ve had to watch to not buy anymore blue clothes or makeup products lmao. It’s not deadly because of how small cobalt is used in these products, obviously I’ve been alive this long without knowing. But It really made me more conscious of what I was doing with my body.

So yes, I have alopecia. I’m allergic to the color blue. I have mental illness, I’m anxious, I’m skinny, I’m an outsider but I’m still amazing. At some point I may have to shave all of my hair off, which I don’t think my family wants to understand or think about. I still don’t feel accepted by them. It’s hard for me to hear jokes about bald people. I do the most to hide it as much as I can everyday and I’ve gotten to the point where I don’t go out unless I have to. Most people don’t think twice about having hair. Most of us have it. Only when something is taken from you do you recognize it’s importance to you. I thought that maybe If I shared this with you that I would feel better about being open. I still think I’ll always be beautiful no matter what, because beauty to me comes from the inside. I know I have a long road ahead of me. A tough one. But I know that everything inflicted on me is for a purpose. I know that these things happen to me so I can help other people struggling with the same thing. This is my reassurance. Thank you for reading if you made it to the end. The purpose of this is to share the message that you don’t know all the little things someone is going through. You need to be loving to everyone you encounter. It’s important. We must be the light for the world, no matter what we look like.

#writing

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ammonyte · 3 years

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“A Big Part of Living Is Rest. Embrace That.”

Tara M.

Brooklyn, New York, United States

Weirdest Migraine Symptom: My heart rate accelerates when I least expect it.

Most Predictable Trigger: Lack of sleep.

Best Migraine Friend: Ubrelvy helps me as it’s less important to take it at the onset of an attack.

Most Amusing Pain Distraction: My cat, Malake. It’s impossible to hate the universe for trashing my brain in the presence of so much cuteness.

How and when did you first get diagnosed with Migraine? Any specific type?

On March 7th, 2018, I blacked out in the shower. My vision went dark. I had to be very careful not to crash into anything as I maneuvered myself out of the tub and onto the living room floor.

As I lay there a headache came on.

Two or three weeks later the headache persisted. I was in constant pain. The pain seemed more intense around the back of my head and my neck felt stiff and sore.

I would get dizzy spells so eventually I saw a neurologist at Weill Cornell. She diagnosed me with New Daily Persistent Headache and explained that the trick would be to “disrupt” the headache. We tried numerous different drugs from anti-seizure meds to steroids.

After the first year, the dizziness started to worsen. I would also overheat easily, and walking became harder for me.

A year ago, my neurologist sent me to a new neurologist at the Headache Center at Weill Cornell. To my diagnosis of NDPH, he added: Vestibular Migraine.

The reason the dizziness, balance, and autonomic symptoms had become more prevalent was that my case was intractable and we couldn’t disrupt the headache in time.

What lifestyle changes have you made to help prevent Migraine attacks?

I’ve started using a cane to get around. It’s a weird thing. I felt pretty self-conscious the first time using the cane.

Thankfully, I live in a city full of weirdos so nobody seems to care that I’m this young-looking 30-something wearing chunky Doc Marten’s and rocking a stick.

What was the turning point in your Migraine Journey?

The most positive turning point was meeting my current headache specialist. I’ve had some doubts about the treatments we’ve tried together but he assures me he has a whole arsenal of possibilities and something will eventually work.

He also told me that the monthly injections do sometimes take a longer time to kick in for refractory cases like mine.

He always says, “I have hope!” which doesn’t seem like much, but I allow myself to believe him and that’s something.

Who has been the biggest help to you on your Migraine Journey, and how?

I’m blessed with the love of some really really good people.

My friend Kat (I call her Panda) is one of the closest things to family I have in New York (and in the United States). She drives me to appointments, to the hospital, and to the pharmacy. She lets me talk – ok, complain – about it as much as I need to.

She even joined a Vestibular Migraine Sub-Reddit so she could understand it all better. She’s just there for me.

My mom lives on the other side of the world, and it’s been especially challenging knowing we can’t travel to see each other the past year because of COVID. We talk on the phone most days, though.

I come from a long line of very strong women, and that feeling of always having somewhere safe to land is just immeasurably important.

She says she wishes she could bundle me up, nurse me to health for a year, then send me on my way.

I sort of wish for that, too, although I’m deeply grateful that, so far, I’ve maintained my independence.

My two neurologists. They are smart and classy and I trust them.

What is the most surprising thing you have learned about Migraine during your Journey?

Some people say “Migraine isn’t just a headache,” which is true. But for Vestibular Migraine, it often isn’t even a headache. I read that many people with VM don’t get head pain at all and that creates a real diagnostic challenge.

I’m one of the lucky ones who does have the pain (a lot of it) so my diagnosis was pretty straightforward once I was in front of an actual headache specialist. Lucky me!

