So it seems I've found my Holy Grail and it's goat-shaped.

Dysautonomia is a weird collection of illnesses. Even if you are lucky enough to find your subtype (eg Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS), Neurocardiogenic Syncope (NCS), Pure Autonomic Failure(PAF)) that is no guarantee you'll know the specific cause of your subtype. One glance at patient forums and you'll find that the majority of patients seem to have either no, or only a rough, idea of what is causing their symptoms. It's one of the conundrums with research in the area. Even in a room full of POTS patients, the causes can be as varied as autoimmune diseases, mitochondrial disorders, connective tissue disorders and a plethora of genetic conditions. If you're stuck with only a weird collection of autonomic symptoms (waves from this side of the keyboard) the choices are even greater. But we all hold out hope of finding our particular cause.

You see until you know your underlying cause all you are doing is managing your symptoms. That's not a cure. And frequently, given the complexity of our presentations, not all that successful. Finding your cause is the illness equivalent of the quest for the Holy Grail. Something very few seem lucky enough to do, either due to complexity or a lack of medical support. But a cause gives you something to actively treat and potentially, cure.

I can't even begin to articulate how important having a name for what you are experiencing can be. Legitimacy, tangibility, hope. It's all wrapped up in that diagnostic title. The shadow is gone. The grey is gone. And good or bad, the defeat of that uncertainty, can be an amazingly cathartic experience.

For seven years I have sought my Holy Grail. Frequently, the search has been more Monty Python-esque, than inspirational quest. I have lived the hope/disappointment cycle throughout. Hope for a cause/diagnosis/treatment, and disappointment time and again. I wrote about the toll it takes way back in my first post:

"How do you explain to someone that not getting a serious or life-threatening diagnosis is disappointing? After months of living with uncertainty and the fear and the doubt it generates, you start to long for a concrete diagnosis no matter what it is. How do you plan your life or explain your illness when it is this shadow being that can’t be measured or understood. I’m a rather practical kind of person. If I know what it is I can educate myself, I can plan my life; I can do what needs to be done. I can be legitimately ill." (July, 2009)

It's exhausting.  

After seven, nearly 8 yrs now, I went into my neurology appointment on Wednesday with mixed feelings. The neurologists who conducted my SFEMGs said they were pretty sure they'd found my cause. Since then I have lived with a mix of excitement, dread (the look on their faces was less than encouraging), and the resignation that it could have been nothing more than yet another diagnosis-tease.

But it seems the completely unexpected abnormalities they discovered have led me to my grail.

Not Myaesthenia Gravis (MG) as was expected. No it couldn't be that simple. I had resigned myself to MG. Had started the research process and moved forward. There are treatments. There is research. There are organisations. But no.

   

You see those pesky out of left-field abnormalities led me down a different path. Myotonia. Or to be more precise,

adult-onset Myotonic Muscular Dystrophy (MMD). 

What you haven't heard of it? Me neither. Yep, I have developed something no one has heard of (again). Even better I have developed something for which there is no treatment (well there's one, but it damages your heart and as my neuro admitted very few of her patients take it). That is degenerative. That is progressive. That, and what is stressing me the most, is autosomal dominant.

I did bloods on Wednesday to try and narrow it down from the 3 possible subtypes, two of which are systemic and have an autonomic component. So now I have to wait, again, until March for those answers. How much it explains my autonomic issues? I'm unsure. Is it an all or partial answer is unclear and even the available research seems to disagree? For now I'm putting it all aside and concentrating on getting through Christmas.

I like my neurologist. She's calm, caring and practical. That works well for me. I'm extremely lucky that she has taken this journey with me and never given up. She has held my hand, directed when needed, and listened to my need to find an answer and helped me achieve that. Something very few patients seem to experience.

She didn't even bat an eyelid when I asked for the 12th time "are you sure there are no other possible causes?"

(This is the face of someone for whom 12th time is not the charm.)

Looking back it was all a bit surreal.

Me dolled up with my Dorothy shoes. My son taking photos all over the room. Discussions about glitter trails throughout her rooms. Me reading and re-reading the paperwork from the neurophysiology department. All whilst being told that I have a degenerative neuromuscular disorder and organising genetic sequencing.

All the while documenting the moments of what it's like to get one of those diagnoses. 

After so many years ill, and so many years of the hope/disappointment cycle, it simply left me numb. I remember smiling. Laughing at a joke. Asking questions. And underneath it all, numbness.

If this was the start of my illness journey I think I may have freaked out far more, but now? That I have a degenerative condition is not a shock. That's been clear to all and sundry. That my muscles have been deteriorating? Also not a shock. I can see the muscle wasting in my right hand and on the left side of my face, and the weakness is spreading. I knew whatever was happening, my health is deteriorating and I'd come to terms with that a long time ago. As Mr Grumpy pointed out the other day, I am far more resilient these days. Far more than at the start. And you do have to find a way of coming to terms with your lot in life, otherwise the toll is too great to bear. However, I do reserve the right to freak out in the near future. To cry and yell and rock in the corner.

That evening my eldest son got it into his head that after such a day I needed a margarita. So out he went and brought all the ingredients and made me a large margarita in a salt rimmed glass. He's a good boy.

But for now numb, compartmentalisation, blinkers, denial and margaritas (well one margarita, and a week later I still feel hung over) are my method of coping.

Plus, at the moment, I just can't face talking about it again.

Oh and my love of goats now makes sense as one of my 3 options, Myotonia Congenita, is the same disorder that afflicts the famous Fainting Goats. They truly are my animal!

Michelle

I was going to add the obvious Hunters & Collectors classic Holy Grail as my musical accompaniment. But I think Throw Your arms Around Me, is more appropriate, because dear readers, I could do with a big virtual hug right about now.