I suppose the more surprising learning was that it is actually possible to have a Migraine that lasts for years.

What’s your advice to someone else living with Migraine?

Go straight to a headache specialist. You’ll have to wait a while to get an appointment, but use that time to keep a journal of what and when you eat, your sleep, stress, etc. so you can take that data into your first appointment with you.

We’re conditioned in this life to believe we’re not worth anything unless we’re being productive, and I’m here to tell you that’s nonsense.

You’re alive to be alive, and a big part of living is rest. Embrace that.

What’s the next step on your Migraine Journey?

My big goal is to improve enough to be back on campus in the fall, at least for one day a week. I’m back in physical therapy, this time working on my balance. I’m taking a new med for the dizziness. I have the summer to take some radical steps towards a more tenable situation. Wish me luck.

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Helpful Resources from this Journey

What Should You Know About Vestibular Migraine?(Article)

What Should You Know About Neck Pain and Migraine? Dr. Andrew Charles Answers The Most Common Questions(Article)

What Should You Know About Migraine Pain? Dr. Andrew Charles Answers the Most Common Questions(Article)

Submit Your Journey Here

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ellieptical · 7 years

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Getting a little self-indulgent

I often see that post going round about women being misdiagnosed because Drs don’t listen to them or think they’re being hysterical and I add bits to it but I kinda just want to talk about my experience here. This is going to be kinda graphic and teeth related.

So when I was 7 I’d had some headaches/toothache for a little bit but not really done or said much about it and then one day my top gum started leaking pus and blood. A lot. Mum took me to an emergency dentist who said I had an infection and gave me some antibiotics. A few weeks, maybe even only a week later it happened again, a lot. So mum took me to the dentist who said it looked like some sort of cyst or something in the gum area, but sent me to the hospital to check. X-Ray or two later and it was diagnosed as a cyst in my upper maxilla with an adult tooth that had grown up instead of down and was pressing on the nerves around my eye .The orthodontist shortly before slipping and sending the anaesthetic needle through the front of my lip rather than into my gum used this exact phrase to a 7 year old “if we don’t remove it you’ll go blind” so I had it removed through a Caldwell-Luc operation (don’t google this when eating or about to have one), they removed some jaw bone and removed the cyst and tooth. Boom all fixed.

At 13 I wanted straight teeth, so I went to the orthodontist who took an x-ray and told me I couldn’t have a brace (I already had a retainer) because there was a gap in my jaw bone and I’d have to have a bone graft from my hip. So I declined this. I wanted straight teeth but not that much, this will very much come back to bite me in the arse later.

I felt lethargic, unwell, sore, headachey, nauseous, tired, angry, achey, tight in the jaw for a while, through uni, and early work days. It got worse and worse, my jaw started to get stuck so i couldn’t open it, my neck would start burning, I’d feel like my shoulders were on fire, I’d feel so impossibly exhausted. I started going for tests it was not: thyroid, cancer, a tumour on my adrenal gland, kidneys, diabetes, ME, CFS, Fibromyalgia, hypoglycaemia. Ferritin stores result came back very low. Took iron tablets, this didn’t fix it. Was referred to Maxillo-facial (henceforth macsfacs) who deemed it to be temporomandibular joint disorder. The consultant who diagnosed me also had TMJ and said on a bad flare up he’d rather get booted in the balls. Well that pain level seemed to tally with the pain I was feeling. So I took the tablets and hoped I’d learn to live with it. I did not. The pain got worse, I missed days and days of work. I would have attacks of pain for no reason, nothing would trigger them, or there’d be a draft at work and all of a sudden I’d lose three days due to pain so bad I couldn’t speak. I’d forget how words worked, I told someone I liked their sheep - I meant shoes. I’d start trembling, and lose feeling in my hands and feet, I start slurring my words, I’d pass out. Then I’d be mostly fine, sore and achey but fine really. But I kept going back to my doctor, and off for the next round of tests. I finally went to see macfacs and I saw an old, white male consultant, who sat in front of me as I cried hysterically and explained to him that the pain was so bad that I was going to step in front of a bus because it was intolerable and I will never forget what he said to me “well, I think you’re probably exaggerating, it’s not that painful or you wouldn’t be able to do half the things you do” I sort of gold-fished, and he said he was standing by the junior consultants diagnoses of TMJ and that I’d “get used to it eventually”. A few months later I was sitting outside my BSL course when I had one of my fits, I couldn’t feel my feet, I couldn’t say anything, I couldn’t ask for help. I was terrified. It passed, I was exhausted but I got through the class. I walked home.

I called my mum at 2am the next morning, screaming down the phone that I was dying and didn’t know what I was doing, I kept asking her for help but gave her no instructions or anything, largely because I didn’t know I’d called her and left a voicemail on her machine. I think somehow texted my housemate with just the word ‘help’. She came bounding upstairs and helped. She tried asking me questions but I was out of it, I was just screaming, and she called my Mum who was already panicked trying to get a taxi after being woken up by her only child screaming into her answerphone that she was dying. I guess my dad was in respite at this point I don’t know. Eventually my housemate called an ambulance and they did the usual questions and determined I was probably having a stroke. Spoiler alert: I was not. The ambulance came, and the little man on the bike, and the slightly smaller ambulance - it felt unnecessary for 4 people to come out but they did and it cost me not a penny BECAUSE THE NHS IS FUCKING INCREDIBLE!!!!, and they took me downstairs whilst I flailed about and reassured my other housemate whom I worked with that I’d be ‘in tomorrow just a bit late’. I don’t really remember too much except a) gas and air is fucking incredible! b) i kept telling my mum and the man with the bleeding face next to me that I’d left my keys at home and I wasn’t wearing a bra. I eventually got seen and by this point the pain was subsiding and I kept apologising profusely but the A+E doctor pointed out that I’d experienced pain severe enough that a dispatcher and 4 paramedics (one of whom really thought I should have been admitted for a brain scan not put through A+E but it was 3 am so...) thought I was having a stroke. Not to worry but here were some lovely drugs.

A few weeks later I saw my doctor again who this time thought it might be ME as nothing else was tying in but wanted to just rule out anything neurological so referred me to another Dr who as I described things listened and then sent me for a different scan. I got a referral through to ENT because it turned out there was a piece of bone in my face that shouldn’t be there. Basically the boney part of the cyst from when I was 7, they’d only removed the soft tissue. So I had an operation and they removed that. Some of the pain stopped. I didn’t have the same issues but it still didn’t feel right. I ended up seeing a locum as my doctor was off with their own medical issues. I kept saying it feels like there’s some swelling in my face and so I got two courses of antibiotics because eventually they referred me back. Another scan. Then an appointment out of nowhere with macfacs.

Turns out macfacs has done a lot of reshuffling because everyone is new and when I mention the old guy they all go ‘ah yeah, he’s gone now’ with the strong implication that he was a cunt - possibly my inference but whatever. Turns out I had a tumour in my face. It’s benign in almost all cases, mine included thank god, but it’s rare 3% of the population get it, and almost always men, and it’s aggressive it’s main deal is that it recurs. I had one when I was 7, in 2012 and in 2015. It gets into bone and takes over. It’s why after my first operation my bone didn’t heal and I have a hole in my jawbone now. Like I said... shoulda got that brace! They’d have seen what was going on then. So I had another operation at Xmas in 2015. I had the bone inside my upper maxilla, removed and sanded down, the nerves scraped or removed, and painted with essentially embalming fluid, I lost a tooth because the fluid touched it. It was a joint op between ENT and macfacs. I have to go back every year for 10 years and there’s something lurking but it seems to be just the weird shape I’ve healed into but I’m not taking it for granted. I still get some pain and flare ups because my bone is still regrowing. I can’t feel my top left lip at all or a lot of my cheek either. I have a permanently damaged shoulder because of hunching with the pain. I know now because they told me that I had trigeminal neuralgia as a symptom of this tumour, which it’s rare that it would have a tumour as an underlying cause but I did. It can flare up from eating, from the wind on your face or from nothing at all. I explained to person after person what I was feeling and it took so long to get a diagnosis and a fix. The only reason I got it was because of my Doctor who listened and persisted. She’s a female doctor. There are three other female medical professionals in this story. The paramedic who thought I should have a brain scan, the A+E doctor who told me my pain was valid and the neurologist who listened and thought to send me for a different type of scan. They all listened to what I was saying, or slurring. My doctor kept trying, she didn’t abandon me, she really did everything she could. Including handing me copious amounts of tissues whilst I hysterically sobbed at her. So many of the male doctors I saw and see regularly now are lovely and so kind but I had to fight to get them to listen, they had to be shown evidence before they’d believe me.

I am so grateful that this whole debacle was on the NHS it didn’t impact me financially, I was able to work, I am very aware of the privileges I have but it’s only now as I start to feel fully better (well, the iron is still an issue), and have a friend experiencing migraines so look up things for her that I start to realise how much shit I went through and how angry I am that something that should have been solved when I was 13 was only solved when I was 29. If you know something isn’t right with your body keep persisting, get someone to come in with you - preferably a man, change doctors if you have to and you have that luxury, ask for a second opinion.

And finally, if one more person says ‘oh it’s like having a wisdom tooth out’ I am going to fucking put pressure on their trigeminal nerve!!!!

#about me #needed to vent #dentistry #doctors #god bless the nhs #illness #pain

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